#buddie is like a fine wine alright

[aetherdoesthings]

hanahaki!reader x arlecchino

forethoughts: omg aether finally uploads?!?!? apologies for the long break; i was getting my life together, because there's a lot going on in my life right now all at once. nevertheless, this was inspired by my previous work of hanahaki!reader x nico robin, but with arlecchino because of @edgeray's idea! thanks buddy, couldn't have revived my blog without you. also i'm sorry if there are grammatical mistakes or errors, i wrote this at 2am at a sudden burst of inspiration and motivation.

notes: modern setting, y/n and arlecchino are famous actresses, fem!reader, gentle!arlecchino, hanahaki au

“And how long will filming take?” You sighed, biting down on a hateful tone as you looked at your assistant.

“Roughly a year, Ms. Y/N.” Your assistant replied, clicking a few buttons on her tablet.

“How much is Furina offering to have me star in it with her?”

“$10,000,000 Mora, Ms. Y/N.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, despite your makeup artist’s ‘friendly reminder’. That amount could be worth the turmoil and agony to have to be in a constant space with… her.

“Arlecchino has already signed on board to the project. Ms. Furina is waiting to hear from you.” Your assistant looks up at you. “Surely you would not pass up a deal like that just because she is in it?”

“Shut it, Navia.” You scowl.

Navia laughs. “I jest, Ms. Y/N. What about Arlecchino do you dislike anyways? I heard she is kind and respectful.”

“Yeah, like that gives you a golden star.” You rolled your eyes, finishing your glass of wine. It wasn’t that you disliked or loathed the actress. You respected her upbringing and career and found honor in being in the same tier as her. But something about her rubbed you the wrong way. Every time you watched one of her press interviews or promo videos, your stomach would feel ill, hollowing itself out and making your legs kick in the air like a kid on Christmas. Simply sickening and rotten. And now you were to do an entire movie with her. 

“Hmn, fine. I’ll take it.” You sighed, leaning back on your couch. All for the Mora. All of the Mora. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just one year. You survived with lousy and inadequate ‘colleagues’. Certainly you’d be able to survive the bane of your existence.

“Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet and talk to you in person.” A familiar voice you only heard from behind the screen was now playing behind you. You turned your body, a curt smile on your face as you faced the disgustingly tall and surprisingly built woman (that looked so much bigger than what you saw on a screen), a dumb, cute and sweet grin plastered on her face. You acquiesced her offer, shaking her hand.

“And I share the same sentiment as you do, Arlecchino.” You smiled as politely as you could muster, suppressing your inner self and pummeling it for the sake of face. “I look…forward to working with you.”

Arlecchino’s lips turned into a thin line, her crimson eyes boring into yours, as if peering into your body to find that soul she tortured with just her appearance. You kept your smile, withdrawing your hand. “How was your flight here?”

Shock and surprise pierced that air tight smile of yours, allowing it to falter for a second. “I beg your pardon?”

“How was your flight?” Arlecchino repeated her question, an amused smile on her stupidly perfect and gorgeous face.

“It was… good.” You stammered, folding your arms.

Arlecchino chuckled. “Vague but straight to the point.”

“I prefer things to be like that.”

Arlecchino grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder. You had to bite back a shriek or gasp, nails digging into your palm as you tried to remain a smile. “Let us go to rehearsal, hmn? I’m certain Furina is eagerly waiting for us.”

A blockade started to emerge in your throat, your nails drawing blood as you nodded your head. “Sure, yeah, yeah. You go on ahead. I need to do something real quick.” You said, hoping Arlecchino would buy it.

“Alright then.” And she did, that lovely gullible soul. The minute Arlecchino walked out of earshot, a violent cough erupted from your throat, causing you to double over until it subsided. Looking down, you noticed a lone cherry blossom petal right by your feet. You massaged your throat, hoping to alleviate the sudden pain. Had that petal been there all along? But you were standing on open land without a tree in sight. Furina’s movie synopsis did not mention any cherry blossom trees. Surely, you couldn't have coughed up a petal. No, you did not cough up a petal. That stuff was out of the movies, not in reality. Your mind recalled back to an old movie you shot once, about the protagonist suffering from something called hanahaki disease, where the victim would cough up petals because of their love for someone. The protagonist was lovesick and had their eyes set on the other character, but died because the other person did not return their feelings. This wasn’t happening to you. Yes, the movie was based off of a true story, but certainly not. You were certain you were hallucinating. 

“Y/N!” You heard Arlecchino’s voice call your name from afar. 

“C-Coming!” No. You had to get yourself together. Come on, this was Arlecchino. That… elegant, beautiful, eloquent asshole who you always watched from afar but never had the chance to be with up close. But now you could. And this was how you reacted? Your stomach churned, as you swallowed anymore nonexistent petals down into your vat of acid before making your way to everyone.

Filming wasn’t too bad in the first few weeks. You and Arlecchino were to play star crossed lovers, and all that was scheduled was basic exposition. No petals came up, which supported your case that you were just hallucinating and definitely not a fictional disease. Until it came to the more intimate scenes.

“Alright, and action!” Furina exclaimed. Arlecchino’s character was pinning you to the wall, her finger on your chin.

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Arlecchino’s character sneered, her eyes boring into yours, her lips getting dangerously close.

“I-” You ducked your head in time to not cough into Arlecchino’s face, bringing a hand over your mouth as you coughed loudly, the air escaping your body as you wheezed. 

“Cut! Everyone, take ten!” Furina yelled, and the crew murmured and resetted everything because of your sudden cough.

“Are you alright?” Arlecchino placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing small circles in an effort to comfort you, her voice soft and gentle. A complete contrast of her character she portrayed. That did not comfort you at all, rather stir up a bubbling feeling in your lower parts, warmth rushing to your face.

You balled your fist, nodding your head as you forced yourself to meet Arlecchino’s eyes. 

“I…” You stammered, words suddenly disappearing from your brain, as if Arlecchino was sucking it out with that crimson glow, radiating with warmth and concern, the grin on her face dissipating the moment she saw your soul momentarily leave your body.

“I-I’m alright. I-I’m so sorry.” You regurgitated. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s alright. Do you need some water?” 

“That’ll… That’ll be good.”

Arlecchino nodded her head, patting your shoulder as she asked a staff member to grab you some water. “I’ll go talk to Furina for you. You just rest and recover, got it? I don’t want my acting partner to be ill.”

Oh, your acting partner already is ill. A voice inside of you replied back. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you so much, Arlecchino.” You exclaimed, smiling back.

"Always, Y/N." Arlecchino walked away, waving her hand. "Get well soon."

The crew was busy packing everything up and preparing everything for tomorrow. Arlecchino was talking to Furina, most likely going over tomorrow’s shoot and your cough. As everyone around you was moving and busy, you were escorted away into a car, which drove you back to the makeup trailer. Alone in the backseat, you opened your fist, staring at the item in the dead center of your palm.

A goddamn cherry blossom petal.

No. This can’t be happening. What the heck is happening?! You forced yourself to breathe, staring at the curled petal. Why was this happening? All you did was be in close proximity with that damn Arlecchino, which made your heart flutter and start to drum, your stomach churn and mind go fuzzy, legs limp and-

No.

No.

You did not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You could not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You were colleagues. Workers. She was the winner of multiple awards, she was the one who the paparazzi could never get a picture of, she was everything and you… you were…nothing. Nothing compared to what Arlecchino had done. 

Yet you were here, forced to work together with her and even have to do intimate scenes with-

God strike me here and now. Or make me go into a fatal accident. You silently prayed to anyone who was listening. 

Arlecchino would not be the reason you coughed and hacked up flower petals.

You refused to believe those soft crimson glow in her eyes she always had with you, those thin lips that always curled into a smile when you walked in the room, and those fingers that found a way to your shoulder, or cheek, or your waist would be the reason why you were coughing up petals, just like-

Hanahaki. The word taunted you. No. That couldn’t be. 

You refused to believe you had fallen in love with Arlecchino, let alone die because of it. No. As long as you could breathe, you would not let yourself be a victim of love that you will never receive and have. 

Arlecchino was going to be the reason the newspaper headline would read ‘Y/N FOUND DEAD IN HER BEDROOM FROM HANAHAKI DISEASE’ and lead numerous people to speculate who your Romeo was. 

But in that ill state you were, a tiny part of you was at ease with that scenario.

[twst-drabbles]

Deuce 4

Summary: You were boiling eggs because Crowley is over at your house, nursing a hang-over after downing a whole bottle of wine for a bet. You decide to make him boiled eggs. Deuce takes a bite out of one of them.

Yes, yes, Crowley didn't exactly ask for just eggs but his whining got you up too early in the damn morning and now the only thing he's getting is boiled eggs.

That and you know Crowley. If you make too much food, he's going to try and eat all of it just to not leave any leftovers behind, and get himself sick for the rest of the day because of that. You're not exactly the best at measuring what's too much or what's too little, you only know your own limits.

“Have you finished yeeet?” For someone with a throbbing headache, he certainly can be loud.

Deuce, ever the helper in what ways he could, squeaked for your attention, then patted his puffed up chest. ‘You can rely on me!’ He’s probably trying to convey, even though there’s really nothing you need his help for.

Well, moral support should count for something, right?

“Alright, alright, continue being you,” you patted Deuce on his head, “Just don’t fall off my shoulder, ‘kay?” Chances are he might fall in the ice bowl full of boiled eggs. He certainly won’t like that bath.

“…am I truly alone in this wooorld?” Whine Crowley once more, and the crack in his voice struck out the edge of annoyance and made you laugh.

“Shove it Crowley,” you yelled back, though there was no malice in you. Yes, he’s a hassle to deal with, but he’s such a flavor of silly that you can’t help but want to use that against him when he’s gets sober. There’s no shortage of embarrassing memories in your head and you have no trouble making it known.

You should probably take him home, if only so you don’t have to deal with midday snoring but eh, it’s fine. It’s more trouble than it's worth anyway. He'd fall asleep in bed, snort awake and then end up right back in your house again via whatever magic spell he can remember that day.

It always has to be your house. It couldn’t be any other persons. Yours. Oh well.

You shake your hands to rid them of egg shells. You looked to your shoulder. “Hey, Deuce?”

He propped himself up, at attention. You dragged an empty bowl next to the ice one.

“Put them this bowl, please.” Certainly, you could do it yourself, but your pets get whiny if they can’t help you with simple tasks. Puts a hole in Deuce’s confidence especially.

Deuce pumped himself up with a sharp, reedy whistle and slid right down your arm. The eggs you boiled were a really weird variety, way bigger than a chicken’s egg. About the size of your entire hand. You don’t remember which creature this came from, but it’s the kind of eggs Crowley likes and the ones he gets you so may as well use them.

Point being, Deuce had to use his entire body to hold the egg up. Each step he took towards the bowl, Deuce gave a grunt, and it was at such a rhythm that you’re pretty sure he’s subconsciously recalling Riddle’s training.

One two, one two. And finally, Deuce got the boiled egg in the bowl.

“Good job, little buddy.” You patted his head when he rushed right over, ready for the next egg. “Here you go.”

And so you both continued, you peeling the eggs and Deuce carrying them to the bowl. Until, eventually, Deuce didn’t come right over for the next egg.

“Deuce?” You raised an eyebrow, egg in hand ready to be delivered, “You doing alright?”

You looked over, seeing Deuce still carrying that boiled egg, hidden behind it in such a way that you could only see his little legs.

“Deuce?” Your voice sunk a little lower, warning, and you saw him flinch.

Then, Deuce peeked from around the egg. His cheeks, evidently filled to the brim with egg, wobbled as he continued to chew. He looked guilty, and yet he continued to eat. You continued to stare as he swallowed down that huge bite in one go. It hit his belly a stone would.

Deuce looked down, clearly waiting for something on your part, but you just shrugged.

“You know what, you can have that one. I made too many anyway.” No you didn’t, Crowley eats way too much honestly, but eh, it’s not as if he’ll starve if he has one less egg than usual.

Deuce’s eyes sparkled and he popped his head right back into the hole he made in the boiled egg.

…are you gonna have to purchase more of these eggs now? They’re kinda expensive.

[itsagrimm]

Dollhouse

Simon Riley X you

CN angst, patriarchy and effects on those who can have children, family planning (this is not a euphemism you dogs)

700 words

The idea came to me in a dream. Little short note so i won't forget.

Cover als always made by me. it's from Abhörstation, Berlin.

You woke up with an ache in your heart.

As always when your boyfriend went on deployment he had to leave early.

As always you got up to make coffee and chat as he packed his bags.

Did you get the socks from the laundry? No idea where your aftershave is. Take the green shirt. It suits you.

Sharing one last cup over breakfast together had become your tradition just like getting up together before his trips. Then that last kiss came before he left through the door.

Stay safe Simon. I miss you already. Come back quickly. I love you too.

The click of the lock closing behind him with painful finality.

Nothing ever prepared you for that part of your relationship when you were alone. You browsed through forums and group chats among military spouses, feeling empty and cheated that no one prepared you for the solitude of it. Or are you the only one not cut out for the waiting? About how much time of your life you spent on standby, waiting for Simon to get back and do all those tiny things and big plans with you? Are you doing this correctly?

Maybe I am not cut out for this – you mused as you looked over the space you shared with Simon; his seat now empty. The book he read yesterday right next to pots of plants you bought together on the windowsill. Photos of you and him in frames over the couch he lounged on last night. Memories frozen in time. Memories in waiting. Like you, sitting here waiting for him to come back and pick up where he left.

You never doubted him. Whatever happened while he was away never left you unloved, forgotten, replaced. But love is not the only thing that you needed. Him catching you in a searing kiss when he returned, carrying you back to the bedroom and feeding your lonely skin until it was plump and satisfied from caresses was never the problem. Simon was never the problem.

It was you. No amount of perfect love and devotion, of passion and desire could make up for you being alone despite your relationship. Standing alone at parties and nursing that one white wine spritzer. Going to family events. Dealing with life on your own and talking to yourself every evening about the day that you had.

Simon is away. Yes, I worry but he will be back soon. I am sure it will be alright.

Sometimes the guilt ate at you. His job was dangerous. He could get hurt. He could die. And yet here you were thinking about how hard your life was. How his life was spent in visible excitement with his buddies sharing a beer after a mission, his captain giving him a pat on the back, people asking him if he was fine. And you were kept in a state of continuous invisible anticipation for him to return to you, hopefully in one piece.

Besides, how many out there would love to live the life you had? Being a perfect little wife one day and dolling up for Simon with that military check paying for that shared life. Keeping a perfect little doll home for him to return to and play civil life for a bit. Being a perfect little single mum to the Riley-kids he would father with you only to never be around for them because of his job.

The thought made you gasp out in worry for the unborn children you weren’t even sure you wanted. Children with dark brown eyes. Children that would leave your fingers trembling from the tiring task of loving and worrying about them. Children that made you wonder where they were and if they would return to you in one piece as if that was not a concerning thought. Was this normal? Or another thing you were failing at?

God, you feared yet wished for that family so much. Hoping for Simon to return right now and asking him how he felt about starting on having kids this exact moment. But your rabbit heart new better and you froze as you reached for your phone, opting to send him “safe travels” instead.

Maybe one day you would grow brave enough to tell him all that. And hopefully he would be brave enough to listen.

[samioli]

Are you doing the "Drunken Love Confessions" game? If so, I'd love a 16. "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we're usually kissing." - narumitsu. Thanks!

Hi there! Thanks for the prompt! I can't believe this is the first narumitsu thing I've written in months, CRAZY. I hope you enjoy!

16. "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we're usually kissing."

Phoenix never expected Miles Edgeworth to be this much of a lightweight. 

He always pictured him drinking glass upon glass of wine and still being his perfect, elegant, slightly-pompous self. 

Who knew if you got him to do a few tequila shots that all went away?

Although to be fair, he’s definitely been less of an ass these past few months, Phoenix thought to himself, gazing at the man who was currently dozing off on his shoulder in the taxi they were in together. Once you’ve seen a guy drool on your suit jacket, he kinda seemed a little less scary to you.

Besides…he’s been through a lot. 

Phoenix softened as Edgeworth started to snore lightly in his sleep. After everything with the von Karma case, he thought the man deserved as many naps as he wanted.

Still though, Phoenix wasn’t sure what it exactly meant for the two of them. Were they acquaintances? Co-workers? Friends?

…Could they ever be more?

That’s not fair, Phoenix, he chastised himself. Let the man breathe; no need to smother him with your weird crush that you’ve had since you were kids.

He had to remind himself that the guy just found out his mentor (and kind of adoptive father) killed his dad all those years ago—a crime he blamed himself for.

Edgeworth deserved a break.

Which was exactly why Phoenix practically dragged him for a post-trial celebration. He wanted Edgeworth to get his mind off of things, to even let loose a little bit, but he wasn’t really sure if that was possible.

After tonight, Phoenix knew it was. Edgeworth turned out to be a really goofy and happy drunk, which surprised the hell out of him. He honestly never thought he’d associate the word goofy with Edgeworth before, but hey, never say never.

Edgeworth was laughing at Phoenix’s sub-par jokes, giggling to himself and practically beaming at him all night.

It was…nice.

Addicting, even. He wished he could see that side of Edgeworth more.

“Is over here alright?” The taxi driver asked, shaking Phoenix out of his thoughts. He looked out the window at this really fancy-shmancy apartment complex, hoping Edgeworth had given the right address.

Phoenix gently raised his shoulder, attempting to wake the man up. “Psst. Edgeworth. We’re here, I think.”

It took a moment, but Edgeworth started to wake, opening and closing his eyes a few times. “Hmm?”

God, he was adorable.

“Is this the right place?” he asked, trying not to fall head over heels in love with a man who could barely tolerate his existence up until recently.

Edgeworth blinked a few more times—first at him, then at the apartment building. He seemed to think about it for a bit before perking up. 

“Oh! We’re home.”

Phoenix attempted not to choke on his own spit at that, at Edgeworth implying that it was their home, but was it a fucking task. 

He didn’t mean it like that, he’s drunk right now.

Phoenix tried to get his shit together and thanked the taxi driver, shuffling Edgeworth out of the cab. He was a little wobbly in his movements, but he could still somewhat stand up on his own.

Thankfully.

“Alright, buddy,” Phoenix started, deciding to take the chance to call Edgeworth that when he knew he could totally get away with it now, “lead me to your place.”

Edgeworth nodded sagely. “Certainly,” he said, sounding almost like his usual, eloquent self.

Until he bumped straight into a wall.

“Woah!” Phoenix half exclaimed, half laughed. He rushed to Edgeworth’s side to make sure there weren’t any injuries. “You okay, bud?”

The man in question responded with a hum. “I’m fine. Tired.”

He chuckled. “Point to which apartment is yours, okay?”

They got to Edgeworth’s apartment with little to no issues (Edgeworth was wobbling here and there) and Phoenix asked him for the key to open the door. Once they were inside, he was going to ask where Edgeworth’s room was, but the man plopped himself on the couch in the living room.

“Hey, don’t you want to sleep in your bed? That’s gonna kill your back tomorrow.”

“Hmm. No. Don’t want to move,” Edgeworth said, closing his eyes and lying down on his couch.

“Come on, you have to at least change out of your suit.”

Edgeworth groaned, a bit like a child. Phoenix tried not to laugh.

“C’mon,” Phoenix urged, trying to lift Edgeworth. “Up you go.”

Edgeworth obeyed him the rest of the way until they got to his room, only muttering to himself a little bit.

Phoenix sat Edgeworth on his bed as he looked in his drawers for some kind of pajamas. 

“The top drawer has my night clothes,” Edgeworth slurred, lying back on the bed.

“Yes, sir,” Phoenix said, hearing Edgeworth giggle behind him. He grabbed what looked like really fancy pajamas—pink satin ones.

Wow. This guy lives a life of luxury.

He turned and placed them on the bed, tilting his head when Edgeworth was still giggling. “What’s so funny?”

“You…you called me—” Edgeworth went into a fit of giggles. “You called me sir. I usually call you that.”

Phoenix laughed, scrunching his face in confusion. “What? You’ve never called me that in your life.”

Edgeworth’s brow furrowed. “Oh. Really? I guess I’ve only said it in my dreams.”

Phoenix froze, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. 

He didn’t mean…No, that’s crazy.

“U-Uh.” He coughed. “Okay, then.” He cleared his throat, patting the pajamas on the bed. “You think you can change by yourself?”

Edgeworth nodded. “Indeed. Verily.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Well, okay. I’m gonna get you a glass of water okay? Give you some time to change."

He led himself into the kitchen and prepared two glasses, feeling a bit thirsty himself. 

He tried not to think about the comment Edgeworth made.

He failed. Several times.

After trying to calm himself and get rid of any inappropriate thoughts, he went back toward Edgeworth’s room holding the two glasses of water. 

“Edgeworth?” he called out. “You changed?”

Phoenix heard some sort of affirmative sound, pushing the door open. He placed the glasses of water on the nightstand.

When he looked at Edgeworth, his breath stopped.

Why does he have to be so goddamn cute? WHY.

He looked absolutely adorable in his fancy pajamas—even had a little sleeping cap on. It was so unfair.

“Before you sleep, drink some water for me okay?”

Edgeworth opened his eyes, gray irises staring at him. After a moment, he smiled softly. “Alright,” he said, rising a bit out of bed into a sitting position. He took the glass of water closest to him and started to drink.

Satisfied, Phoenix took the other glass and started drinking some of his own. Edgeworth settled his glass down on the nightstand and looked at him intensely.

He lowered his glass a bit, tilting his head. “What is it?”

“This is not a dream…is it?” Edgeworth mused, before shaking his head. “No, I don’t think it is.”

Phoenix smiled softly before taking another sip of his water.

“If this were one of my usual dreams, we’d be kissing.”

Phoenix promptly inhaled his water, going into a coughing fit.

What????

While he coughed and coughed, Phoenix’s mind went racing. Surely this was just Edgeworth talking nonsense, right? It had to be. The guy hated him until a few days ago! And even then it was pretty shaky ground!

There was no way Edgeworth had dreams about kissing him. No way at all.

…Right?

“Are you alright?” Edgeworth asked, and woah, when did he get up out of bed? He was in Phoenix’s space, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

It didn’t really help the situation.

“I’m fine,” Phoenix choked out, in between a few coughs. He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, go sleep.”

Edgeworth peered at him for a few more moments, before he relented, going back toward the bed and laying down. “If you insist.”

I gotta get outta here before I do something stupid. 

There were a few moments of silence as Phoenix simply watched Edgeworth settle himself on the bed.

We’ll talk about it in the morning.

There was always going to be morning. And if there wasn’t, they’d find a chance to talk about it eventually. Phoenix would make sure of it.

It’s not like the guy was going anywhere any time soon—they’d find the time.

After a few more moments of silence, Phoenix figured Edgeworth had fallen asleep. He clicked the lamp on the nightstand off, cascading the room in darkness.

“Goodnight, Edgeworth,” he said softly. 

Tomorrow.

He walked toward the door, ready to leave the room.

“Phoenix?”

He stopped. That was the first time Edgeworth called him that in years. It made his heart pound.

“...Yes?”

“Thank you again,” Edgeworth murmured, so softly it made his chest ache. “You saved me.”

And it was the way Edgeworth said it, like he was in awe, that made Phoenix speechless.

He swallowed. “Of course.” He lingered for a few more moments. “Goodnight, Edgeworth," he repeated, feeling like it was the only thing he could say.

“Goodnight, Wright.”

Phoenix stared for a beat longer in the darkness before he forced his legs to move out of the doorway.

They’d talk about it tomorrow.

[cabinetofquriosities]

Everybody Wants to Rule the World || Chapter 2

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Violence, Smut for later chapters

Leave a review on ao3!

Full playlist/ Master Post

Listen along:

———————————————————————Agatha traveled back and forth to Westview for a week and a half. She and Chief Jones worked together to create the most accurate timeline possible leading up to the discovery of Herbert Potts’ body. He had been seen earlier that day playing golf up to the twelfth hole. He then had dinner at the club with a few friends who all had solid alibis. After that, he went home alone and was killed between 4-4:50 when he was discovered. It was likely closer to 4:50 given that the killer made their exit while Arthur Hart was in the house.

They questioned his friends, neighbors, and everyone else who knew him in the community. Each person had the same things to say about him. He was kind. He would give you the shirt off his back. He was too heartbroken to date after losing his wife. He adored his daughter and never recovered from losing a child to estrangement. Apart from her and Tony Stark, everyone liked him.

The forensics told them no more than what they ascertained at the scene. He had been alive for the majority of the time he was being cut apart.

No fibers, no prints, no DNA.

After work every night, Agatha would go to the gym. She normally went once or twice a week, but found herself there much more often. She told herself that it was just to blow off steam, but always kept an eye out for the playful brunette with the bleeding heart.

She was there nearly every night at ten like clockwork. Agatha would spend time doing her warmups and catching up on audiobooks until the other woman would walk in.

At first, the two made comfortable small talk. However, a rapport was established between the two by the third night. They became workout buddies. Agatha stopped hiding her smile whenever Alison arrived and Alison stopped keeping herself at arm’s length, pulling her into a hug every time she said “hello” or “goodbye.”

Agatha would go stiff, but Alison would wait until she relaxed into the embrace. Affection was always complicated with her. She paradoxically wanted so desperately to enjoy physical displays of affection while also feeling at a loss of how to operate when it would finally happen. It discouraged a lot of exes and friends from trying, but Alison was like Wanda in that she understood that Agatha actually needed it. She just had no idea how to exist comfortably while receiving love of any kind, whether it be romantic or platonic.

One night, Alison didn’t show up for her usual workout. Agatha waited for a while, but finally gave up. She didn’t know Alison long enough to be familiar with her work schedule and decided that Wednesdays were probably her off-days.

She walked out to the parking lot, having exercised regardless of her new friend not being there. Her thighs and calves burned from pushing herself thirty minutes further with cardio, due in no small part to hoping that the other woman would walk in at any moment. She called Wanda from the car as she settled her gym bag on top of a pile of takeout remains.

“Well, hello stranger,” said a wry yet posh voice on the other end.

“Long time no see.”

“Or talk, or anything…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. I’ve just been slammed at work,” Agatha sighed.

“Try again. You’re always busy at work, but I usually hear from you at some point.”

“Well, what do you think this is?”

“I normally hear from you every few days. Is everything alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” said Agatha in a frustrated tone.

“You don’t sound it. What’s going on?”

“It’s a rough case. That’s all it is.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“Oh, I was in the gym.”

“This late? I practically have to lure you in there with promises of post-workout wine. Wait, are you working out because you’re dating again?!”

Agatha groaned as she could hear the smile on Wanda’s lips. She sighed, running her hand through her hair.

“I’m not dating,” she said.

“…but you like someone?”

Agatha always hated how Wanda seemed to get in her head. She always recognized Agatha’s methods of lying by omission. She waited a moment, which turned out to be a moment too long.

“Who is she?” Wanda asked.

“Fine. Her name is Alison,” she said.

“How’d you meet? Please tell me she’s not a witness or something.”

“No, geez. She goes to my gym,” Agatha said.

“Ah, so you’re working out to see her, then,” Wanda said, “When are you asking her out?”

“I don’t even know if she’s into women.”

“And you won’t find out unless you ask.”

“You say that like it’s so easy,” she said.

“It’s easier than whatever you have going on now. Have you even taken one rest day since you met her?”

“…no.”

“So, either you ask her out or you become a gym rat who’s sore every day.”

“Fine. I’ll ask her to hang out.”

“No… you will ask her to go out. On a date. None of that unlabeled nonsense.”

“I will ask her out on a date. Happy?”

“Thrilled.”

—————————————————————

As Agatha was on her way to Westview, she received a call from her boss. She answered as she drove in a flurry of snow down the highway.

“Agatha, are you in Westview yet?”

“I’m halfway there.”

“Well, you are going to need to turn around and drive north.”

“To where?”

—————————————————————

Agatha drove back up to Massachusetts, passing through the Berkshires to the town of Cheshire. The scenery was picturesque with mountains dappled with the first snow of the winter. She saw fields and produce stands fly by her window.

While stopped at an intersection, she saw a decoration left over from Halloween. Just outside of the fence surrounding a farm was a painted wooden cutout of a classic witch stirring a cauldron. Despite how progressive it became, Massachusetts would always decorate itself with caricatures of its gruesome past. The witch looked like a cartoon, green and smiling out at Agatha with a pointed black hat. She rolled her eyes and kept driving.

She looked for the turn to Mount Greylock, slowing down to find signs pointing to one of the summits of the Appalachian Trail. Her eyes fell on a small statue of a wheel of cheese. She squinted to look at the lettering. “CHESHIRE’S MAMMOTH CHEESE, 1235 LBS, Presented to Thomas Jefferson, January 1, 1802.”

“I don’t even wanna know…” she muttered to herself as she took the turn.

She pulled up to the Veteran War Memorial at the top of the mountain. The view was breathtaking. Frosted peaks and valleys stretched across nearly a hundred miles in every direction. She looked at a plaque listing three states that could be seen from the highest point in Massachusetts. Vermont, New York, and New Hampshire.

Agatha was normally an avid hiker and she knew this beautiful spot would be ruined by whatever she was about to witness. She took a moment to appreciate the beauty before moving towards the very thing that would tarnish it.

The veteran memorial looked like a pawn from a chess board. It was a tall, sloped structure built from granite with an orb at the top. Slumped near the bottom arch of the tower was a brutalized corpse. The man was 75. Lonnie Duncan. His form was tall and lanky. His cheeks were sunken in from age and his silver hair was stringy, the ends falling to his shoulders.

His head was tipped forward, causing strands of his hair to fall in front of his face. A dark streak of blood stretched above him. Small trails had rolled down the curve and dried between lines of granite blocks. The effect was a geometric design of interconnected red-rimmed rectangles reaching down below his body.

An older, middle aged woman approached her. Going off of her uniform, Agatha could tell she was in charge. She looked like a sturdy, tough woman. Her thick, strawberry blonde hair was loosely held by an elastic. It puffed out in the back and fell like a squirrel’s tail. Her stature was tall and slightly wide. Agatha could tell she was hiding bulky muscles. Her skin was wind blown, a cranberry hue topping her round cheeks. She uncrossed her arms and extended one out to Agatha.

“Chief Mona Wentworth. Thank you for coming.”

“Agent Agatha Harkness. Hello. I would say good morning, but that would be a little ridiculous here,” Agatha said, testing the waters with the other woman.

Mona didn’t crack a smile. She also didn’t act irritated, but it sent a clear message to Agatha about what sort of woman she was. In truth, it was the type of person she worked best with.

“Yes, well, this is an unusual situation for us. We find bodies off of the trail, but they are typically inexperienced hikers who fell or were victims of fatal accidents. Intentional murders are few and far between.”

“But you have seen them before?”

“Yes. Some were premeditated spousal murders and others were drifters who were either perps or victims. The last was a few years back. It was a couple who was killed and robbed by an unwell individual living in a makeshift camp deep in the woods. We caught him soon after.”

“Could this be something similar?” Agatha asked.

“Not likely. Lonnie is not someone who had enough bad blood to make anyone a clear suspect.”

“All it takes is one.”

“His family members are scattered in different states and he kept to himself beyond a casual conversation,” the Chief said, “No chance for his loved ones to be here at the time of the crime.”

“Alright. What do we know about him?” Agatha asked.

“We know he grew up in New Hampshire. He was an accountant for forty one years following his time serving in Vietnam. Came out here to retire.”

Agatha looked up at his blood staining the memorial.

“One hell of a way to honor a vet.”

Once they had ladders set up, Agatha and Mona ascended for a better look. His button down shirt had been opened to show the killer’s handiwork. Carved into his sunken chest and abdomen was a letter and two numbers. The cuts were relatively fresh, with the excess blood wiped off after death to more clearly show the writing.

B

4

23

Agatha wrote the numbers and letter down in her mind. Her attention was then drawn to the man’s extremities. The cleanliness of his torso was the only self restraint the killer seemed to have. Agatha felt a sense of deja vu at the sight of the jagged slices mutilating every inch of his arms and legs until they were barely recognizable as body parts. She couldn’t find a larger fatal wound. It made her wonder if he had simply been left - or forced - to bleed out from the veins opened up on his wrists or inner thighs. Any one of the countless cuts could have caused a slow death.

“He wasn’t killed here,” Agatha said.

“The blood?” Mona asked with understanding.

“Not enough of it. Just enough for him to he bleeding slightly, but not enough to have him bleed out up here.”

“Could he have been killed in town?” Mona asked.

“No… Too much blood was wet enough to smear and drip down. Not a lot, but enough that his body was still warm when he was lugged up here.”

“The killer must’ve been strong. Carrying dead weight up a ladder like that,” she said.

“You’d be surprised at just how many people know how to handle one correctly. Could the killer have caught him hiking up here?”

“In the middle of the night? No. He had some issues with his leg too. There’s no way he’d be able to hike this high alone and his car isn’t nearby,” Mona said.

His face, much like Herb’s, was a portrait of horror. His mouth hung open and his cloudy eyes stared dead ahead. Frost had crystallized over his hair, eyebrows, and lashes. It looked as if the terror of the man’s final moments were frozen into a mask.

“Huh…”

“What is it?” Mona asked, having a great deal more composure than Westfield’s chief.

“The cuts… gashes… look a lot like some I saw on another victim a couple of weeks ago. And another a few weeks before to that.”

“Wait… so this may be a serial killer’s work?”

“I can’t confirm that. Not yet,” Agatha said as she climbed back down to the ground.

Mona descended and moved over to her, slightly into her personal space. Agatha leaned back just as far out of instinct.

“Do I need to be on alert for a serial killer?” she asked calmly in a low tone.

Agatha could see the concern in Mona’s eyes. She recognized the fear so many felt when they were responsible for a newly traumatized community.

“Look, if it is connected then it won’t happen again in your town. The other two were states apart. I just….” Agatha sighed, “I am going to ask that you keep the idea of a serial killer away from any conversations surrounding this death. Unless we have proof, it will only serve to scare people more than they need to be.”

“Fine. But we cannot keep this murder quiet. Lonnie is a well known person here. I won’t lie about what has happened to him.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just don’t want the rest of the police force wasting time panicking about a larger vendetta while they could be focusing on the crime at hand. You will be the first to know if anything changes,” Agatha assured her.

Mona nodded and walked off. Agatha sighed, a cloud of breath escaping her. She hoped against hope that she was right about the killer not returning.

—————————————————————

Agatha tried to shake the memory of a butchered veteran out of her head as she pulled up to the gym. She needed something to help her leave the day behind before she had a chance to bring it home. Other agents used hobbies, alcohol, or their families to flip that switch. Agatha now used exercise. She found herself escaping more and more often as the job seeped into her mind.

She wasn’t thinking about anything but sweating out the memories as she trained with weights. She felt her arms burning by the time her other reason for her nights at the gym strolled in. She caught her eye as she stood up from the bench, taking a swig of water from her bottle.

“Well, hello there,” Alison said as she walked up to her.

“Hey,” Agatha said back, now feeling even more short of breath than she had been before, “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, I needed a rest day,” she said, “But I’m flattered you noticed.”

Agatha was sure her face was bright red. Of course she needed a rest day. Normal people who weren’t waiting for their gym crush every night took days off.

The two of them ended up running on treadmills next to one another. Every time Agatha looked at her, she would forget how to speak. She did everything possible to keep herself from acting so affected by her. She kept herself staring ahead as they talked.

“…and then we were denied a permit for our rally,” Alison sighed as the soles of her sneakers pounded away at the black rubber of the machine.

“I mean, that is a dangerous part of Springfield. I wouldn’t want to see what would happen to y-to anyone if something went wrong.”

Alison was about to retort when Agatha’s reply fully processed in her head. She smirked before pressing the speed down.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough cookie,” she said.

“Find, fine… but let me know if you ever need someone to back you up.”

Alison gasped dramatically, resting her hand over her heart.

“My own personal guard cop?”

“Agent.”

“As sweet as you are for that, I can’t be at a protest about over policing with someone from the FBI. Even if you would make a beautiful Kevin Costner.”

Agatha shut her mouth and nodded. She did wish she could go to one of her protests, but there was no way she was able to with her job. Even with her support of her fellow law enforcement officers, she knew the system was fundamentally broken and nurtured certain types of dangerous people within it. Every industry had corruption in it, but not every job had life or death stakes with protection against any consequences. While she didn’t always agree with every assumption made, she was happy there were activists like Alison out there.

Once they were finished warming down, they made their way to the locker room. Alison bypassed the lockers and tugged her shirt up. A muscled form was revealed underneath, leaving her in her sports bra. She shed her shorts, leaving them on the bench beside Agatha. Not far from them was a cold dunk tank. Alison climbed in, hissing through her teeth as she lowered her body into the ice water.

Agatha took her time opening her locker. She got her own combination wrong twice. She looked shy beneath her gruff exterior. Each time she gazed at Alison, she would be entranced by a new detail. The shifting of her muscles in her shoulders. The beads of sweat at her temples. The small curl of her baby hairs at the back of her neck. The goosebumps erupting across her skin.

Alison looked up at her, causing the other woman to panic a moment and look back into her locker. Alison’s eyes stayed fixed on her. Wanda’s voice stubbornly stuck in her mind.

“Agatha?”

Agatha closed her locker and turned to look at her, steeling herself.

“Do you want to.. do something together…” Agatha stuttered, “Outside of here.”

“Sure,” Alison said with a little smirk, “What did you have in mind?”

“I mean… we could hang o- uh, go out to dinner?”

“Is that your final answer?” Alison said, arching her brow.

“Yeah, sorry…” Agatha said with a forced laugh and shake of her head.

“Don’t apologize,” Alison said with a serious expression.

She stood up in the cold plunge tub, her eyes fixed on Agatha’s. Agatha swallowed, unable to keep herself from looking. Her gaze raked over Alison’s muscular form that shone with the ice water. Droplets forms and ran down the curves and muscle-cut lines of her body. Her bra and underwear clung to her, soaked from the bath.

She stepped out of it, stalking toward Agatha. She stopped once she was toe to toe with her, her smile now softened.

“Ho ahead. Ask for what you want.”

Agatha was flustered for a moment, scrambling to recover any type of composure.

“I want… to take you out on a date,” Agatha said more clearly and confidently than before.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked.

She leaned in further, her front pressed to hers. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, her lips parting as all vestiges of her earlier spike of confidence fell away. Considering her slightly masculine attitude, she was normally the type of woman who took charge while pursuing other women. She held the doors, pulled out the chairs, and made all of the first moves. She wasn’t used to being the one rendered speechless. She wasn’t the type to become flushed or nervous.

Alison reached behind Agatha into her locker, her eyes never leaving hers. She took the other woman’s phone. Still pressed against her, she opened her phone with a 0000 password and put her number in. She stepped back and handed it to her.

“Make sure to change your code. For an FBI agent, your phone was way too easy to unlock,” she said, pulling a towel from her own gym bag, “Text me the details.”

She walked out, heading to the showers. Agatha was left with her phone and a mind that was completely melted.

Fic Masterlist

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 19

Everything tries to get in between him and his goal.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, mentions of smut but SFW chapter, he's such a scatterbrain part 3537

Length: 1.1k Words

Callob with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

A/N: no I did not forget that I didn't post

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Alright, regroup. There’s not that much time left until you both have to pack again and make your way back home- and he still hasn’t managed to pop the question.

So today, he’s got a new plan: A nice picnic at a nearby park, all romantic, making use of the good weather forecast. He’s been up way earlier than usual to make some snacks and sandwiches, pack some wine in the rented car, just to wake you up later after he’s made sure he placed the little box inside his pocket as well, so he can have it on himself when he’s ready to make that step.

Walking onto the bedroom where you’re watching him with one eye cracked open, he can’t help but laugh a little as he crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Why’re you up already?” You slur sleepily, while he playfully lets his weight press down on you for a moment. “Come back to bed..” You demand weakly, turning a little to pull him close to you.

“No can do baby.” He grins. “Have something planned for us today.” He tells you, before he leans up again and pecks your lips once more. “And that requires you to get up and dressed. Up up!” He teases, smacking your butt beneath the blankets before he escapes your wrath by running out the bedroom to let you get ready.

This time he’ll get it right.

He’s busy setting everything up while you roam through the bag with the food with wonder, when he hears something odd from close by- something he can’t help but notice, especially when you ask him about it too. “It almost sounds like something whimpering?” You ask, confused and mildly concerned- and Jungkook agrees with that feeling.

You both get up to walk towards the sound to investigate it, finding nothing at first- until the sound becomes louder, and Jungkook finds the source of it between two thick branches of a bush in the park.

It’s a dog- a small one, back legs strapped into a little wheelchair, which got stuck in the branches, causing him to stay fixated in an odd position, helplessly struggling to get back out of his unfortunate situation. “Oh no, buddy-” Jungkook instantly coos, carefully bending down to figure out a way to get the poor dog out.

And once he does, the little canine is eager to show his gratitude by happily jumping up with his front legs, yapping with no agression at Jungkook who can’t help but be affected by the cuteness of the admittedly a little scruffy looking little guy.

“He’s so cute!” You beam at the little dog, squatting down to pet the disabled pup who happily receives the attention you give him. “You’re such a good boy!” You can’t help but tell the little guy, and Jungkook feels his heart swell at the sight of the small thing wagging his tail wildly.

“Oh, there he is!” A woman calls, the small dog running towards her with his wheels.

“He got stuck in the branches there.” Jungkook explains. “So we helped him out. Is he your dog?” He wonders, and the woman shrugs.

“Kind of? I’m fostering him for the moment, he’s actually up for adoption.” She explains, and at that, your head turns a little. “He’s from a hoarder situation. His back legs are paralyzed from an accident but he actually gets around just fine! In the house he doesn’t need the wheelchair at all- I just put some socks over his legs so he doesn’t rub them open. But he’s just as quick for breakfast lunch and dinner as the rest.” She jokes, making Jungkook and you laugh as you watch the little dog look around the park.

“How old is he?” You wonder, and she sighs.

“About five? Maybe six? It’s hard to tell, really.” She admits. “And I know he looks a bit scruffy but I promise he’s a sweetheart.” She sighs.

“Oh no, he’s super cute!” You argue, happily petting the little dog who’s tongue seems to be a bit disoriented as he lets you pet him all you want. “And so handsome, yes you are!” You tell the dog who’s got neither an idea about what you’re telling him, nor does he seem to care.

“No really, I agree. He’s totally cute.” Jungkook says.

“I’m glad at least someone says it.” The woman laughs relieved. “He doesn’t have good chances for adoption since he’s disabled and you know, his eyes are a bit cloudy already and all that.” She huffs. “If you want I can give you my contact info and we could maybe stay in touch?” She hopefully asks, and Jungkook looks over to you. “Bowser seems to have fallen for your girlfriend already.” She laughs, and Jungkook’s eyes widen.

The dog’s name is bowser.

“I totally fell for him too!” You laugh, chasing the little guy around, careful as to not make the wheelchair tip over. “I mean, we’re not from the area though.” You admit, but the lady shakes her head.

“No problem!” She offers. “It’s a process anyways. Someone’s going to visit you first, check if everything’s alright, and then we’ll talk about the adoption and all that- if you’re interested, that is.” She shrugs, already sharing her phone number with Jungkook who didn’t even notice pulling out his phone.

And after saying goodbye to both the dog and the lady, he can’t help himself as you both sit back on the blanket he’d set out earlier.

“Bowser!” Jungkook whines. “His name was bowser babe, that’s the cutest shit ever! Like a sign!” He says, and you laugh.

“He was really cute. But.. Do you think we’re really ready for a dog?” You ask a little worried, making him shrug.

“I mean, I work from home, mostly. So I’d always be around.” He says. “And you kind of hinted at wanting a pet this year too?” He asks, and you nod.

“I just.. Didn’t know if you wanted that with me.” You mumble a little. “It’s kind of like getting a kid, you know? A big responsibility and all that. Makes a relationship turn really serious.” You say, and at that, Jungkook leans closer to hold your hands.

“Baby, I’ve been taking this relationship seriously from the very start.” He offers. “I always will. And I want to take that step with you, if you’re up for it.” He grins, leaning forward to peck your lips.

And you can’t help but smile as well, throughout the entire way home-

The whole situation making him almost forget that he just fucked up another try to pop the question, only realizing it when he’s in bed with you already, making him angrily run his hands over his face in the darkness of the bedroom.

Why the hell does the world seem to play against him every fucking time?!

[jujumin-translates]

[18TRIP] Ten Murakumo | [SR] Black Melting Into the Hustle and Bustle | You Can Drink, But Don't Get Drunk

Characters: ☁️ Ten Murakumo, ☔️ Kafka Oguro, ☀️ Renga Nishizono

Location: HAMA House - Tiger Room

*Drink being poured*

Kafka: You’re having a nightcap again today too, Ten?

Kafka: Maybe it’s fine once in a while, but don’t you think you should hold back from having one every night? It tanks the quality of your sleep, y’know.

Ten: C’mon, stop worrying so much, Prez. This is just what works for me.

Ten: (I can’t have him messing with my routine.)

Renga: Exactly, Kafka. Ten likes to drink, and it’s not like he drinks recklessly.

Renga: And when we go out for drinks together, I think he always seems fine! You don’t gotta worry.

Kafka: I see. If my drinking buddy Renga says so, I guess it’s fine.

Ten: (...Never thought I’d have Renga-san to back me up.)

Ten: Cool, with that settled, to doing this again…

*Ten taps his glass on the table*

Renga: …

Ten: …

Ten: …Renga-saaan, don’t stare at me like that. I thought drinking wasn’t your strong suit.

Renga: Ah, my bad! Don’t worry about me, just enjoy your drink!

Ten: I’m only saying that because I care.

Renga: No, I was just thinking that I’d be able to drink like you do someday, Ten…

Ten: Ah~, you do get hammered in no time, don’t you, Renga-san?

Renga: T-That was just last time! I was more tired than usual, so…

Ten: Haha, you sure about that~? It would’ve been pretty dangerous for you if you were a girl.

Renga: Whatever, there isn’t anything wrong with me watching! All I’m doing is watching you drink!

Ten: (Just watching’s not gonna make you a better drinker… Well, it’s all according to plan. That’s just how much you’re fascinated with me.)

Ten: Alright, just for today?

Renga: Yeah! Thanks!

Kafka: (Hehe. There’s something pretty interesting about those two.)

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Location: Shirohori Studios

Staff: That’ll be it for today’s shoot, Renga-san! Thank you very much!

Staff Members: Good work!

Renga: Heh, I’m looking forward to seeing the finished thing.

Capable Producer: Do you drink wine, Renga-san? We prepared a vintage for today’s shoot.

Renga: Huh? Yeah… Thanks.

Renga: (Maybe it’s because of the last variety, but I’ve been getting a lot more gifts like this…)

Capable Producer: Don’t doubt it. It’s a genuine vintage, okay? There’s that famous saying… “I only want the real deal”.

Staff: Well, you heard the producer. This is undoubtedly the real deal.

Renga: H-Haha… Fair enough.

Renga: (I’m grateful, but what am I supposed to do…? Ah, I wonder if Ten would like it if I gave this to him.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Location: HAMA House - Tiger Room

Renga: I’m back~... Wait, where’s Kafka?

Ten: Ahh, Prez is working late tonight.

Renga: Gotcha… Ah, I’ve got a gift for you today, Ten.

*Renga takes something out of a bag*

Renga: …Ta-da!

Renga: It’s a vintage wine. It was given to me by a producer, and I think it’s a good one! Hey, let’s drink it together!

Ten: Ah, sorry, I’m not really a wine guy.

Renga: YOU’RE NOT!!?

Ten: (Wine’s the only thing that gets me really wasted… Still, I’m pretty confident that I’ve got a better tolerance than him.)

Ten: Alright, how about I drink my sake and you drink that wine, Renga-san?

Ten: That way, we’re still technically drinking together.

Renga: That’s true! Alright, let’s do that!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Renga: ‘Cauuuuse~! That’s the kinda shoft-heartednessh that proves that you’re sucha good guy, Ten!

Ten: I know, that’s the third time you’ve told me that.

Ten: (Not even a full glass and he’s already like this.)

Renga: Noooo! I shtill haven’t gotten the point acrossh! Despite how you seem, you’re sucha good guy, Ten…!

Ten: Ow, wasn’t that like sorta a diss?

Renga: Mn~mh… Mmmhmnh…

Ten: Renga-sa~n, if you sleep with your stomach exposed like that, you’ll catch a cold.

Renga: I’ll show you the roshes when they bloom, Ten…

Ten: (Roses? The hell is he going on about?)

Ten: Jesus Christ.

Renga: Ten, let’sh have another drink together again~...

Ten: … Alright, I’m gonna tuck you in now.

*Sheets rustle*

Ten: (Goddamn, this guy is hopeless…)

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Epilogue

Warnings: fluff

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

A/N: That’s all folks! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.😘💖 

You can catch up here!

 My Masterlist AO3    Ko-Fi

ONE YEAR LATER

Dean and Y/N carried various potluck side dishes into the backyard, placing them on the long wooden table Dean had made in his spare time to accommodate his growing family.

John and Bobby were manning the grill, and Sam was playing with Miracle, the big goofball dog Dean had rescued from a burning building where his owners had sadly perished.

Jody and Mary sat at the table in the sunshine with Jess across from them, sheltering under the parasol with baby Matthew.

When the little boy saw Y/N, he gave her a big toothy smile. He wasn’t even a year old yet and had the same Winchester charm his father, uncle and grandfather had. Y/N couldn’t refuse the grabby hands and little mewls demanding she takes him from his mother’s arms and into hers.

“Hey, buddy!” Y/N smiled as she lifted Matthew and placed him on her hip. Every day his baby babbles sounded more like actual words. Although she wasn’t as versed in Matthew’s baby language as his parents were, she listened to him intently and responded whenever there was a break in his storytelling.

Today’s gathering was a double celebration. Bobby was retiring as Fire Chief at Lawrence F.D. Dean had accepted the promotion into his role and would start as the new Chief at Firehouse 3 the following week. Y/N couldn’t be prouder of her boyfriend and wouldn’t deny that him not running head-first into fires ninety percent of the time would make her life much less stressful.

“He always settles so easily with you,” Jess smiled, and Y/N glanced down to see Matthew had fallen asleep on her shoulder.

“What can I say? Kids love me,” Y/N said, giggling as Dean bent to kiss her forehead, a soft smile curving his lips upwards. The look of utter adoration that shone in his green eyes was overwhelming, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Alright,” John called from the other side of the yard. “First batch of food is ready!”

“Here, let me take him so you can get something to eat. You must be starving after coming off a night shift and barely sleeping before entertaining all of us,” Jess said as she reached to take the sleeping baby from Y/N’s arms.

“It’s fine, Jess. I can survive another twenty minutes. Go, eat something hot for a change without burning your mouth!” Y/N grinned as Jess gave her a grateful smile.

Once everyone had their fill of food and relaxed with some drinks, Y/N and Jody began clearing dishes and putting away the leftovers before promising to bring more beer and another bottle of wine from the kitchen when they were finished.

“You look happy,” Jody smiled fondly.

“I am,” Y/N nodded, unable to hide her grin.

“Is he treating you right?” The older woman asked next.

“Not just right, Jody. He makes me feel safe and loved and wanted. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Good. I’m happy for you, kiddo. You deserve all of it,” Jody hugged her tightly and added, “And if he puts a toe out of line, he is a dead man!” The women chuckled, and Jody pulled back slightly. “Come on, let’s get these drinks out there and join the celebrations.”

Jody placed a cooler filled with ice, beer and a bottle of wine onto the table, and Y/N gave out clean glasses and placed the corkscrew and bottle opener next to it. John and Sam passed out the drinks, and when no one was left empty-handed and had settled into conversation, Dean stood and gathered everyone’s attention.

“As I’m sure you all know, I’m not good with words and find it hard to talk about my feelings. Today, I’m putting that aside to celebrate a great mentor, a great Chief, and an even greater man. I’ve been in Bobby’s Firehouse since I was a cocky probie, and he quickly knocked that out of me completely! He taught me all I know, and that’s why stepping into his shoes isn’t as terrifying now as it was the first time Bobby told me that one day, I’d be sitting in his seat.

“So, cheers, Bobby! Thank you for having patience with me, for mentoring me and teaching me all I know, for seeing something in me that I couldn’t, and for treating me like family. In and out of the Firehouse.” Dean said, and cries of cheers, congratulations and clinking glasses rang through the backyard. He cleared his throat, letting them know he wasn’t finished yet.

“I know we’re here to celebrate Bobby’s retirement and my promotion, but I’m hoping we might have another reason to celebrate. It’s times like this that I wish I could be more articulate and find the right words to talk about how I feel and the million things I really want to say… need to say. And I promise to try, but for now, the only words I have are the most important ones… Y/N,” Dean’s voice cracked as he got down on one knee before her and pulled out a little velvet box. “Will you marry me?”

Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth in shock, and tears flooded her eyes. This was all she’d ever wanted. All she’d dreamed about. A second chance with the one that got away.

“Yes!” she answered, a shriek of laughter coming straight after as Dean lifted her, held her in his strong embrace, and spun her around.

THE END

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[sugarpopss]

Lamb, Pig, It's All The Same

Alright here's more Aegon with gout fic. idk. I don't have a tag list but I am gonna tag @bucknastysbabe bc I bounced some of this off of her before it sat in my drafts for two months, and @who-told-you-this-was-butter and @khaleesihel bc they're my howl drool cream over Aegon buddies

Fem reader, Aegon being a pathetic whore but like in a fun sexy way

The gout preferred to strike at night. It would violently jerk Aegon from his slumber and have him crying out with the sudden pain, panicked thrashing hindered by both his afflicted joint and his swollen stomach-for your husband did so love to gorge himself into drowsiness, despite repeated warnings from the maesters and scoldings from his own mother. 

It was Aegons gasping and crying that usually awoke you. The overwhelming panic you’d felt at the beginning of your marriage, when you’d known nothing of the crown princes illness-possibly by design, but you’d not be caught making the accusation-had been overcome in the months since the first, terrifying night. By the time the summertime warmth of your wedding had frozen into winter, you were wrapping your arms around Aegon before you were even fully awake. He always leaned into you with all of his weight, seeking the comfort you provided him like a lamb searching for its mothers shadow. 

“Hush, dearheart, it’ll fade. You know it will fade soon enough.” 

It was all nonsense, really, that you murmured into his hair, but your soothing words and safe embrace gave Aegon something to anchor himself to while the pain ran its violent course. Despite the constant, grating irritation that usually marked Aegons presence in a room-and that ground your nerves to dust time and time again-his cries made your heart ache. Perhaps you were simply weak for a beautiful man in distress, because you always found yourself coming to his side when he glutted himself like a prized hog then whined so pathetically for you to soothe his belly. 

When Aegon sniffled against your shoulder you just couldn’t help but to coo and stroke his hair. Nevermind the tears and mucus he was no doubt spreading all over the fine Myrish lace of your nightgown, the idiot usurper-your idiot usurper-was in pain and frightened. And although it surely made you a damnably terrible person, you found Aegon to be at his sweetest when he was reeling and needy. Not completely lost in the throes of the pain, of course, but when the attack began to ease and he nuzzled against your skin, seeking warmth and comfort and kind words and rewarding you with his gorgeous lilac eyes, red rimmed and watery, turned up to you with all of the mindless trust of a newborn lamb. 

The knowledge that Aegon only sought your comfort because you happened to be closer at hand than a jug of wine did little to sour how much you enjoyed peppering kisses over his fever warm cheeks-cheeks which only seemed to grow fuller and rounder time trod on, but gout was not called the ‘fat mans disease’ for nothing. The fool was nearly incapable of self soothing without something in his mouth, a fact that had perhaps led your mind towards less appropriate thoughts of a hypothetical night upon which, after the pain had faded to a more manageable ache, you’d shrug off your nightgown and offer him your breast. You were confident that Aegon would take it eagerly, after all. Doesn’t every pathetic lamb need something to nurse? 

Sometimes you gave up on holding him altogether and applied a cold herbal compress to his inflamed knee. As you sat on the edge of your own marital bed and pressed the damp, sticky rags to Aegons knee and watched him writhe and cry, your thoughts always grew strange. The affection-fine, perhaps a little bit of power as well-you felt while holding and comforting your husband went quiet. In its place arose thoughts of the Queen Consort tending to her own ailing Targaryen. You didn’t enjoy these thoughts, but they came nonetheless. Perhaps these men with dragons blood in their veins were somehow prone to affliction, or perhaps it was as simple as the fact that a loyal wife and a nursemaid were very much interchangeable. 

Even if you were slightly uncertain whether you’d care for Aegons pain at all if he wasn’t so beautiful and needy and helpless when it struck. 

Perhaps this man, this family, this city-they all brought out the worst in you. Or perhaps you were just a little too fond of your husbands flushed face and hitching cries. 

[figthefruitfaeth]

Robin’s First Date.

| 12:36pm | 

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

“Hey, those were a gag gift—”

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

“I’m sorry I have standards.”

“Mm-hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Gross—“

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

“I’m calling Eddie.”

“Eddie?! No—”

| 12:57pm |

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

“Eddie, I need your help.”

“Oh, hey, hi, what’s up?”

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

“Okay...”

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

| 3:09pm |

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

| 3:33pm |

“Wheeler Residence, this is Karen speaking—“

| 4:17pm |

“This is Hop.”

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

“Who is this?”

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

“Right.”

“Right. Right, uh yeah.”

“Well, he’s not here, so—“

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

| 4:21pm |

“Robin?”

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

“Is everything alright?”

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

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

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

“Okay...did you wanna talk? Or...”

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

“Hey, if you’re busy—“

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

“Yeah. Definitely...”

| 4:55pm |

“Family Video. This is Steve.”

“Steve.”

“Robin.”

“...”

“You need me to—“

“I need you to come over.”

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

“Well...it’s creative?”

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

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

“Ugh! You love this!”

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

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

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

| 6:14pm |

“This is the Wheeler’s, it’s Mike.”

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

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

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

“What? No, I have a campaign going.”

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

“Eddie?”

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

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

“You swear, huh?”

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

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

“Fine. What do you want?”

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

“What?!”

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

“I’m not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

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

“What—no, Mike—”

“Robin?”

| 6:19pm |

“Nancy. Hi.”

“Hi, Robin.”

“...”

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

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

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

“Yeah, I do. It’s really cute.”

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

“Robin.”

“Yes!”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah! Could you tell?”

“Hm!”

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

“You called Jonathan?”

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

“Oh, Robin.”

“That’s not a pitying ‘Robin’ is it?”

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

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

“Does that help?”

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

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

“That’s smart. I love green.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I wore purple.”

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

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

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

“Bye, Robin.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Love Langauge

There was something about the way that Harry always knelt down to greet Scorpius with a hug that Draco couldn't take. It was too much, too precious, it made him feel like his whole world was narrowed down to just two people, heart too full.

“Daddy told Auntie Pansy that people getting shit done is his love language.” Scorpius informed Harry primly and Draco promptly wished that he could just sink through the floor as Harry’s eyes, twinkling with mischief, found his over his son’s shoulder. He knew he shouldn't have had that floo call with Pansy about work while Scorpius was in the house.

“Did he?” Harry asked, before turning his attention back to Scorpius. “Sounds like acts of service is it for your dad.”

He shook his head, "Scorpius, it's your bedtime."

His 4-year-old turned and pouted at him, "But Harry just got here."

"I know," he said, understanding completely the desire to simply exist in the other man's orbit. "But it's past your bedtime already."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked Harry, turning his pout on the other man, whom, Draco knew from experience, had no defenses against a pouting Malfoy.

"I would like that very much," Harry said sincerely, looking up at Draco, "if it's alright with your dad."

They didn't do this. Harry didn't stay overnight, he wasn't there in the morning when Scorpius woke up, as far as Scorpius was concerned, they were just friends. He'd been too afraid of his son getting attached, and how it would affect him when (if) Harry left. "Maybe Harry would like to meet us for ice cream at Fortescue's," he replied.

Scorpius spun around to look at him, literally jumping for joy, but Draco didn't miss the way that Harry's face fell before he caught himself.

"That sounds great," he said, smiling at both of them.

"Do you want to give Harry a hug good night?" Draco asked.

Scorpius nodded and Harry knelt down again, wrapping his arms around Scorpius. "Night, buddy," Harry said.

"Night, night, Harry," he replied. "I love you."

"Love you too, bud," he responded easily, and Draco's heart shattered in his chest.

He cleared his throat, "Come on, Scorp," he said softly, "bedtime."

His son's arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders tighter for a moment, then he was off, dashing toward the stairs. "I'm gonna beat you!" he called to Draco over his shoulder.

"Be right there, teeth first," Draco called back. He turned to Harry who was standing from the floor once more, "Hey," he exhaled.

"Hi," Harry replied, smiling at him and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I'll be back soon. Sorry that nothing went quite according to plan tonight and he's not down yet."

"It's fine," Harry said, shaking his head, "You don't have to apologize. If you'd wanted an extra set of hands, you could have owled and asked me to come earlier."

"That's not your job," he protested. "Harry, the lines-"

"Daddy!" Scorpius called, mouth sounding full of what Draco suspected was toothpaste.

"Coming!"

"Go," Harry said, nudging him toward the stairs. "I'll be here when you're done."

Draco nodded and turned, leaving everything with Harry until after bedtime. Bedtime was his favorite time of day, stories and singing, quiet reflection, cuddles in the rocker, before tucking his child in for the night and stroking his hair until his was fast asleep.

He lingered for a few extra moments in Scorpius' doorway, watching his son sleeping. He planned the whole speech in his head: Scorpius was the most important person in his life, his world revolved around his child, he wanted Harry but he couldn't put Scorpius' heart in danger. Bad enough to be putting his own heart in such a precarious position, he thought as he closed the door and headed downstairs again.

When he reached the living room, Harry was nowhere to be seen, so he wandered through to the kitchen imagining that Harry might be uncorking the bottle of wine that Draco had seen tucked in his coat pocket.

What he found instead, was Harry standing at the sink, up to his elbows in water as he washed the veritable mountain of dishes that Draco hadn't had the time or energy to take care of. That seemed to be the case with more and more things lately, he just didn't have the capacity to work and be a single parent.

"You don't have to do that," he said, embarrassment flooding his whole body.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him, "I don't mind." Before Draco could protest, he continued, "I'm almost done anyway. Do you want to pour us some wine? I picked up that Merlot that you were fond of at that Italian place we ate at last month."

"I can't do this," Draco breathed, feeling like the air had been punched out of him. He stumbled back to lean against the doorway.

"Draco?" Harry said softly, voice full of concern, and Draco looked up to see him drying his hands on the towel as he looked at him.

And Draco wanted to cry. The image of Harry standing there, sleeves rolled up from washing the dishes for him, brows drawn in concern, was burned into his brain. Because this was it. It had to be. "I can't," he managed, shaking his head.

"Can't what?" Harry asked gently, moving a few steps closer but leaving space in between them.

Space that Draco wished he would close, wished that Harry would crowd him into the wall and make him forget everything else.

"Sweetheart," Harry murmured, "tell me?"

"I can't do it," he said and a tear slid down his cheek. "I'm so fucking tired," he added. "I can't be a good dad and run a business when no one is doing what they're supposed to be," he shook his head, "I'm a complete shit boyfriend-"

"You're not-" Harry started to protest.

"I am!" he exploded, throwing his arms in the air. "You're here and you're cleaning my house for me, and you brought me wine that you remembered that I enjoyed a month ago! And what have I-"

"Draco," Harry said, voice very calm as he closed the distance between them and cupped Draco's face in his palms. "Take a breath, love."

He shook his head, hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, pressing kisses to Draco's forehead, his nose, his cheeks.

"I don't have anything to give you," he said, closing his eyes so he didn't have to watch the realization of that truth dawn on Harry's face.

"You are not what you do," Harry said softly. "Your value as a person isn't defined by what you give."

"But I can't give you anything."

"That isn't even true," Harry argued, pulling Draco into his arms. "Choosing to spend your free time with me when you could be doing a thousand other things is a gift. You give me your affection. You make me laugh, and you tease me, and you listen to me rant about my day. You open your home to me, your bed to me," he added softly, voice wrapping around Draco's fragile, bleeding heart. "You give me yourself, you let me see you, let me touch you, and hold you. You accept me in return. Circe, Draco, what more could I even ask for?"

"Harry," he whispered, wanting so badly to believe him.

"Your love language may be acts of service," he said, laughing a little and Draco huffed and rolled his eyes, "but mine isn't. Mine's quality time," he added. "And your secondary love language might be gifts, but my second is physical touch. We aren't the same," he said. "And that's a good thing," he added.

He gave in and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, dropping his head to his boyfriend's shoulder. "I'm afraid," he whispered.

"Of what?" Harry asked, letting his hands slide up and down his back.

"Of getting in too deep," he said. "That I'm going to fall for you completely and I won't be able to recover when you leave."

Harry hummed and kissed his temple, "Who says I'm going to leave?"

"It's hard to imagine that you want to stay when I'm such a mess, when I'm too afraid of you leaving to let you spend the night, when-"

"Draco," he tried to interrupt, squeezing him.

"-when I am constantly pushing you away," he finished.

Harry was quiet for a minute, then he said, "you aren't really pushing, you know." He let his fingers tangle in Draco's hair, "I hear what you're saying, but I'm not going anywhere, Draco. You can push and I won't leave."

He laughed, short and bitter, "You say that now but you haven't seen me at my worst."

Harry laughed at that, "I think we both know that's not true." He pulled back, "Sorry, but pretty much nothing you can do now will compare to the time you smashed my nose with the heel of your boot and left me under my invisibility cloak. And," he added, "there's not really much that I can do that would be worse than literally cutting you apart with my magic-"

"Because I was trying to crucio you," he inserted.

He shook his head, and pressed their foreheads together, "If you want me to leave, now or ever, you will have to say the actual words. I won't read those words in your actions or in your other words. You pushing right now actually just feels like you're trying to love me, so," he shrugged. "I'm pretty stubborn." He nudged Draco's nose with his, "I'm here for good."

"Do you promise?" Draco breathed before he could stop himself.

Harry pulled back, just far enough that he could look Draco in the eyes. He reached up and tucked Draco's hair behind his ear, "I love you," he said softly. "We've been together for over a year," he said, "but Draco, I've loved you for so much longer. I fell in love with you over pub nights, and consults for work, and watching you with your child," he shook his head. "You're amazing and I don't want to go anywhere." He cupped Draco's face in his palm, stroking his thumb over Draco's cheek, "I promise, love. I'm in this."

He exhaled, closed his eyes, and tried to let himself believe that, believe that he got to keep this.

"Draco," he said softly, "I," he swallowed, "I want to give you stability, whatever I can to show you that I mean it. I've wanted to ask you if you wanted to move in together," he said, sounding nervous. "But it seems presumptuous since me moving in with you makes the most sense logistically. And I've wanted to ask if you wanted to get married, but I know you've said-"

"You want to marry me?" he interrupted, eyes flying open to search Harry's face.

He nodded, earnest and dear, "Of course I do. I just," he shrugged, "you said marriage was the worst thing that ever happened to you and that Scorp was the only good thing-"

"Stop," he said, kissing Harry because he couldn't quite help himself. "Harry, I meant political marriages," he kissed him again because this felt like a proposal, like a huge declaration. "My marriage to Astoria where she just fucked off after she got her inheritance that had been contingent on having an heir, that marriage was shit. And I wouldn't trade Scorp, but I wanted a partner-" he broke off.

"Draco, I-" he broke off, shaking his head, "I want to be your partner, I would do anything for him, I would be anything-"

"Harry," he breathed because this couldn't be real, this couldn’t be happening.

Harry shook his head, "I know that I can't just jump in and be his dad, but Draco I love him so much, I would do anything."

He stared at Harry for a long moment before he leaned in and kissed him.

The other man kissed him back, pressing him back against the wall and caging him in with his body.

"I love you," Draco managed against Harry's mouth. "Salazar. Yes, Harry," he gasped. "Yes to any of it, to all of it. Whatever you'll have of me."

"I'll have all of you," he murmured, "Any bit that you'll give me." He pulled back and Draco almost tipped over. Harry steadied him with his hands around his waist, "Stay right here," he murmured, giddy and breathless, dimpled-smile so bright that Draco was nearly overcome. "Don't move," he repeated before leaving the kitchen.

Draco heard the closet in the entry way opening, then Harry was skidding back into the kitchen. He fell to his knees in front of Draco, opening a ring box and displaying a simple silver band.

"Marry me?" Harry whispered, eyes wet and smile bright.

Draco nodded and Harry's trembling fingers held out the band to him, slipping it over Draco's ring finger. Once it was in place, Draco fell to his knees in front of Harry and cupped his face in his palms.

"Thank you," he whispered and Draco found himself wiping the tears spilling from his eyes.

"I think I'm really getting the better end of the bargain here," he whispered back with a little laugh.

Harry shook his head and more tears spilled out, Draco's heart felt like it was bursting in his chest. "This is everything I've ever wanted," he replied.

Draco wrapped him up in his arms and hoped that he'd be worthy of that love, worthy of that claim. "Stay," he whispered.

Harry nodded back, "Always."

----------------

written for the @hdcandyheartsfest prompt 'love language'

Read more of my 2023 hdcandyhearts ficlets here.

[zippidi-dooda]

"Hey, Buddy," You say with a smile as your blond haired companion opened the front door.

His furrowed brow and deepset scowl immediately shifted into a look of surprise as Kaveh saw you standing on his doorstep.

"Y-Y/N? What are you ... It's so late, why aren't you at home?"

You handed him a grocery bag and stepped inside, closing the door behind you.

"Ehh, it's been a while since we hung out so I thought I'd stop by. Plus, you've been so busy lately you've ignored all my messages, you feelin' alright?"

He let out a groan and hit his forehead with a palm, "Ah, Sorry. This last project has just been a bit much. I've been trying to finish it as fast as possible so I can just forget about it already."

You tied your hair up as you made your way to his kitchen, reaching for all the tools you'd need to make what may have been his only meal of the day.

"How did I know," you muse rhetorically. "Well, I'm sure you already know that's a bad idea, so c'mon, might as well take your break while I'm here."

The tired male ambled over, placing the bag on the counter.

"Thanks." He mumbled. "How can I help?"

You placed two glasses on the table. "I'll handle it. Just sit there and tell me what you've been up to," you lifted a large bottle of wine from out of the bag you'd brought with you.

A smile made it's way across his lips. "If I don't see to the end of my project after this, I'm blaming you."

***

A few of glasses of wine and two full plates of stew later and Kaveh was wide awake. The slouched posture and tried tone had been replaced by expressive gestures and loud declarations.

Seeing him back to his regular self made you giggle, mind hazy from the smooth red liquid running through your system, and you dopily hung on to his every word.

And Kaveh didn't mention his project the whole time, so your mission to help him out of his overworking funk was a success.

You leaned into your palm, lazy smile on your face as he continued his speech that you were partially paying attention to.

"You know for once I'd like to just cruise through life easy, right? No all-nighters, no deadlines to catch, and no responsibilities. Just the chance to enjoy the fine things in life, ya know?"

"You're almost there." You reassured.

He snorted with a roll of his eyes, "Yeah, right. You know better than anyone that's not true. It's gonna take years before I can get even a trace of that life."

"Well ... I think this is fun too. You'd get bored of the constant luxury. Having little moments to indulge yourself is probably what makes nights like this more enjoyable."

"... you're spoutin' nonsense."

You let out a laugh, tears coming to your eyes, and he laughed along with you.

"Ah ... I'm so glad I met you, Kaveh, you're ridiculous."

"The only thing that's ridiculous here is your haircut. I mean, seriously, it's flying up everywhere I don't know how you manage it," he grumbled, reaching out to pat it down.

In reality he was only making it look as he described.

"I rock this look, excuse you. Besides you look as if you just got out of bed since I got here," you countered, reaching over to muss up his hair as well.

You twirled the blond locks between your fingers for a while before your hand fell to his face.

He was warm, face flushed from the wine, skin smooth to the touch.

His crimson eyes locked with yours as you began to caress his cheek.

"... you're soft ... like a baby," you murmured beginning to pinch at his cheeks. "Widdle baybay ...."

He recoiled, reaching up to push you away. "Stap!"

You giggled, leaning over the table to reach him better. "Aw, c'mon, I don't have your flawless skin, I jus' wanna feel a lil' bit."

He immediately brought his hands up to cover his face. "Nuh uh!"

You began to coo at him, making him giggle as you tickled in attempts get him to lower his hands.

Soon, you had forgotten your whole reason for tickling him and continued on even as he moved to try and pry your hands away from his sides.

"St-stop! Haha ... I have to pee ...!" He breathed out, curling back into his chair.

You continued to giggle and laugh, neither of you noticing the soft clicking of the front door or the heavy steps approaching you.

It wasn't until you heard a deep, monotonous voice behind you that you noticed someone had entered the house.

"What are you doing up so late?"

You squeaked, banging into the edge of the table and stumbling out of your chair to hide behind Kaveh.

The blond was quiet for a moment before letting out a long groan. "Just enjoyed a nice evening for once, something I'm sure you wouldn't know about."

The man who entered took a glance at you, striking teal and red eyes not revealing a hint of what he might be thinking stopping you in you in your thoughts.

"I don't remember saying you could bring a roommate."

Kaveh scoffed, folding his arms and crossing his legs indignantly, "Oh, relax, they just came to visit is all."

The man looked back at Kaveh. "For your sake, that better be true," he turned around and headed off to his room, "keep the noise down or I'm kicking you both out."

Kaveh mouth off silently behind him in mocking.

You watched the man silently as he walked away, catching onto the way the tips of his ashen hair bounced as he walked and the jut of his muscles moving beneath the tight, black fabric of his shirt and the curves tracing down just under his spine ...

"Ugh, Alhaitham is the worst." Kaveh spat, sipping the remainder of his wine.

You went to sit back in your chair. "I've heard the stories ... hot as hell though."

Kaveh buried his face in his hands, speaking in a low tone so he wouldn't hear, "damn right."

You leaned forward to press your head against the table, hand reaching up to pat Kaveh's hair.

He looked up at you after a moment. "Y/N, why are all the cute ones such assholes?"

You shrugged. "Not all of them are."

He gave you a bored look, "really? I'll believe it when I see it."

"Mm ... you're not an asshole."

He smiled softly at you.

"... thank you." He took your hand in his, brought it down to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to your palm.

"... what if you were my roommate? I mean, I'm sure we'd have hella more fun everyday. Plus, with you around I just might be able to tolerate that jerk a little more."

You chuckled. "Didn't he just shoot that idea down?"

"Forget that guy! It's high time I got my payback on him. Besides, as long as we mange to get rent in on time he won't have much to complain about."

"Pretty sure that's not how it works"

Kaveh sat up straight, holding both your hands in his now, and scooted closer.

"Move in with me please, save me from this misery."

It took a moment of hazed contemplation for you to nod along.

A tired smirk made its way across your lips, "Got the paperwork lyin' around?"

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 61 The Cathedral Killing

Akinator doesn't know irratino cry

omg chonkers and umbah

I was up until 3 AM writing this because... shit happened

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Irratino has to cross the border to Drakonia. But how? He can’t just enter without an invitation. Luckily, through the power of esotericism, he finds a solution. He’ll crawl under the gate.

It’s not easy, and he gets quite injured in the process, but bodily harm is a small price to pay for finding Logico again.

At the People’s Cathedral Community Center, a bunch of people who aren’t from Drakonia wander around outside. I thought you needed an invite to enter? Irratino is especially worried about Tangerine, who seems to be following him everywhere. Or he’s just paranoid.

A dead human lies in front of the building, no surprise there. There’s also Miss Saffron and the real Officer Copper. And Chalkers! Irratino must delve deep into these people’s religions… out of sheer curiosity!

COPPER: You haven’t said a thing since you came over here. It’s freaking me out. IRRATINO: Oh… s-sorry. So… what’s everyone’s religion?

They stare at him like he’s insane.

TANGERINE: I believe in the Church. IRRATINO: Really? TANGERINE: Why is that surprising? IRRATINO: Well… it’s just hard to believe anyone believes in that Church considering who works there.

Tange shrugs. Their entire personality seems to consist of shrugging. Irratino reads a scripture on the side of the building.

IRRATINO: Latin has always been my favorite language.

It’s not Latin, it’s just scrambled letters. Maybe if he knew as much Latin as he says he does, he’d figure that out.

COPPER: Hey. IRRATINO: Hm? COPPER: Uhh… did my uh… Did the Constable manage to off Logico. IRRATINO: No. COPPER: Oh. Um… well… that’s… fine I guess. I’ll get him eventually? GO LOOK FOR CLUES ALREADY YOU IDIOT!! Look at that llama-faced wuss over there. He was chugging down so much wine! There’s no WAY he’s not a killer.

Chalk is pretending to be a statue.

IRRATINO: Uh… Chalk? CHALK: … IRRATINO: Chairman. CHALK: … IRRATINO: Hey Chalkers. CHALK: Nnnngh don’t call me Chalkers!! [cries] IRRATINO: I’m just trying to find out everyone’s religion. The prayer beads around the victim’s neck pertain to a specific belief system. CHALK: I… I… I… NOOOOOO!

He collapses.

IRRATINO: ??? CHALK: I’m an… ATHEIST. Don’t kill me! I knew the Church would kill me. PLEASE DON’T KILL ME- IRRATINO: Buddy, you’re alright.

Chalkers stares at him with a llama face and Irratino awkwardly pets his nose.

IRRATINO: Eheh. I’m [ahem] ‘friends’ with an atheist. Everyone has their own beliefs! But I have to ask, why were you on the altar? CHALK: I was pretending to be a statue. Lord Lavender says I have a statuesque figure… IRRATINO: … Anyway, Copper.  COPPER: OFFICER Copper to you, PEASANT! IRRATINO: Whatever! What religion do you belong to? COPPER: Huh. I never really thought about that. I’m kinda into the New Age myself. IRRATINO: You… what??

He tries to imagine her in a hippie outfit, and despises what he sees. He has to move on to erase that image from his head. Saffron has been strutting around the whole time, oblivious to everything. 

SAFFRON: Who, me? I LOVE the St. Lupinian Orthodox! IRRATINO: Aha! You’re the killer! SAFFRON: Got me! This whole community center is an AFFRONT to my religion! It’s been stolen from me, and turned into a den of iniquity!

It’s hard to take her seriously, as she still has a giant grin. It’s hard to take her seriously regardless.

He may be in Drakonia, but this exchange got Irratino nowhere closer to Logico. 

The end!

At least he's closer to Logico than he was for like the past ten episodes

So apparently in canon Irratino has not been checking his phone, but I had no way of knowing that and also Irratino bbg check your phone??? Like... huh???? wouldn't that be the #1 thing to do?

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[r1zingclouds]

"You can consume alcohol, but don't let it consume you" - Murakumo Ten Initial SR Card Story TL

This translation was originally posted on my X.

Part 1:

Kafka: Ten, having a nightcap again?

Kafka: Once in a while is fine, but isn’t drinking every night a bit much? Your quality of sleep will take a hit, too.

Ten: Now, now, the Boss, don’t you worry about that. This is just right for me.

Ten: (I can’t stand people butting into my routine.)

Renga: That’s right, Kafka. Ten likes alcohol, but doesn’t drink recklessly.

Renga: I saw it when we went drinking together, he looked completely fine!

No need to worry.

Kafka: I see. I guess that’s reassuring, coming from his drinking buddy.

Ten: (To think Renga-san would back me up…)

Ten: Well there you have it, moving on...

Renga: …

Ten: …

Ten: Renga-san? Kinda hard to drink with you staring at me like this.

Renga: Ah, my bad! You can just ignore me!

Ten:  That’s the problem, I can’t.

Renga: I was just thinking, I’d like to hold my liquor as well as you one day, and before I knew it…

Ten: Ah, right. You were out like a light, weren’t you.

Renga: Tha-That was just one time! I was just more tired than usual…

Ten: Haha, is that so~? Would have been risky if you were a girl, y’know.

Ten: (It’s not like he’d become a stronger drinker from it, though… Well, just shows how taken he is with me. Just as planned.)

Ten: Then, just for today.

Renga: Sure! Thanks!

Kafka: (Fufu. These two have something interesting going on.)

Part 2

Staff member: Renga-san, that’s a wrap for today’s shooting! Thank you very much!

Whole staff: Good work today!

Renga: Phew. I can’t wait to see how the pictures turn out.

Capable producer: Renga-san, you like wine, don’t you? We’ve prepared a bottle of vintage as refreshments for today’s shoot.

Renga: Ah… Thanks.

Renga: (It might be because of the variety show I went on before, but I’m getting more of this kind of stuff recently…)

Capable producer: Please, don’t look at it so doubtfully, it’s real vintage!

Just as you say, “I only settle for the real deal!”

Staff member: Producer, why are you the one saying the line when we have the “real deal” right here?

Renga: Ha, haha… Right.

Renga: (I’m glad, but what should I do with this… Ah, I wonder if Ten would be happy if I gifted it to him.)

Renga: I’m back~ Huh, where’s Kafka?

Ten: Looks like the Boss is doing overtime tonight.

Renga: Is that so… Oh, by the way, I got a souvenir for you, Ten.

Renga: …Ta-da!

Renga: It’s vintage wine. The producer gave it to me, so I think it must be good! Hey, let's drink this together!.

Ten: Ah, my bad. I don’t drink wine.

Renga: ??

Ten: (Though I’m sure I could take it better than him… Wine’s the only thing that’ll easily get me drunk.)

Ten: Well, why don’t I drink sake, and you drink the wine?

Ten: That way, we’d still be drinking together.

Renga: That works! Alright, let’s do that!

Renga: I'm tellin' ya~~ Tha-at kind side o' yours, it shows ya're a good guy, Ten!

Ten: Yup, yup, this is the third time you’ve said this.

Ten: (And he hasn’t even finished one glass, yet.)

Renga: Nuh-uh! I’m not done yet!  Ten, ya wayyy nicer than ya look!

Ten: Oh, dissing me now?

Renga: Nn… Mhmmn…

Ten: Renga-saan, if you sleep with your stomach out you’ll catch a cold. 

Renga: Ten, when the roses bloom, gonna shoooow ya…

Ten: (Roses? What’s he on about?)

Ten: Oh boy.

Renga: Ten, let’s go drinkin’ agaiiin…

Ten: … C’mon, let’s get you tucked in the futon.

Ten: (What a hopeless guy…)

[crowleys-hips]

For Laura @wibbly-wobbly-blog Based on our stupid headcanon that they get a pet ___ by accident when they're living in the South Downs. Chaos ensues. Happy Birthday!

summary:

Crowley finds a crippled, dirty rat as he's coming out of the grocery store. Or at least, what he presumes is a rat. He's delighted with it and takes it home. Aziraphale is shocked at the strange creature and insists they have it checked to make sure it's a rat. It is not a rat. They keep it anyway.

Crowley stops his shopping cart as he spots an odd movement on the sidewalk and peers down. A little creature is viciously gnawing at a wet piece of cardboard next to the garbage bin. Its hind legs are missing, its tail is awfully crooked, and its entire tiny body is covered in some black, slimy thing. Mud, or oil probably. Downright filthy. He makes a disconcerted face at it and leans down. The creature peels its teeth at him.

“Oh, you poor rat. Here, let’s take you home buddy. We’ll get you cleaned up,” he tells the creature, and without thinking it twice, he miracles a cardboard box and carefully scoops up the little fella. “In you go.” The creature wiggles in his hand and growls in what it hopes is a ferocious and threatening way. It sounds more like a deflating cat.

Crowley puts the box in the front seat and bundles the groceries in the trunk, then climbs into the driver’s seat and turns to the box beside him, putting it on his lap.

“Alright, it’s been a looong time since I’ve done animals, it was never my field of expertise if I’m honest, but I’ll do my best. You ready?”

The creature peers up at him with big, round, beady eyes expectantly. Crowley snaps all the filth out of the creature, revealing its tawny brown fur, all squeaky clean now. Then he concentrates for a second, willing brand new ratty hind legs for the little thing and righting its thin, brown tail. It doesn’t react at first, but soon it becomes aware of its new limbs and tentatively stretches a little leg. It seems to like it, so it wiggles a little foot and twirls around in place, testing out its new limbs.

“All better! See? You’re welcome,” Crowley smiles proudly to himself as he settles the box in the back seat. “You’re gonna love your new home, ratty.”

The drive home is swift and calm. He hears some whiny squeaking in the back, but it’s to be expected from a startled, newly rescued creature he thinks. What do rats eat? He briefly wonders, but decides to worry about that later. He’s got a whole bundle of fresh groceries in the back, it’ll probably like something .

As he pulls over in the driveway of the cottage, he honks twice to signal he’s home with the groceries. He steps out of the car and not five seconds later, Aziraphale is at the door, greeting him with that radiant smile of his.

“Hey, angel,” he waves.

“You’re back early,” he says as he walks up to him and leans up for a kiss. “Did you get everything?”

“Oh, I got more than everything,” He says with a cheeky smile, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I brought a little surprise.”

This, of course, isn’t unusual of Crowley. He often surprises Aziraphale with all kinds of little gifts. Flowers, chocolates, desserts, fine wine, tickets for a play or an opera, a new first edition that Aziraphale had been wanting that he just happened to come across. All sorts of things. The angel is spoiled rotten. But that wicked smile on Crowley’s face borders on manic. There’s something he’s not telling. Aziraphale smells mischief.

“What did you get?” He narrows his eyes at him.

“Wait and see,” he laughs and kisses Aziraphale’s little pout. “Help me get the groceries inside, then I’ll show you.”

Aziraphael huffs and watches him walk to the back of the car. He doesn’t notice the box in the backseat.

Once all the bags are in the kitchen, Crowley stops Aziraphale in his tracks.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” He kisses his forehead and bolts out the door, leaving a baffled angel in the hallway.

He comes back with the box in his hands, looking like he just won first prize at the first grade spelling bee.

“Surprise!” He lowers the box so he can see the little creature inside. “I found us a pet rat!”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen at the sight of the creature. It peers up at him with big googly eyes. “What is that?”

“I just told you, it’s a rat!”

Aziraphale is nonplussed. “What in Heaven-”

“Oh, don’t give me that look, angel. The little fella was in trouble! I found it by a trash bin on the sidewalk outside the grocery store, without hind legs, a broken tail, and covered in filth! What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave it there. And besides, rats are very useful to keep around, you know, they’re great informants if you train them well and-”

“Yes, yes sweetheart, that’s all great,” he interrupts before he can keep rambling on, placing gentle hands on his upper arms. “I’m glad you rescued this…creature,” he looks at it doubtfully.

“...But?” he looks at him expectantly, almost pleadingly.

“I don’t think…Darling, I don’t think that’s a rat at all.”

Now it’s Crowley’s turn to look absolutely baffled. “What do you mean it’s not a rat? Of course it’s a rat! I think I know a rat when I see one,” he scoffs.

“It’s just. The head, look at its head, it’s too wide,” Aziraphale tries to explain patiently. “And I think it’s a little too big to be a rat-”

“What, so now rats can’t be a bit on the large side? That’s a bit hypocritic-”

“Don’t even go there,” He warns. Then, under his breath, “Thoughtyoulikedmesoft,” he looks off to the side, indignant.

“Angel, of course I do! Don't put words in my mouth. I love you! You’re gorgeous!”

Aziraphale can’t help his little grin.

“Point is. This rat needed help. So I brought it home.”

He sighs. “Dear. How should I put this?” He covers his hands with his palms on the sides of the box. “We can keep it, but-”

“Yeah?” Crowley smiles brightly.

“Yes. But we have to find out what kind of creature it is.”

“But-”

“Crowley I’m pretty sure it’s not a rat. It’s all wrong! Its body and legs just don’t match up!”

“Excuse me? I gave it those perfect ratty legs!”

“That doesn’t mean the creature originally had rat legs.”

“How would you know? Were you the original chief rat designer?”

“Well no, but neither were you-”

“But! But I’ve worked with rats before,” he points out. “They’ve helped me out on quite a few projects. I think I know a thing or two.”

“I just think we should verify it with an expert, just to be sure,” he gives him a stern look.

Crowley lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, knowing that if he doesn’t accept defeat now, this will go on forever and ever and ever, and he’d much rather be having dinner right now. And he’s pretty sure the rat would too. “Alright. Fine.”

Aziraphale grins in his small victory and leans in to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll go finish preparing dinner. Would you help me by putting the groceries away and setting the table?”

Crowley gazes back at him reluctantly. “What's for dinner?”

“Baked salmon and Mediterranean salad, with your fresh cherry tomatoes,” he smiles proudly.

“Yusssss!”

They have a nice dinner, and feed the (presumed) rat its own little piece of salmon with a small side of sliced cherry tomatoes and water in a little bowl.

When they're getting ready to go to bed, Crowley sets the box down beside his side of the bed and picks up the feisty little creature to help it get comfortable in its temporary setup by adding a couple fluffy towels to the base of the box. It promptly tries to bite his hand off.

“Ouch! You little shit!” he mutters and drops the creature on the floor along with the towels.

The creature scurries under the bed and growls at him from the shadows.

“Oh, no you don't. No wandering around the house just yet. Gotta show you around first so you won't get lost,” he tells the creature as he folds the towels into the box, creating a nest-like little thing for it.”C’mon now,” he whistles at it, beckoning it to come out.

It hisses at him. Crowley frowns. That's always worked with rats before. He tries whistling again but it stays put. He sighs and curls his finger up twice, magically pulling the creature out from under the bed. It is not pleased and it dares to scream at him. Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. That's a new one. He's never heard a rat scream before, but he chalks it up to just nature being weird as usual. In favor of keeping his hand attached to his arm, he levitates the wriggling creature into its new makeshift bed. He watches it stand up on its hind legs and glare up at him menacingly with those big black eyes.

“Sweetheart?” Aziraphale pops his head out of the adjacent bathroom.

“Yeah?” Crowley glances up at him.

“The bath is ready. C’mon,” he smiles.

Crowley grins, giving the rat one last stern glance, and trots up to meet him in the bathroom and lets him help him out of his clothes as he does the same for him.

“I don't think the ratty likes me much,” he mumbles as they sit together in the tub after having washed each other.

“Why do you say that?” Aziraphale peers up at him from where he's nestled comfortably on his chest.

“It bit me, look!” He lifts his hand and shows him the tiny teeth marks on the back of his hand. “And it screamed at me when I pulled it out from under the bed.”

Aziraphale lifts an eyebrow. “I don't think rats scream.”

“Well, this one does.”

The angel sighs and presses a lingering kiss to the back of his hand, healing the mark. “Just give it time, dear. It's probably just not used to being cared for. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

Crowley frowns. “Who?”

Aziraphale snickers under his breath and turns around to face him. “You, silly.”

“Are you comparing me to a rat?”

“I'm just pointing out a similarity.”

Crowley grumbles, and Aziraphale kisses his pout. Crowley dissolves into his lips.

They have to wash up all over again after that.

The next day, they take the (presumed) rat to a veterinarian and it gets diagnosed with, to quote the doctor himself, “It seems to be a young chihuahua with a slight deformation on its hind legs. Where did you say you found it?”

Crowley freezes time and stands still for a moment, clenching his jaw. Aziraphale bites back his I told you so and looks back and forth between the frozen doctor, Crowley, and the apparent chihuahua.

“Dear?”

“What the FUCK.”

They're sent home with a newly vaccinated chihuahua (with newly restored chihuahua legs thanks to Aziraphale), some dog food, and a few other supplies for the new member of the family. Crowley half considers walking straight into the ocean and never looking back. He sulks the entire drive home.

“It's not so bad, dear, really. Easy mistake to make,” Aziraphale says, trying to soothe his mortifying humiliation. “They're both such small creatures, how were you to know it was a dog?”

“Nrrgghh,” says Crowley.

“We don't have to keep it if it upsets you. We could give it into adoption-”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Nghh it's just. It's just. It's not their fault they were thrown out onto the streets like that, and I picked them up and it would feel wrong to just kick them out again.”

“I see,” he pats his thigh gently. “Well then, we'll just have to learn how to take care of it then.”

“Can't be that hard. We’ve already raised a kid, how much different can it be?”

Not even a month later, The tiny dog-not-a-rat and Crowley are inseparable. They name her Ratty at Crowley’s insistence. Crowley becomes obsessed with teaching her little tricks like twirl, roll over, fetch, jump through a hoop, and to Aziraphale’s aggravation - hide books (only the small ones since she can't handle more than that), steal Aziraphale’s spectacles, and interrupt reading time with endless yapping. To make up for it, he also teaches her to deliver small gifts, like love letters tied to her back with a bow, little boxes of sweets, and flowers from the garden. Aziraphale is over the moon and welcomes the new attention wholeheartedly.

Then Crowley makes a tiktok account for her.

[noisyquokka]

So Unserious

PAIRING - Kevin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Classic Slasher movies are so unserious…

WORDCOUNT - 1.6k

WARNINGS - Humor, Fluff, Spoilers for twenty to thirty year old slasher movies (for those of you who care about that kind of thing), some banter, established relationship, dialogue heavy

A/N - I'm curious how many of you who are into the older slasher films know which film is first mentioned. It's honestly one of my favorites, though I'm fond of all of the mentioned titles.

The two of you sit in the dark bedroom, a bowl of popcorn between you, bodies spread across the blankets that act as your "seating area." Kevin's laptop sits atop one of your pillows, its screen emitting a soft glow as a younger Ted Raimi appears.

“You think the Director just told Ted Raimi to have a good time doing most of this movie? Like 'just go nuts, buddy'?” Kevin tosses a piece of popcorn your way, missing your open mouth by mere centimeters. You take the morsel between your fingers, blinking at the laptop sitting in front of you.

“Before he was stuck with a knife in the skull? Yeah,” You pop the piece into your mouth, tilting your head toward him. “Yeah, I think they did.”

"Uh, hello!? Spoilers!?" Kevin throws his arms up, dramatic in nature.

"Oh, right. I forgot you're not a man of culture..." You bring your can of soda into view, swirling the liquid inside as if you're drinking a fine wine. Kevin chuffs a laugh, shooting you a bombastic side-eye in a way only he can. 

“I thought we were making fun of these movies, but I guess I wasn’t filled in on the added shots that would be fired my way.” He mutters, reaching over the side of the bed for the many snack bags on the floor below. Your eyes twinkle with amusement of your own, waving him off with a chuckle.

“Oh, come on! It’s a thirty year old movie."

“There are better movies than this one.” He argues, the bag in his grip squealing as he tears it open.

“Sleepaway Camp?” You offer.

“Haven’t seen it.”

Your jaw drops, tapping the spacebar on the laptop to pause the current movie. Kevin’s brows knit together as you turn to him, your hands cradling your own cheeks.

“We are watching that later, but I must warn you of the cringe you will be subjected to.”

“Sure, but can we get back to Ted and his groovin’ moves, please?” Kevin asks, unpausing the movie without an answer. You both settle back, watching as the unknown killer walks away from yet another victim all whilst Ted Raimi keeps working it.

“Alright, so far, who are we rooting for to survive?” You pop the question with such nonchalance that Kevin has to let the words register in his head.

“Bub is my kind of guy, but Ted Raimi is doing the least and if you wouldn’t have spoiled his death for me, I would’ve definitely rooted for Ted to get out alive.”

“Do you even know Ted Raimi’s character in this movie?” You arch a brow at him, popping another handful of fluffy kernels in your mouth.

“Nope, and I’m choosing to call him Ted Raimi out of spite of you spoiling this movie for me!” Kevin sticks his tongue out and you roll your eyes. As if you spoiled the entirety of the plot. He’ll never recover.

—

“What sane person is just like ‘oh, we’re selling our establishment, better kill off my business bud and then all our employees’ like this man has never had a normal conversation about his feelings in his life!?”

You’re clutching your side in uncontrollable laughter as Kevin finally gets the grand reveal of the killer, dots connected and chase scenes begin. He’s sitting beside you just going off, many strong points being made.

“To be fair, it’s the 80s. Men didn’t talk openly about their feelings back then.” You say, rolling onto your back as you catch your breath.

Kevin holds a finger up in solidarity, your lips quirking in a teasing smirk. 

“I’m trying to hand it to Blondie though, even if some of her choices are questionable right now.” You guys have been on your second bowl of popcorn, going on the third at this rate, and Kevin’s remarks are making it taste a little better with the added sprinkle of humor. You’re just basking in a good ole rewatch and reaction.

“What are these windows made of? Plexiglass?”

“Why wouldn’t she go in there, what if there’s an extra key to unlock the front doors in Danny’s desk?”

“Why the hell is a dead man’s head THE weapon!?”

“Yes, Girl, call the cops!”

“How is this man sTILL ALIVE! YOU WERE STABBED IN THE CHEST, MY GUY!”

“GET HIM CRAIG- ohhh not in between the fingers…”

As the credits roll, you watch Kevin lean forward, elbows on his knees, visibly unhappy with the ending of the movie. His head in his hands, full-on disappointment etching his features that are visible between his fingers. And you’re right beside him, hiding a smile behind thinned lips. 

“Well... I’m gonna get us a refill on popcorn and drinks.” You’re quick to slip the blanket off your legs, sliding out of bed and grabbing the empty bowl and other items around the space. There’s something muttered as you leave, but you don’t catch it. Instead you remind him he can choose the next film to watch.

By the time you’re back, drinks and fresh popcorn in hand, Kevin’s already got the next movie running. You recognize the movie score immediately.

“Friday The 13th?”

He nods, taking the bowl of popcorn you hand him.

“We get to listen to Alice run through the woods, screaming like a dumbass!”

“Yeah, just have to wait like ninety minutes into the movie.” You quip, placing the drinks on the nightstand and hopping into bed with a huff. 

“Isn’t that why we’re here? To make fun of silly slasher flicks?” Kevin questions, shooting you a look.

You pull the blanket up your legs, leaning so your head rests on Kevin’s shoulder. He tilts his head to the side, resting his temple against your skull. Your body shifts as you get comfortable.

“Perhaps.” You mutter, reaching over to grab some popcorn from the bowl, your gaze landing on the screen as the iconic theme music plays over the opening credits of the film. You sigh with exasperation as the screaming begins, the first camp counselors dying to the unseen killer.

“You can’t tell me these camps are so big that no one can hear these people screaming. Are you kidding me?”

“You’re using your brain, actually being rational. They literally talk about Jason in the second movie as if he’s the one who murdered everyone in the first one.”

“They also gave Terry that dog and she gave no shits about her own dog when it went missing. That was her dog, right?” You glance up at Kevin with furrowed brows, who just blinks.

“Yes?” He sounds unsure, himself.

“I just feel like if this happened in real life, no one would be excited to go to a camp where terrors took place. Most parents wouldn’t send their kids there.” 

“Nah, parents would send their kids anywhere for some peace and quiet.”

“Kevin!!” You scold, shifting on your side to find his brown eyes once again. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle at the action. 

"I think it's like a right of passage or something." Kevin says with a shrug, pulling you closer as he speaks. You roll your eyes at the answer, shaking your head with a groan.

"Yeah, because it's a smart idea to send your kid to a place where they could get murdered by some random killer." You exclaim, humming an affirmative. "That sounds smart. What could possibly go wrong?" You raise an eyebrow at Kevin, the corner of your mouth turning up into a crooked grin.

Through all of your back and forth, you hadn’t realized how much time went by that you’re already to Marcie’s death scene. The camera panning to the shower curtain, fingers peeking around the flimsy material. And Marcie just looking for trouble as she searches the shower stalls thinking that her fellow counselors are pranking her.

You stifle a laugh, your tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth as she turns around to meet the killer, an ax coming down into her head as she screams.

"Oh, it's not funny!" Kevin chastises, his eyes falling back to the screen. "She can't help that she's trapped in the script."

You can't help but giggle quietly, your eyes still glued on the scene. The camera cuts to the swinging light in the showers for a moment before cutting back to the group at the cabin.

“I love how her first thought as the slasher is about to kill her is to not fight back or run, but to stand there and scream for the few moments she has to actually attempt an escape.” You say, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“What did you want her to do?” Kevin asks with a smirk. “Kick the killer in the gonads and run away?”

“That’s what I would do! A kick to the nads hurts, no matter your makeup.”

“Even Mrs. Voorhees?”

“I’m not above kicking an old woman in the hoo ha if it means I survive her crazed murder spree.” You wave a hand toward the laptop, “That’s what Alice would have done if she were smart.”

“Unfortunately that wasn’t in her script.” Kevin replies, sarcasm strong in his tone. “Nor was taking the Jeep that Mrs. Voorhees drove up in. Even with Annie’s corpse in the passenger seat, I would’ve been the hell outta there!”

“Let’s be honest, though. Betsy Palmer’s performance in this movie is and will forever be iconic.” 

You’re getting tired, Kevin notes. Your tone is lowering and you’re starting to slur your words, sagging deeper into his side as the end of the movie gets closer and closer. Still, he feels the need to ask.

“Are you up for another movie after this?” He asks, to which you click your tongue.

“Of course! My choice, cause you chose last.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, but agrees.

“Which one?”

“Killer Sofa.”

“That’s not a slasher.”

“You’re trying to tell me a couch that kills off people in a haze of passion isn’t a slasher?!”

“It’s not even a sofa, first off. It’s a recliner.”

“Do we have to be so technical? We’re watching it anyway.” Your arm juts out to close the tab you had open, searching for said movie now that Friday The 13th has ended. Kevin swats your hand away, but continues where you left off. A smile finds your lips.

“You’re too easy.” You tease.

“Yeah, yeah, Killer Sofa it is.”

SPOOKTOBER MASTERLIST