#sometime truck drivers are awful

[rebirthofartemis]

Someone gouge out my eyeballs. Pretty please.

[studiogrimm810]

A Song of Glass

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: the impala gets t-boned by a drunk driver

warnings: blood/blood loss, car crash, head trauma, slightly graphic depictions of injuries sustained in said crash, loss of consciousness

word count: 2,345

A/N: any and all feedback is appreciated ^.^

———————

You toned out whatever Sam and Dean were arguing about, it was something minute and brotherly that was more annoying than angering. You leaned your head back into the firm leather headrests of the backseat of the impala. it was late, you're pretty sure the boys are just tired and easily irksome so you chuckled to yourself at certain comebacks they flew at each other.

“Dean, come on, it’s not a big deal,” Sam sighed, running a hand down his face.

“It is, Sam! Just because we share a lot of things does not give you the right to finish off Sandy's Apple Pie!” Dean thunders, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left arm resting outside of the window, drumming his fingers against the outside of Baby anxiously.

“We can just drive back and get more,” Sam argues, trying to hold back a laugh at how worked up Dean got about simple things like this.

“It's a two day drive and you know we never make it up to Maine,” Dean glares over at his brother, still gripping the steering wheel. Sam just scoffed and looked out the window, which pissed Dean off more due to Sam's apparent lack of caring.

You chuckle to yourself, stealing glances between you and Sam. You didn’t want to get him in more trouble so you just looked back out the window and watched the moon in the sky follow the car.

The sound of shattering glass is an odd sound, something that most people know how to identify easily. it’s often you hear glass shatter in a TV show or movie and even sometimes in a kitchen. Something about that glass, though, is that it’s muted, small and quick, but now you hear the instant crackle that veins through the Impalas windows and something about hearing it in person right next to your eardrums makes you recoil.

Shards of glass spray past your face, biting at your cheeks. The window on the side of the Impala shatters first and the windshield follows suit like a wave.

The pitch of the glass cuts through the car like a bell.

Or maybe that was just your ears ringing.

You don’t have time to discern either or because the crunch metal rings along with the staunch melody of glass singing through the air.

You gasp, a sharp intake of breath that pulls in a few small shards that now make your mouth taste of iron, and your body is punched by the hood of some shitty pickup with unnecessarily bright lights that make your eyes sting. Your body is punted to the other end of the back seat and you land on your shoulder with a loud crack, waiting for the feeling to erupt. However, the horn of the truck starts blaring and now your ears are really feeling the effects of the awful sounds around you.

Your ears are ringing, your vision is lagged, your face stings, you taste metal and- Oh God, your shoulder really hurts now.

You cry out, it’s all you can do because the collided vehicles are skidding across the intersection. burnt rubber and gas fill your nostrils and it makes you nauseous. You can see movement in the front seat - the boys being jostled by the truck as well - but you can barely hold onto a point of focus so you just see shadows and glimpses.

Finally, the cars screech to a halt and Baby sounds rough. Her engine is groaning and making some sputtering sound that Dean could kill the other driver alone for causing if he was awake. The pickup's horn is still blaring, probably signaling that the driver is also unconscious. You can hear someone moving around in the front but you can make no effort to get up.

Sam is shaking Dean, trying to get him to wake back up but a drip of blood down his temple makes Sam sick. He quickly yanks out his phone and calls for an ambulance, making the conversation quick as he moves to lean over the back seat to reach you.

Being the person who usually rides in the back seat, you’ve gotten used to your own setup. Usually, you have a blanket and some sort of entertainment and you often take your shoes off. Point is, you got very comfortable- so comfortable that you often didn’t wear a seatbelt due to the restriction of movement and Sam always bothered you about it but he often gave up. He just might regret that choice for the rest of his life.

Sam looks back to see your body laying in the backseat, almost like you were sleeping. your dislocated shoulder was the one you were laying on- but he didn’t know of  the injury. Sam just saw the blood running from the multiple cuts in your face and a few shards of glass stuck in your skin. He called out your name next, begging for one of you to wake up.

You groan, your head throbbing and the truck's horn is still blaring, making you want to scream.

Sam is still talking, talking about something you can’t hear because of that fucking horn slicing through your ears. it reminds you of the sharp, nasty sound of glass shattering just won’t stop. That's all you start to hear, glass. The glass. That’s it.

That’s all you feel. The glass slicing your skin and raining over you like beads of acid.

That's all you see. Glistening specks like sparkles that reflect the God-awful LEDs of the pick up, littered around the Impala.

That's all you hear. Piercing car horns and Sam's distraught calls for you or his brother. Then, the distant sirens of the ambulance that Sam called.

Your senses start to fade back in, the pain in your shoulder being the focal-point, but when you try to lift your head up they fade back out until you’re dizzy again and your ears are ringing.

“Hey- hey, can you hear me?” Sam is calling for you from the front seat. When he sees that you’re (somewhat) conscious he shoves himself out of the car and around to open the back door to get a better look at you. “Roll over but just- be careful,” he places his hands on your shoulders to adjust you on your back but your cry of pain makes him stop immediately. “What? What is it, honey?” He asks and you look up at him to see three of him, his puppy-dog eyes shimmering like the glass around them and his face showing the tracks of the shards. He was obviously heavily impacted by the crash, but he seemed to have enough adrenaline to push past his non-life threatening injuries.

“Sh-“ you start to speak, “shoulder- my sh-“ you hope he could hear you well enough, talking felt like it took all the oxygen in your lungs plus some extra muscle.

“Okay,” he says with a few nods, his hands ready to aid but his mind blank on what exactly to do.

The horn finally goes silent and you worry that maybe you’ve gone deaf or maybe you’re unconscious, but the sound of the truck door squeaking otherwise signals that the driver is now awake.

“Oh shit- fuck, man,” a gruff voice slurs out, “I- I didn’t see ya, honest!” The man stumbles around to Sam crouched at the back of the Impala. “Damn…” he sways- drunk. He’s fucking drunk.

Sam would see red if he could afford to, but he chooses to try and ignore the bubbling anger and instead focus on you. You both could now hear sirens and a small wave of relief washed over sam.

“Okay, honey. If your shoulder is hurt then I need to turn you over and off it, okay?” Sam says, his tone regrettable but knowing he needs to do this. You groan at the thought but let Sam do what he needs to. You give him a small nod as a go-ahead. Sam slips one of his hands along your back to avoid your hurt shoulder and one on your good shoulder to position you gently and slowly on your back. You whimper pathetically as he maneuvers you and you’d be embarrassed if you cared at all. He mumbles soft reassurances followed by your name to coax you back to full awareness, but the blood loss is getting to be too much.

Now on your back, Sam gets a good look at your shoulder that is grossly misshapen and he immediately can tell that it's dislocated. he winced at the injury before his face fell completely at the deep patch of blood staining your shirt. He felt like he was going to be sick.

His brother was completely unconscious, the person he loved was bleeding out in front of him and this drunk idiot behind him wouldn’t stop blabbering about nonsense.

The sirens approach closer, the lights flashing around them, a whirlpool of red and white and bouncing off of the crystals of glass scattered around them.

Sam can’t help the sob that escapes him, trembling through his body as his hand caresses your cheek. He's looking down at you, and the way you're laid out in the backseat would make a good spider-man kiss moment, but you keep that thought to yourself. 

Sam's face starts to blur and the edges of your vision start to cone, narrowing your sight. You look up at him for as long as you can but your body soon goes limp from exhaustion and pain.

———

A steady ping of a machine annoys you awake, the constant beep becoming tedious. Before you can even open your eyes though, you feel an aching ring of pain wrapped around your skull and a dull throbbing in your stomach and shoulder. You whimper softly at the feeling, trying to pry your eyes open.

You then hear rustling nearby and feel a warm hand envelop your own.

“Can you hear me?” The voice is muffled, saying quite a few things but you can only make that out.

You finally get your eyes pried open and you look up at the same blurry face you had just closed your eyes on, Sam.

“Hey, there you are,” he smiles, his voice low and soothing. it sounds more like he’s speaking for himself than for her to hear him. He sounds so relieved but so hurt at the same time.

“How’re you feeling, honey?” He asks, almost like a hum, all low and full of love, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to speak but your throat is dry and scratchy, you end up coughing instead.

“Here, hold on,” Sam stands and walks over to grab a cup of water and bring it back to you to drink. You get to see the full extent of his injuries and your heart squeezes with worry. He has a cast on his right wrist and a set of stitches on his cheek. The t-shirt he’s wearing has exposed thick gauze wrapped around his bicep.

You take a few sips and the first thing you can mutter out is “are you okay?” which makes sam chuckle lightly. He reached back for your hand before speaking again.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby, I'm fine,” he reassures, but you can’t help it.

“No,” you shake your head softly, “Sam, you’re hurt.”

“But I'm standing, you on the other hand,” he tilts his head softly to the hospital bed you’re in. You look down at yourself to see sling on your hurt shoulder. Then, you slowly lift up your blanket to look at the patch of bandages on your abdomen. “You had a piece of glass deep in your stomach, you had surgery,” he explains, the previous lighthearted humor fallen from his face and melted into worry and exhaustion. “You'll be okay,” he nods softly, “but you gave me one hell of a scare.” He's trying to be nonchalant again but he fails miserably and you can tell the toll this whole ordeal has had on him.

“How long was it?” you ask, your voice still rough but getting stronger.

“3 days,” he says, rubbing your hand softly. You take in the information, letting it all sink in for a moment. a thought pushes all other thoughts aside.

“Dean,” you blurt out, unable to form a sentence quick enough. Sam's face softens to a hint of relief for a moment.

“He's okay,” he nods quickly, “he’s back at the motel. He had a concussion and a few broken ribs but he’s fine. We were both discharged the day after the crash,” he explains, looking down at your intertwined fingers, guilt pooling in his stomach. “You got it pretty rough, all ‘cause of that damn seatbelt that I didn’t-“ he stops himself, his voice cracking.

Your shoulders slump slightly, heartbroken that he’s found a way to blame himself. “Sam, no, don’t do that,” you shake your head softly, rubbing his knuckles. “I should've been wearing it, it’s not your fault,” you assure.

“But I-“

“No, sam. I won't let you feel guilty over this. I'm the one who should’ve been wearing it and I've learned my lesson,” you try to joke, but Sam doesn’t look up at you.

“I could've lost you,” he murmurs, keeping his voice quiet because he’s afraid for his words to shake or crack.

“But you didn’t,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I'll be okay and I'll make sure to wear my seatbelt from now on,” you smile softly, trying to get him to lighten up a bit, hating that he’s feeling guilty.

He stays by your side all day, talking with you and keeping you company. you can tell that he still feels guilty but you continue to assure him that you’re already feeling better. It takes a few days before you’re released from the hospital and Sam is insistent on staying with you the whole time. His consistent love and support powering you through your recovery.

———————

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[floralscented]

ㅤ ㅤㅤmy boy's a mechanic! . . . charlie baker.

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you knew nothing about cars. not a thing. you put the key in the ignition, the engine started, and that was about it. being an only child, your dad thought that he'd make your life easier by never letting you struggle. that was how he ended up doing all of your mechanic work, sometimes even pumping your gas for you.

sure, it was nice; being spoiled always was. but the downsides came quickly when your parents were out of town, and your car spluttered to a stop on the side of the road.

couldn't call your dad, not wanting to stress him out. couldn't call your mom, because she'd tell your dad, and of course they would have come home to help you, but how awful would it be to be the sole reason their mini vacation was ruined?

so you called charlie. charlie was incredible self-sufficient; knew how to cook, worked maintenance on his family's cars, could fix most plumbing and technical issues around his house. all-in-all, he was a perfect choice to call in your troubles.

you stood outside in the blazing summer heat, the hood of your car propped open, and you staring inside at the engine and the mechanics, seeing a lot and understanding none of it.

"right, so you see the gas cap?" charlie's voice scratches through the receiver and into your ear. "open it, like you're fillin' your tank."

your arms cross over your chest, a little whine falling out of your mouth. "charlie, i have plenty of gas. i'm not going over there. it's somethin' with the engine or... something."

"mhm," charlie hums and clears his throat, "go to the side of the car, baby."

you bristle, slamming the hood of the car shut with your freed hand. "so, what, you want me to just look in there and see how full of gas my car definitely is?"

"i want you to look in there and make sure it's gas." he's always been patient with you, but it was clear that he had siblings, from the way it came so easily to talk back to you. "from what you're sayin', with the terrible grindin' noises and the splutters, could have been siphoned and replaced."

"hm."

charlie snorts. there's rustling on his end, and then his voice is back and clear. "hm. don't give me attitude, baby, i'll leave you on the side of the road."

the growl in your throat is entirely made up of the aggression starting to build inside of you. "you leave me on the side of the road, charlie baker, we're breaking up."

"no," charlie says, drawling the word out, and there's more scratchy sounds, like he's running the phone cord beneath his shirt and rustling it. "--you're brea'ing up. where r'you?"

"leaving the city. rural backroads or something." well, this was just great. car was maybe out of gas, engine was maybe shot, and you were without cell signal on the side of the road. you whine all over again. "charlie."

charlie sighs. "m'comin', okay? lemme grab s'tools and--" he cuts out, and then the line drops. you flip your phone shut and throw it in the open window of your car in fury. it wasn't his fault. none of this was charlie's fault. but you were definitely allowed to be angry when you were stuck on the side of the road for god knew how long.

the answer was twelve minutes. you sit in your driver's seat, watching the time tick by on the clock of your radio, and twelve minutes later you see the rusty outline of charlie's truck roll up behind you.

"supposed to have your hazards on when you're pulled off like this," he says immediately upon his arrival, and then he presses a kiss to your forehead. "hi baby."

your mouth twists into a devastated pout. "don't be sweet with me when you tried to tell me this was all because i'm out of gas."

his lips twitch, and he reaches up with the hand not holding a toolbox to adjust the brim of his red baseball cap. "'course it's not out of gas. your tire blew."

"what?" your shock is audible, leaning half out of the driver's side window to look at your two tires. sure enough, the back driver's side one was flat. charlie's dimples poke into his cheeks in his innocent grin. "why didn't you say that?"

"why didn't you say that?" charlie shoots back, bending down to drop the toolbox into the grass. "i can't see your tires over a phone, baby."

your eyes roll again, and charlie laughs. "i'll get it all taken care of, honey." he circles around to your trunk, pushing it open. "aren't you so glad now that i made you get that spare tire 'stead of ice cream a few weeks ago?"

"no." your voice is grumbly, punctuated by the pout of your mouth. "it was at least eighty bucks more than a vanilla cone with sprinkles, no cherry."

charlie gives you a look, but his eyes glimmer all the same. "i should make you change this, since you wanna have an attitude about my graciousness."

he lugs the tire out of your trunk, rolling it over to rest against the backdoor. "no, you know what?" he continues, strong arms crossing over his broad chest. "i'll teach you. come n' dirty up that dress, baby."

as much as you want to protest, it was thoughtful of him, to not coddle you like your father spent the entirety of your life doing. having eleven siblings couldn't have been easy, but it'd turned charlie into an expert on how to deal with the likes of you.

so you watch him change out your tires, explaining each step along the way, making you dirty up your hands ( and your dress ) to show him that you were absorbing his instructions.

and when charlie circles around your car to turn it on, check if the system was reading the tire pressure right or whatever it was that he'd said, you can hear it from your perch against the door. the ding of the low fuel indicator.

charlie breaks into a cackle. "go ahead and tell me again how full of gas your car is?"

"shut up," you grumble, tossing a wad of ripped out grass at him.

"more like my baby's full of shit, i think."

you lunge forward to push at his shoulder with a laugh, and charlie takes the time to grab your wrist and tug you into his lap. his foot hooks underneath the car door to shut it behind you, his other hand reaching backwards to flip the hazards on. it was the right thing to do, after all, even though the car was fine now.

they didn't need someone rolling up next to them with charlie's hands up the skirt of your dress.

────────────────────────────────────────────

this one's to u @starzify who dared me to make more. and to u, u, u, and u, my fellow charlie baker lovebots 🙂‍↕ @deansbeer, @titsout4jackles, & @ultravi0lence14

[daysofyellowroses]

ride

david von erich x reader | 1.5k | based on this lovely lovely request 🫶🏻 | no real warnings, just some softness 🌼💗

It sometimes makes you laugh when you think about how ridiculously stereotypical your relationship is in some ways. You love it, and wouldn't change it for anything, of course, but you really hit some classics.

Neighbors? ✔️

Met as little kids? ✔️

Went through school together? ✔️

First kiss? ✔️

First time? ✔️

Prom King & Queen? ✔️

But, while there are a lot of typical things about your relationship, you like to think you still have your own thing going on too. You and David have been officially dating since you were fourteen years old, you know each other better than anyone. You have your own private jokes, references, pet names, memories. 

It wasn't planned, of course. To get together so young and go through your life together. Hell, you both had a lot of life to live yet. Early twenties weren't exactly over the hill. But you just felt like what you had with David would be forever when you first got together. So far, you haven't been proved wrong.

The two of you always support each other, build each other up and push each other to go for your goals. Sometimes your friends ask if you get jealous now that David has joined Kevin in the ring, and has so much attention from girls. You just laugh when it comes up, there's really no reason to be jealous. If anything it just makes you feel more secure in your relationship. You know David enjoys the attention but he only has eyes for you, you're the one in his bed, in his truck, laying beside him in the grass, his hand intertwined with yours as he talks about your future together. 

It doesn't feel scary, thinking about a future with David. You can see a home, kids, a dog, the whole nine yards. Even if it was just you and him forever, you would still be deliriously happy. 

“What are you smiling about over there?”

David's voice snaps you from your thoughts, and you glance over to the driver's seat. 

“I would tell you but your hat wouldn't fit anymore,” You tease, looking back to the window. “And I would feel guilty, can't have that.”

“Aw come on,” David grins, his hand reaching out to touch your thigh. You're wearing shorts and the feel of his hand on your bare skin feels, as always, deeply comfortable and satisfying. “take the risk.”

“Nope,” You look over and stick your tongue out playfully. “You know anyway. I don't need to tell you.”

“Who says I know?” David is a terrible liar, always has been. 

“You know,” You grinned, shaking your head. “There's very few things that I allow space for in my daydreams.”

“True,” David nods, looking back to the road. The smile on his face has you wanting to kiss him. “And obviously I'm top of that list.”

You roll your eyes with a smile.  

“Stop being so cocky.”

“I don't think so darlin’,” David gently squeezes your thigh. “you love it.”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, knowing you both know the answer.

A comfortable silence falls over you, your hand resting on top of David's. You wonder if you'll ever get tired of this, of getting into his truck with no particular destination in mind. You don't think you could get tired of it, not when it feels so perfect. 

“When is Kerry coming home?” You ask, glancing over to David. He lets out the smallest of sighs, his thumb gently stroking your thigh.

“He leaves tomorrow morning,” David tells you, his eyes still on the road. “Should be home by the evening.”

“Okay,” You nod, gently stroking David's hand. “Just curious.”

“Could you..could you be there?” David asks after a moment. 

“Of course,” You nod, looking over to him. “You think I wouldn't be? It's like you don't even know me, babe. ”

David smiles a little and you feel yourself relax.

“Can't wait to see him though,” He says. “I mean, the circumstances ain't ideal but I can't say I ain't missed him like crazy.”

“It'll be nice to have him back,” You nod. “I'll have to fill him in on all the juicy gossip.”

“Do I get to know?” David teases, glancing over to you. “Or is it top secret stuff?"

“Oh it's just a silly thing,” You sigh with a smile, looking over to your window. “The blonde Von Erich boy is a big hot-shot wrestler now. On TV and everything, you should hear the filth that comes out of his mouth.”

“Oh he sounds incorrigible,” David gasped dramatically, making you laugh. “What a scoundrel.”

“Tell me about it,” You grinned, looking down at your hand on his. “I heard he's got a hot little girlfriend though.”

“Lucky him,” David grinned. “I bet she's got men throwing themselves at her feet, I'm sure he's extremely grateful she chose him.”

“Well when you can have the best, you get the best,” You smile, looking over to David. “And ain't nobody better than you.”

“Not true,” David looked over to you with a cheeky smile. “You're better, and I won't hear otherwise. I was lucky enough to get you and I don't plan to lose you.”

You still felt butterflies in your stomach when he said things like that, and you hoped that would never change.

“I don't plan to lose you either,” You grin, resting your free hand over your forehead. “You're stuck with me.”

“Then I'm the luckiest man alive,” David murmurs softly, you just catch it and it makes your heart soar.

You watch the world pass by the window for a while, the smile etched onto your face. In the moments David needs to move his hand from your thigh you feel the loss, your hand just waiting to hold his.

It's a little embarrassing, really, how in love you are. You have to laugh at yourself sometimes when you get moody because you haven't seen David for a couple of hours, or because he didn't hold your hand long enough. You suppose the fact that you're aware of it makes it better, and it's not really a bad thing. You're lucky enough to have an amazing relationship with a man who you love and who you know loves you.

You look over to him, watch him hum along to the radio, his fingers drumming against the wheel. These are the moments you treasure. All those girls screaming for him and desperately wanting his autograph only see one part of him. They see the confidence and the strength and the charisma, which are all amazing qualities, but they don't see what you see.

They don't see him snort out a drink because you made him laugh unexpectedly, they don't see him singing in his truck, or giving you a bunch of flowers on a Tuesday morning just because. They see what he wants them to see, and you feel beyond honored to see the real David.

“Oh hey, pull in up ahead,” You tell David, sitting up a little and gesturing at the window. “I need to grab something.”

“Your wish is my command baby,” David grins, parking up the truck and giving you a curious look as you wink at him and slip out of the truck.

You don't take long, coming back to the truck with a grin and two ice creams in hand.

“You're such a child,” David laughs as he opens the door for you and accepts one of the cones. “Making me stop for ice cream, really?”

“Well you ain't gotta eat it,” You shrug, closing the door and resting your leg up on your seat. “But we both know you will so stop complaining.”

“Oh I ain't complaining,” David smiles, leaning over and giving you a kiss. “far from it.”

“Eat that before it melts,” You murmur with a grin, leaning in to give him another kiss, pulling back after a moment and holding your ice cream between you both. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma'am,” David grins, sitting back and taking a lick of his ice cream. 

You laugh softly to yourself, looking out the window and licking your ice cream, David's hand finding yours across the seat.

The heat has your ice cream melting a little quicker, conversation is paused while you work on not getting strawberry all down your hand. David finishes before you, as always. You shuffle over and lean against him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Occasionally you hold the ice cream up and he takes a lick, insists you have it yourself.

You wonder if a day will ever come when you don't feel stupidly, wonderfully, madly in love, looking up and meeting David's eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you and you lightly jab his cheek with the ice cream in your hand.

“You started it,” You tease as he protests.

“Don't start a war you can't win.”

“Oh it's on,” David grins. You sit up and turn to look at him, your face starting to hurt from smiling so damn much.

“Then give me all you got.”

[xcherryerim]

Mexican Mike Headcanons

tw: light Death mentions (of his mom and garret) / smut headcanons at the end (gn!reader)

— Mike is a quarter Mexicans from his dad side

— Probably biased asf but he’s norteño

— Mike’s dad is a truck driver. When his dad needed to drive to Mexico Mr. Schmidt made sure to comeback home with Mike’s and Garret’s favorite candies.

— His favorite candies are Bocadin, Duvalin and Chokis.

— The only reason Mike kept getting hired after his awful track record is because he can somewhat speak spanish.

— After Mike lost his family (except for Abby) he didn’t really practice any more traditions like he used to do but, after moving to his now current place (which is mainly for lower class and immigrant families. This is canon in the book btw)

His neighbor which happens to be a 42 year old single mom, decided to help him in subtle ways like cooking meals from time to time for him and Abby. She even invites them to some family gatherings (carne asadas, birthday parties etc) as well.

— The lady always tries to set Mike up with her oldest daughter tho

— Every time winter approaches Mike eats tamales and arroz con leche excessively.

— Mike snacks in peanuts which is SO SPECIFIC but mexican dads always snack on cacahuates. (He’s entering his dilf era)

— After reconnecting with his roots a bit because of his neighbor, he tries to practice more traditions specially Día de los muertos (day of the death). He’s not really a religious person, but he always prays for his mom and garret to be at peace wherever they are.

— If you think Mike speaks quietly, wait for him to speak in spanish. His voice is softer too but that’s only because he gets self conscious when he’s talking to people that only / mainly speaks spanish.

— Mike dosent really mix english and spanish when he speaks unless he’s angry.

— He dosent really curse but when he does is in Spanish. He calls himself “pendejo” (dumbass) a lot.

Headcanons with his partner (+18)🫶🏻

— Mike says he has two left feet but, just give him a bit of alcohol and a slow song and he’ll dance good.

Just imagine dancing to bachata while Mike wears a dumb yet charming drunk smirk as he whispers into your ear the lyrics.

“¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche?Que se empañen los vidrios y la regla es que goces. / What do you say if I seduce you in my car? fog up the windows and the rule is for you to enjoy.”

— Mike wouldn’t really use spanish pet names unless he’s trying to get something out of you. “Cariño” and “Amor” are his main ones (and that mf says them slowly to tease the fuck out of you.)

— One time while you two where fucking, he leaned, bitting and sucking on your neck as he praised the fuck out of you in spanish and you swore when he used his raspy voice mixed with his light accent, that was already enough to make you climax.

— After he realized this, however, he tried to only speak to you in spanish for a week to purposely turn you on.

— This man, is a gift giver. He would literally give you a ramo buchón with a big ass bear for no reason.

— Mike mainly calls you his spouse / wife / husband sometimes he also says it in spanish as well. “Mi cónyuge / esposa / esposo”

(But don’t do it to him or he’ll actually plan out the whole wedding in one sitting)

a few of his favorite music in spanish:

[moralesispunk]

Gold Band

Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie considers that he may be a little possessive, just a little

Warnings: established relationship, (respectfully) possessive, masterbation m/f, unprotected sex, one (joking, maybe) mention of a collar, breeding kink

Word Count: 1.7k

Frankie often prides himself on being a rational man. Level-headed. Able to view any situation objectively.

It’s a virtue that kept him alive for his twenty years in the military, is one that now keeps him patient when dealing with even the most pretentious of clients at his private-hire helicopter tour business.

He is rational and he tells himself that now, repeating it over and over again even as he peels the label off of his beer while watching a man sidle up to you at the bar. He’s young, handsome, sending you a flirty smile while you send him a polite one in return, throwing a genuine smile across your shoulder to Frankie. The man understands, his eyes dropping down to where your hand rests on the bar, before he backs off with an apologetic smile.

He is rational, Frankie repeats again, but maybe not that rational when it comes to you.

It’s like the primal, caveman side comes to the surface when he is with you sometimes. The need to provide and care for you, make everyone else know that you’re his, even though he knows you well-enough that the thought makes you roll your eyes and mutter something about being independent. He knows you well-enough that even when you say that you also find yourself leaning into him, letting him keep a hand resting on your hip when you’re out at the bar or letting him whisper every primal, depraved thought he has when buried deep inside you while you keen a moaned yes, Frankie in response.

He forces those thoughts from his mind now, wrapping his palm around the still cool bottle in his hands until he feels he can look at you again without thoughts about you wrapped in the bed sheets coming to mind.

At first it was seeing his marks on you - little thumb prints on your hips, dark bruises left by his mouth trailing a path from your jaw to your chest, a bite mark on your shoulder that faded within ten minutes but already had him leaving another mere minutes after the first disappeared.

Then there was the time you were slightly tipsy on a weekend trip and walked out of a tattoo parlor hand-in-hand, Frankie with your initial on the inside of his wrist and you with an F on the dip of your hip. He can’t stop himself from pressing his lips against it whenever it is revealed, pulling you to stand between his legs when he sits on the edge of the bed as you get ready or when he’s slowly undressing you and making sure to stop on the way.

Now there is a reminder that you’re his for everyone to see with the ring on your finger. Frankie doesn’t have his yet, the ceremony booked for six months time, and while marrying you means a million things to Frankie, mostly in relation to you spending the rest of your lives together, there is no denying that little primal part of him that feels smug when he watches on as people notice the ring.

His eyes follow the ring now as you walk back from the bar, the simple gold band and with the green stone shining where you hold both beer bottles between your fingers. He watches as you tap it on the table while talking to him about something that happened at work today. He finds himself twisting it when you rest your hand on his leg, your head tucked against his arm as you listen to the band that has set up by the bar.

He feels it against his skin when your hands link together as you walk back to the car, letting go of your touch only long enough to help you into the truck before he climbs in the drivers side and your hand comes to rest on his leg again, his fingers wrapping around the band.

Twist, twist, twist.

He doesn’t know why he is so focused on the ring tonight. Maybe it was the man at the bar, maybe it is just a day where he feels even more in awe than usual that you want to spend the rest of your lives together as much as he wants that. Either way, his eyes are still trained on it when you slip it off your finger long enough to get ready for bed, placing it in a dish by the sink as you stand in front of the mirror, before slipping it back on and switching off the bathroom light.

He looks away long enough to catch the playful glint in your eye when you start to crawl up his body where he rests against the headboard, the cool band dragging a path up his calf and thigh as you nudge his shorts higher and higher until you’re kissing along the scarred and weathered skin of his thighs.

He tries to reach for you - to drag your face up to his - but you slip away, falling to lie by his side on the bed and trailing your hands down your body until your hand slips beneath your shorts and between your legs. He just watches for a second, soft skin on soft skin, his hands gripping the sheets between you and his chest already heaving, until you roll your head to the side and look at him with a smile he can only describe as dangerous.

A smile that has had him pulling you into whatever door has a lock on it when you’re at one of the MIller’s barbecues. A smile that has had him pulling his truck over into an off-track road like some teenage boy unable to control his hormones, rather than the forty-year old man who drags you across the console and onto his lap. It’s a smile that has him moving in an instant now, dragging your shorts down your legs and kneeling between your thighs where he can watch as your fingers disappear inside you.

He wants to look up to your face when you moan his name, he wants to see the half-lidded expression that’s there - but he can’t tear his eyes away from where the ring rests against your skin, not even when you come and your other hand reaches for his, squeezing as you moan his name and he feels like he could follow you without so much as touching himself.

He knows that you’ve noticed how much attention he has paid to your ring tonight from the way you pull your fingers away, slipping them into your mouth until the cold metal presses to your lips. You finally drag them out with a pop, leaning forward and holding your weight up with a hand behind your back as you slip the other beneath the waistband of his shorts.

“Do you like when I wear this ring Frankie? Do you like it when other people see me wear it?” You begin to stroke your hand back and forth and he bites down on his bottom lip as you come to kneel before him. “Do you like that they see this and know I’m yours?” You trail kisses along his collarbone, gently squeezing him so he stops biting his lip and gasps a yes. “Maybe you should get me a collar and people will know that I’m yours straight away, they won't have to look for a ring on my hand.”

You’re teasing him, you’re finding it charmingly ridiculous, and he can feel your smile against his neck and the warm puff of air that comes with a silent laugh, but he’s so lost in you that the thought almost seems rational and it makes him thrust his hips into your hand.

“Oh Frankie,” you coo, pushing him onto his back and pulling his shorts down so you can both see how your hand wraps around him. “Do you like that thought?”

His responding yes is more of a whine than a word, especially when you dip your head to lick up his length and his hands reach out to grip at the bedsheet. His eyes squeeze shut and he has to take a minute before he can open them again, groaning when he sees what hand you’ve decided to wrap around him as he feels the cold band against him.

He doesn’t know how long you stay like that before he’s dragging you up towards him, finally slanting his mouth over yours in a kiss he has felt like he has waited hours for. He groans when you hum into the kiss, his hand gripping the back of your neck and his hand fumbling between you both until he’s slowly sliding inside you and your forehead falls to his shoulder.

“You know what I want?” He says, finally finding his voice and you smile against his neck, tugging on his ear with your teeth as you whisper a breathy “what” in return. “I want everyone, every second of every day, to know that you’re mine.” His hands grip your hips and pull you down against him again, and again, and again. “Guys still try and flirt with you even with that ring so maybe a collar is what you need.” You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and drag your fingers through your curls. “Or maybe-“ His hand slips between your bodies, palm pressed to your stomach and thumb dipping lower to bring you to the edge with him “-maybe I just need to fill you over and over until you’ve got my baby inside you and then maybe they’ll stop flirting with you.”

You fall over the edge and drag him with you, his mouth finding yours in a messy kiss until your bodies relax and he kisses across your face while rolling off you and bringing you into his chest.

After a moment of silence you start to giggle.

“Frankie-“

“Don’t,” he groans, already knowing you’re about to repeat whatever he rambled on about.

“A collar?” His eyes snap open, tickling your side until you squeal and roll away from him, lying on your side on your pillow and looking at him.

“You brought it up!”

“You went with it!”

He scrunches up his nose. “No offense to anyone with that… affinity,” he says and you snort, “but I’m quite happy with the ring on that finger.” He reaches for your hand, lifting it to kiss the band.

“And the baby?” You ask, holding his cheek with your hand.

“Now that-“ he drags you back into his side, “is open for discussion.”

.................

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09 @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @phandoz @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @oogaboogasphincter @booksaremyyoga @bport76 @sirpascal @nyfeeer @manuymesut @alwaysdjarin @milispunk @thirddeadlysin @theluckyplaces

[harrywavycurly]

I miss killer!eddie 😔

Hiii babes!! Awe I miss him too, I have a little tiny thing for you and I hope you enjoy it!💖

*I know this isn’t for everyone so if it’s not your thing then just scroll on by babes*

TW: mentions of a deceased body

-find all things serial killer Eddie here✨

“Hey baby,” Eddie holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder so it doesn’t fall to the floor. “How’s the girl’s night going?” He raises an eyebrow as he hears you let out a sad sigh.

“We just got out of a movie.” Your voice is rough letting Eddie know you’ve been crying, he instinctively feels his grip tighten on the roll of tape he has in his hands. “I didn’t like it.” You sniffle making Eddie’s heart drop as he quickly places the tape into his duffle bag before zipping it up.

“I’m sorry Princess what was it about?” He asks as he looks around the kitchen that doesn’t belong to him to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He grabs the phone with his right hand and puts you on speaker but is quick to mute you so he can finish dealing with the man that’s currently zip tied to one of his own dining room chairs.

“It was scary.” Eddie runs a hand over his face and lets out a sigh because he knows how you handle scary movies and it’s not well. “They want to go to dinner.” Eddie unmutes you and it’s as if he can just picture you now, standing outside the movie theater with a pout on your face as your friends try to make plans for the rest of the night.

“But?” He asks as he walks over to the man and bends down so he can gently remove the tape from his mouth knowing he isn’t going to be making any sounds that’ll have you wondering what he’s doing, due to the fact that Eddie made it to where the man tied to the chair won’t be making any kind of noise ever again.

“I miss you.” Eddie smiles as he stands up and walks back into the man’s kitchen to grab his duffle bag.

“I miss you too baby.” He responds in his sweet soothing tone that he knows makes you feel better in situations like this. “How about I come get you and we can go to Target and check out their Valentine’s Day stuff? I know you want some new pillows for the living room.” He can practically hear you smiling over the phone and it makes him smile to himself as he does one final sweep of the kitchen and living room making sure there’s nothing that can pinpoint him to the untimely demise of the man tied to the chair.

“You’d do that?” Eddie playfully rolls his eyes at your question while he mutes you as he shuts the garage door before climbing into his truck where he unmutes you so he can answer your silly question.

“Of course sweetheart.” He answers as his phone connects to his car’s Bluetooth letting him place his phone on the center console so he can take the booties off that he had covering his boots so he wouldn’t leave boot marks anywhere. “I can be there in five minutes.” You let out a noise of excitement making Eddie laugh because you’re just too cute sometimes.

“Okay I’ll be outside waiting for you.” Eddie nods and looks down at his dashboard and sees it’s a bit cold outside. “And yes I have my new jacket on so you can’t miss me.” He smiles because it’s as if you could read his mind and knew he was going to ask if you had your new puffy pink jacket on.

“Okay baby I’ll see you soon.” Eddie states as he places his duffle bag under his seat before backing out of the driveway. “I love you.” You say it back before hanging up. “Oh shit.” Eddie mumbles as he puts the truck in park and quickly gets out and grabs the little tool kit from his back pocket while heading to the back of the vehicle. He looks around before he quickly unscrews the licenses plate on his truck so his real one can now be visible, not worried about someone seeing it now that it’s getting dark outside. “Now time to go get the princess.” He mumbles as he gets back into the driver’s seat so he can head to the movie theater to pick you up.

[ianthine-ichor]

Ghost x Reader ~ I Fuckin' Love You

Summary - Ghost can't get that night out of his head. The night he lost you.

Word count - 2k

Codename for reader - Daze

Tw in the tags

-

One moment was all it took. One damn sentence, one stupid suggestion.

"Well if all you guys are heading off I might as well tag along with the ones going south then, yeah?"

He should have said no. You had plenty of work to do back on base, an egregious amount really. But it was an easy enough mission anyway, nothing that he thought would have put you in harms way. A quick in and out, near to no hostiles. And he knew well how much you hated being couped up at the base.

Sometimes he wished he could just go back and cut out his own tongue before he answered.

"More the merrier"

It was supposed to have been simple, hardly even dangerous. Hell, Price had planned the mission for the same day as his! There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. There wasn't supposed to be anyone.

Even now that night runs through his head. Over and over and over. He could have done so many things differently. If only he'd been just a little more worried, just a little more cautious. If only he'd sent someone else out, if only he'd gotten on your ass about your paperwork, if only, if only, if only.

He'd been with the Soap and Gaz on their mission. The plan was that he'd find a good lookout on his own and provide details on movements and offer cover if anything went sideways, but the whole ride there he had this awful feeling that crept up his skin and sunk in his stomache. And so he had decided to stick near the truck and provide cover from there.

He should have known it then, he should have known.

He was thankful, as little as that mattered now, that he was a man who followed his gut. The only thought that comforted him nowadays was that at least you weren't alone when...when...

He had been so sure of your success he hadn't even given you a way to reach him. So when the radio clicked on the voice that called scared him right out of his focus through his scope. Even more when he'd recognized it.

"Price! Ghost! Is anyone there!?"

It was fuzzy as it picked up the signal, likely because whatever you were using to contact him wasn't as finely tuned as the radios you'd normally use for missions. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if you had been flicking through your own walkie just to contact someone. He practically threw his rifle to the ground, grabbing the radio from the car the moment he was close enough.

"I read you. What's goin' on?" He calls and tries to subdue the panic that dares to bite at him. There were a hundred reasons you might be worried, at least half a which weren't such a big deal-

"Ambush! It's a-...damn ambush! I can't reach Price!"

Your words turn his blood cold.

It was supposed to be simple.

"What's your status!" He yells, finding that his heart rate skyrockets as it tries to pump his frozen blood. He hardly notices his volume, every ounce of his being fighting the urge to race to you right now. He's met with silence for longer than he cared to wait. He practically throws himself into the driver's side seat, holding the radio closer.

Maybe he hadn't used it right. Maybe you just hadn't heard him.

"What is your status Daze!" He near screams and once more there is silence and silence and horrible silence. He had to fill it, had to think of anything other than all of the horrible images that flooded his mind. He turned to coms with Soap and Gaz.

"Abort! Get the fuck out of there right now we have to move!" He ordered into their earpieces, making sure they heard him loud and clear.

"What's happening? Are we compromised?"

Gaz asked, his voice quiet, almost whispered.

"The other crew got ambushed. Daze just called in before going silent. We gotta get there, now!" He commanded, hoping that they'd pick up their asses and move.

"On my way!"

"Bloody hell"

They answered, though Ghost felt anything but relief at their words.

It was supposed to be a harmless mission.

Even as the memory haunts him now he can still feel the constructing of his chest, the burning in his lungs going almost unrecognized as he sat waiting and waiting and waiting for any sign that you might still be there. A yell, a scream. He wouldn't have even cared if the words he heard were hate filled and furious with him! He would have just been happy to hear you. To know you were even still there. He had silently begged then, for any sign of life. Any.

Yet now, plagued by the horror of that night, he can't help but wish that it would had just stayed silent.

"Everyone's...Everyone's...fuck"

Your voice cuts through again and he knows just by the heavy way your words fell that something was incredibly wrong. Every inch of his body nearly repelled the sound.

"We're on our way. Just hold until we-"

"There is no holding! They're dead! Everyone's fucking dead!"

You were panicked, an emotion all but common on you. His knuckles turned white as he held the intercom.

"Well figure it the fuck out then! If you die in there-" before he could finish the sentence the two he was waiting for jumped right into the car. Without a second thought he handed the radio to Soap and slammed on the gas. There would be no stopping him and he sure as hell would love to see anyone try.

"Daze, you alright there?" Soap asked, the concern on his face evident as always.

"No! No I'm not fucking al- SHIT!"

Your voice cut again.

"Daze! Daze, do you copy!?" Soap yells into the radio but is only met with another bout of unbearable, painful silence. A silence Ghost filled quickly. Anything but silence.

"Call Price! Tell 'em to bring whatever they got!" Ghost ordered, chain of command be damned. Soap would rather not be the bearer of bad news, and so he gave a nod to Gaz who took the burden of informing Price.

And Price would listen, if he knew what was good for him.

"Captain Price, do you read?" He spoke, the click of an answer heard before the familiar voice.

"Affirmative. Do you have eyes on the target?"

He questioned, Soap wincing a little at the comment.

"Negative, we aborted the mission. Daze team is under attack at the south-west wearhouse. They need reinforcements" he answered, making sure to get right to the point. They didn't have time to waste.

"...Who gave you those orders?"

Price asked oh so slowly. The image of an immediately pissed off Price made him give Soap an uneasy look as he struggled for words. Thankfully he seemed to get the hint, clicking his coms on as well, as much as he would rather have just stayed silent.

"There was an ambush. Daze was in distress when we last heard 'em, shit's hittin' the fan over there. Have a feeling s'gonnae be a bloody scene" Soap answered for him, hoping that might just be enough to wave whatever anger Price might have had about their failed mission. There's a pause, one that makes them all sick to the stomach.

"Alright, we're sending some help that way. But we're talkin' when this is over"

With that Price clicked off coms. Despite the relief of reinforcements, it left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Fifteen minutes; that's how far the three were now. And they knew damn well that any sort of reinforcements would take far longer than that. Too long. Too late.

Eight minutes out the radio clicks again, fuzzy sounds of general chaos making Ghost wish this truck weren't as heavily armored as it was. Too slow.

Ghost couldn't remember how he managed to get the radio back in his hands again. Soap told him later on that he near broke his wrist snatching it from him, but it was all a blur now. Those minutes had been the longest of his career.

"Daze! Daze what is goin' on there!" He yells, his grip tight enough to break a man in half. Still there is no response.

"Y/N! FUCKIN' ANSWER ME!" He was surprised he didn't break the radio in his hands with the death grip he had on the thing. Still there was silence, silence, silence, silence, silence. A pause, a moment that felt years longer than it was.

When the radio clicked on again it was quiet. Too damn quiet. The only sounds being a dry wheeze and a horrible cough.

"I'm here"

You finally answered. Your voice was mumbled and strained: pain ridden. Not a breath held in the car was voluntary at that point.

"...What's your status?" Ghost asks a third time, his voice far quieter, far more solem. He's met with a series of coughs and sniffles.

You didn't have to answer him. He damn well knew. He knew the moment that sinking feeling wrapped him in barb wire. He knew when he'd heard you call over radio the first time. He knew when you had taken so long just to respond. He knew. Yet every inch of his skin repelled the very idea of you being anything other than okay.

"I'm...I don't know I- I fell somewhere. It's dark. I can't reach anything, I can't...I can't move"

Despite your words your voice is quiet and calm. Too calm. He almost preferred when you were panicked.

"Find your bearings and get the fuck out of there!" The commanding in his voice doesn't stick as well this time. Gaz would later described it as desperate.

"I can't move. I can't- I can't see-"

Another round of coughs had an open grimace take his face. But it would be nothing compared to your next bone-chilling words.

"It's so cold"

The sentence seared on his brain; the words scarring itself into an unhealthy part of his soul the moment they left you. Neither Soap nor Gaz could describe the look in his eyes at that moment. He doesn't think he ever wants to know.

"Simon..."

Your voice called out to him, weaker than he's ever heard you speak. For a moment he can't bring himself to respond, for a moment it's all too much.

"I don't have much time...do I?"

You ask and again you're met with silence. The sniffling increases ten-fold, this time followed by hiccups.

"I'm going to die here-"

"No!" Ghost finally speaks. He was so repulsed by your words that they made him near nauseous.

"No. No you aren't. We're almost there, just...just hold on. I'm almost there" his eyes focus on the road, the car going far over a hundred at this point.

"...okay"

Your voice is shaky as you try to hold yourself together. There's a silence again, though this time panic is replaced by dread. Gaz and Soap share a look but continue to say nothing. What could they have said that would make any of this better?

"Hey Si?"

Your voice finally crackles again and this time, despite how little he wanted to, he answers. He had hoped it wouldn't be the last words you'd ever hear.

"Yeah love?" He asks, his own breath shaky as he tried to hold himself together.

"What...what would you name her?"

The question blindsided him. He couldn't figure out what you were talking about.

"Who?" He asked, your answer is obscured by another coughing fit, but he hears it all the same

"The puppy"

He felt what was left of his heart sink further

He remembered having that conversation with you before. How you two had fought over the breed and the amount of training they'd go through and whether or not it should be a boy or a girl. It had seemed so trite now, such a meaningless thing to fight over. Yet in that moment it had made his eyes sting with tears as he bit back the cry that threatened to leave him at any given moment.

"I'd name 'em honey" he answered. He wondered if you could hear the pain in his voice. He hoped not.

"Really? Why honey?"

He could hear the confused smile on your lips. He'd wondered if he'd ever be allowed to see your smile again.

He wondered if he'd ever even get to see you again.

"'cause then when I call their name, you'd both come running" he answered, his voice finally breaking. But he heard you laugh, and even as he fought against the tears that now threatened to roll down his face he couldn't help but think how perfect your laugh was.

He wondered if he'd ever hear it again.

"Always the charmer, huh?"

You answered, fighting away the coughs that threatened to end your sentence for you.

"Only to you" he answered back, your snicker drawing a hidden smile to his lips. There was a pause, one that made every bit of dread squeeze so hard onto him the he was sure it would cut him like string through clay. So much so that he went to speak to you again when-

"I love you"

The words rang like a horrible melody in his ears that had him fully denying the reality he was in. Denying this was real, denying that he could have ever let you get hurt, denying that it might be the last time he ever hears you speak that perfect sound to him. Yet despite it all, he found himself responding before he even thought about it.

"I fuckin' love you"

The last words he had ever spoken to you.

-

Might make a part two to this, I don't know yet. But for now this is a good start to my first fic here!

[opticfile]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲

—✦ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 // in which alfred is a truck driver and you're his favorite stop

✧ i loooooove writing for alfred i love love love it hes my favorite to write for probably

—✦ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 // Alfred F Jones (APH America)

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // swearing, reader is hit on by unwanted college boy, fluff, gn!reader

A few things help Alfred get through his days and nights. One is some music, another is phone calls with his buddies. Whatever it is, he just needs something to fill the dull air as he drives endlessly from one place to another. Singing along to a Gwen Stefani song (probably one from her No Doubt era) or dancing in his seat at red lights always helps keep his mood high. Waving to little kids in their mom’s backseats when they look up at him in awe and wonder is always nice, too, it makes him feel like more than just a truck driver, it’s like he’s Superman and flying over the city after saving the day.

But truth be told though, he’d have a hard time staying awake behind the wheel on especially hard days without his coffee. This man doesn’t exactly have the healthiest diet, especially not while driving, his passenger's seat is always full of fast-food bags and his cup holder always has soda or an energy drink lingering in it. Coffee, however, helps him start his day off right. It’s a tasty, warm energizer early in the morning when his eyes are still adjusting and his brain still isnt awake.

Yet the only thing that can get his day off to a good start better than coffee is you.

You’re a sweet college student, probably close to graduating, maybe a four-year degree, he thinks. You work at a cafe he frequents as often as he can, as long as he’s in the area it's his number one choice for his morning coffee and bagels. Half of it is because he really likes the coffee, the rest is because he likes seeing you.

You’re way too kind for someone working the early morning opening shift. You always smile at him and banter with him, no matter how clearly exhausted you are. And he’s way too cheery for a guy who wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn to drive a big ass truck around all day, so you guys have that one in common. You have a lot in common. Maybe you guys have matching eyebags, he thinks, or your voices are equally as groggy. 

But you always smile when he comes in, he's a regular at this point, the kind of regular who doesn't even need to order because the barista knows what he's getting. You always draw a little heart next to his name on his cup, sometimes lately you’ve been writing Alfie instead of Alfred, too. That one will never cease to make his heart stutter. You know exactly how much cream cheese he likes on his bagels, you know exactly how much cream to put in his coffee, and yeah maybe that's just because you’ve made the same order for him a gazillion times but he likes to think of it as something more intimate than it is. 

One time you complimented his hoodie, it had a little alien head embroidered over his heart, and “I come in peace!” was written over his back. You noticed it, you mentioned it, you complimented it, and he broke out into a grin.

“Really? I think it's great, too.” He said triumphantly. “My brother said it was corny, but you should see some of the shit he wears.”

“Corny? Maybe. Cute? Definitely.” You giggled, writing his name on a large cup. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, you know.” He winked playfully, leaning on the counter and watching you as you made his drink. He’s seen you do it a thousand times, he never gets over how efficient you are.

“I said it was cute!” You said, defensively, a coy glint in your eyes. “But I can’t exactly lie to you, either.”

He laughed joyfully.

The first time Alfred saw you he thought you were cute, the second time he thought your haircut was cool. Now when he sees you it's like a puppy seeing his owner after they’ve been at work all day. He gets happy, his stomach does backflips like an Olympic gymnast, and he can’t stop smiling.

Most of the time it's just you, him, and one or two of your coworkers. Not many customers pop in so early—shocker, right?—so he gets to enjoy chatting with you until his coffee is ready before he has to set off on the road. 

Sometimes there’s another person in the cafe though, sometimes two. One time that other person was clearly a college guy, one who had no business being here this early, one that should be hungover and passed out on his frat house’s deck instead of leaning over the counter and trying to flirt with you.

That was probably the first time Alfred realized you weren’t just his barista friend, but his barista crush. What tipped him off? The fact he wanted to grab the guy by his collar and carry him out of the building like a mama cat carrying its kitten by the scruff of its neck.

He didn’t, by the way, he wouldn’t do that unless you asked him to.

Instead, he just grit his teeth as he waited in line behind the guy, listening as he dragged out the ordering process to drop some lame pickup line that made his skin crawl—and yours too, judging by the awkward smile on your face and the forced laugh you humored him with. Alfred definitely wanted to groan out loud at that point. When the guy finally got the hint and left, Al walked up to the counter with a smile, and your shoulders relaxed and you sighed. 

“Long time, no see, partner.” You smiled tiredly up at him. 

It had been a long time, maybe a week or two, and he realized he missed you all that time, too. 

“Yeah, it’s great to be back in town.” He tipped his ballcap like he was tipping a cowboy hat, a dumb grin on his face. He didn’t have to place his order, you knew already.

You giggled softly at that. Was it just him or were you more exhausted than usual? Maybe the weirdo hitting on you drained your social battery or something, maybe it was finals week or something. 

“Great to have you back, I missed my favorite regular.” 

“Aw, you tellin’ me you have other regulars?” He clutched his pears in faux shock, acting hurt for dramatic effect. Somewhere to your left, your coworker snorted.

“Maybe, but none of them are as cool as you.” You grinned. “And none of them have such easy orders, either.”

“I’m a simple man, what can I say.” 

When you handed him his coffee and bagel, your fingers brushed his, and he felt a tingle go down his arm for a split second. Then you winked, and he felt one in his heart.

To say you felt any different than him would be a lie.

Alfred was definitely your favorite regular, that was no joke when you said it to him no matter how playful your tone was. He was always sweet and respectful and always cheered you up when you were barely dragging yourself through your shift.

The first time he came in you thought he was hot, the second time he came in you thought he was funny, and now when he comes in you feel a breath of fresh air cut through the coffee-scented air and your heart speeds up momentarily at his smile.

His smile always got to you. It was so attractive, he had such nice straight teeth and his lips framed them perfectly. It felt like a beautiful oil painting framed in gold or something. What came out of those lips was no different, his voice was always pleasing to the ears, and sometimes he came in sounding like he just rolled out of bed, and that was also pleasing. 

Alfred’s presence was the best part of your week, everything else sucked if you were being honest. Your coworkers made it really hard to feel positive when they were so bitter because they had to do the job they applied for. Your patience was thinning every day, and honestly when that guy from one of your classes showed up you felt like quitting then and there. Thankfully he never came back, if he did you probably would’ve thrown down your apron as soon as he entered. 

As much as you hate to say it, Alfred alone wasn't enough for you to want to keep the job. So you turned in your two weeks, you found a new job—one much more impressive than “barista”—and you counted the days until you were free from your coffee-stained shackles.

The last week of your job you didn’t see Alfred once, and you were starting to get anxious that you wouldn’t see him again. Maybe you could get one of your lazy coworkers to give him your number, or you could show up every morning until he was there. 

(that was in no way plausible, you barely even wanted to show up now and you work there)

But, to your relief, on your last day, Alfred popped through the window. His blue eyes shone through his glasses, his blonde hair was a mess, and he was wearing a hoodie with his iconic bomber jacket over it. He looked warm, he looked good. He grinned widely at you, shooting you finger-guns as he approached the counter.

“If it isn’t my favorite barista!” 

“And my favorite customer returns! I was getting worried, you know.” You smiled back, grabbing a cup for his drink.

“Aw, I always come back to this place! If you didn’t see me today, you’d see me tomorrow or next week or something.” He promised.

“I actually wouldn’t.” You said, “Because I wouldn’t be here.”

Alfred paused, “What’d’ya mean?”

“It’s my last day.” You smiled, glancing back up to him momentarily and catching the way his lips tugged down slightly.

“Like… forever?” He asked.

“Yup, I got myself a shiny new job.” You boasted.

“So I won’t get my morning coffee from you anymore?” He leaned on the counter, his voice seemed disappointed.

“Uh,” You pulled your eyes away from the coffee machine to meet his, “Yeah. Not anymore.”

He nodded slowly, “I won’t get to see you again, then?”

You chuckled to yourself, “Of course you will, silly.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, did you think I would part ways with you without giving you my number or something?” You grinned.

Slowly, he did too. His eyes twinkled and his chest shook in laughter. “I’d sure hope not.”

You smiled, face warming a little as he stared at you intently. This time, when you handed him his coffee and bagel your number was written beneath his name. 

“So, your number-?”

“It’s on the cup.” You noted.

“Got it. Yeah. I’ll- I’ll call you.” He grinned, walking backward for a moment before ripping his eyes away from your face and walking out the door feeling like a giddy teenage girl.

Today his day got off to an amazing start. Coffee always helped with that, but you? You always made it ten times better.

✧ navigation.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Prompt for your little Hallmark AU: Christmas market (You know, those markets where there are booths who sell Glühwein and Punsch, Im not sure how to correctly translate it in English in Austria we call it Christkindlmarkt)

it’s grey outside, the clouds heavy but not quite snowing yet; it’s warmer than it’s been on clearer days, still cold but almost pleasant, and quiet.

you make sure to give yourself extra time to do your stretches in the morning after you go to camila’s to get breakfast. the atmospheric pressure of the incoming storm is, unsurprisingly, causing your back to ache, but that’s not new and it doesn’t really faze you at this point. if things get bad enough — and they do, sometimes — you just reschedule your plans and take pain meds and muscle relaxers from dr salvius after you do your physical therapy exercises. but your hands don’t ache and you don’t have any numbness in your feet, your temperature is normal, and so you go through your routine and feel better by the end of it.

beatrice picks you up at eleven on the dot, as she confirmed twice over text the evening before with perfect punctuation that made you feel a little bit like you were in trouble but was charming anyway. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say when she knocks on your door, and she blushes and smiles and you’re delighted by the effect you have on her, almost immediately — this exceedingly smart and competent person stumbling over herself the second you smile. it makes you feel powerful and it also makes you want to treat her kindly, to make her laugh.

‘good morning, ava.’ she fidgets, for a moment, and you’re curious why you’re not just going to her truck, but then she takes a hand out of the pocket of her peacoat and opens her palm. ‘i, uh, i noticed your cane was getting stuck in the snow.’

‘oh.’ your first instinct is to be embarrassed, eleven years of abuse rearing its ugly, awful head, but then you look at what she’s actually holding.

‘i already had it,’ she explains, slightly rushed like she’s trying to make sure you’re not upset, like it was just a thoughtful aside of hers. ‘i tore my acl a few years ago and used both on my crutches, and so, i just figured, well… if it doesn’t work, that’s fine, but maybe worth a try?’

you take the winter cane tip attachment from her outstretched hand and it really does feel like some kind of offering for a moment. it’s nice, the crampon itself retractable, and easy enough to put on your cane. when you try it outside the door on the way to her truck, you can’t help but smile, remember a little bit of the joy that first came with movement as you started receiving proper care and accessibility and mobility aids. you don’t take healing for granted, even now. ’thank you,’ you tell her as she unlocks her truck and goes around to the driver’s side. 

she nods. ‘like i said, i already had it sitting around. not a problem at all.’

‘still,’ you say, climbing up and twisting around to greet a suddenly very excited theo in her kennel strapped into the backseat. ‘not many people have been particularly thoughtful in my life, especially not at this.’

she frowns at your admission, her jaw clenching, her face stormy. she’s handsome in her rich maroon scarf and camel wool coat, careful hands on the wheel.

‘anyway,’ you say, a little overcome, ‘how’d you tear your acl?’

she immediately reddens, pulling out of the driveway and trying to act like she’s concentrating very hard on her turn signal to merge onto the completely empty road. 

‘bea, please.’

she sighs, refusing to look at you even at the red light. ‘i was training with theo,’ she says.

‘that’s not horribly embarrassing on its own.’ you grin. ‘there’s got to be more to it.’

‘fine,’ she says, mostly just to humor you, you’re pretty sure. ‘she was small, and we were both learning how to herd. i, well — i tripped over one of the sheep.’

you wait a beat to picture it and then laugh, not unkindly but without any remorse. ‘thank you truly so much for telling me.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘you’re so welcome,’ she says flatly, and you laugh again.

/

you’re confused if your little outing to the christmas market is a date or not for the two minutes it takes for beatrice to park the car, get the small pack holding treats that she carries around for theo buckled around her waist — a little nerdy and totally adorable — and then letting theo out of the kennel. she’s in a little green coat, the same as the other day, and it kind of makes you feel like you’re going to scream, she’s so cute. she greets you fully now, with happy little wiggles, and then situates herself at beatrice’s side. she has a leash connected to her harness, the other half slung over beatrice’s shoulder and across her chest so her hands are free; you think theo doesn’t need it at all, but beatrice explains, ‘in crowded public access areas, it’s appropriate.’ theo, for her part, is busy sniffing a few treats beatrice scattered around her feet in the snow, and then she smiles at you and gestures to head inside.

you’re confused no longer when you see camila’s booth, advertising hot chocolate, apple cider, and egg nog, and she whistles. ‘beatrice, you look so nice with your fancy jacket.’

beatrice glares. 

camila turns to face you fully, a smirk on her face. ‘she never wears that unless it’s a special occasion.’

you can’t help yourself: ‘well, i am a special occasion, if i do say so myself.’

’no one else is saying it,’ lilith grumbles from her seat behind camila, and beatrice fights a laugh while you pout.

‘you look nice too, ava,’ camila says, keeping the peace as you’ve quickly figured out she always does. 

you preen a little, just for the fun of it. ‘why thank you. i love your sweater.’

camila looks down at her jesus was palestinian sweater. ‘’tis the season and all that.’ she beams at you, then beatrice. ‘well, what can i get you both on this romantic outing?’

beatrice sighs in defeat but you grin and look at the menu. ‘well, i’m on vacation and bea picked me up—‘ camila perks up even more at this— ‘so i’m going to do your bailey’s hot chocolate.’

‘i’ll have a cider,’ bea says, and you shoo away her attempt to pay for things, which brings a blush back to her cheeks when you tap your card with a pointed flourish. 

you go through the market with your warm drinks, your cane not sinking into the snow as it had been the past few days, making everything easier, simpler, less nervous with every step. once you have half of your hot chocolate, you lean into beatrice with a smile, and she offers her arm, all clove and pine and her soft scarf. there are booths with ornaments, knitted coasters; you convince her to buy a pretty wreath for the front door of her cabin, which you kind of hope she’ll invite you to see.

it starts to snow when you’re about to leave, the sky darkening early, and she feed theo a few treats before she situates her in the kennel. 

it’s quiet when she starts the truck, and she seems nervous, her hands white knuckled around the steering wheel. ‘i apologize if i was presumptuous.’

you soften. ‘that was a really wonderful date, bea. you can be as presumptuous as you want.’

her smile is shy, bathed in the waning light. ‘well, in that case, would you like to come to my house for dinner?’

‘yes, obviously.’

 she laughs. ‘alright then.’

[iprefertheterminsane]

Take me Home (Where I Belong)

I'm almost finished with my domestic perryshmirtz 5+1, which I'm gonna upload to ao3 soon so here's a tease in the form of the first chapter!

Rating: G

Relationship: Perry the Platypus/Heinz Doofenshmirtz

Tags: Human Perry the Platypus, pre-slash, domesticity, Perry's moved in before they even stopped calling themselves enemies, it's normal to want to kiss the homies sometimes, right?, long suffering Charlene, Perry's got 4 kids actually and that fourth one is Vanessa, haha Perry the Platypus you are dating my father.

Even after having his plans foiled for the day, Heinz doesn’t let him drive home.

“Look at yourself, Perry the Platypus, you’re barely standing on your own two feet.” The scientist points out. He’s right, of course, not that Perry will let him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. It seems to mean less than little; Heinz had already buckled him back into the passenger seat of his truck with the tenacity of a father, and Perry is just barely conscious enough to comply- a bit dumbly, but the taller man does not seem to mind-without much of a fuss. He’s still talking, naturally. Perry has gotten so used to the chatter the droning had begun to take on an ambient sort of feeling, like brown noise. “-practically an accident waiting to happen. Honestly, you’d think Francis would want to try keeping his best agent alive-that agency is gonna do you in better than I would, one day.”

Perry considers giving up a token protest-he had gotten here with the hoverjet on auto-pilot; the routes between the lair and Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. has long been keyed in as his defaults-but decides otherwise. He really was quite exhausted, surely it would be no bother to let Heinz drive him back to Evil Inc. where he’s parked. Why waste fuel when a cheaper of transport was on offer? The Major has particularly been going on and on lately about turning the office more green and saving energy, no doubt one of their latest efforts to cut costs-so he was doing the agency a favor, really. He trusted that Heinz was a reliable enough driver when they’re neither forced to undergo the serial killing obstacle course that was the Drusselsteinian Driving Test Route.

He would sleep in just until Heinz gets them back home. Decision made, he lets himself rest his eyes.

00..00

“Up, up, up, Perry the Platypus you don’t really expect me to carry you up the stairs do you-,”

“-Ok, here we go, sit here-no, no, don’t lay down just yet you need to take your shoes off Perry the Heathenpuss-,”

“-I am not letting you sleep in the corset of a waistcoat Perry the Platypus, wow is this Kevlar? No wonder you can stand my Titanium punches-Ok uppies, I should probably help you take this tie off too, huh? They could strangle you in your sleep, y’know, nuff said, if nuff was-y’know, me-it’s so weird to see you so biddable, Perry the Platypus-,”

“-ok, last thing Perry the Platypus, yes I promise, just need to help you get under the covers, alright? Now, isn’t that better? Aw, look at how cute you look, Perry the Platypus, like a little angel-,”

“Good night, Perry the Platypus.”

00..00

Perry snorts awake in the penthouse guest room with the covers pulled up to his chin, blinking against the light of the setting sun from behind the half-shaded curtains facing east of Danville.

He isn’t sure what’s woken him, but finds himself unable to go back to sleep. This was probably a good thing-he’s never stayed behind in Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. for so long without making his excuses before, and the clock shows that he’s nearly late for dinner back at the Flynn-Fletcher’s household. He’ll have no trouble flying home now, he feels perfectly well-rested.

Rising to his feet, he finds himself underdressed. His hat rests on the right-hand nightstand, right next to his sleeping head, and the rest of his clothes-vest, tie and shoes-draped carefully over the chair that looks like it’s been dragged over from the kitchen, positioned right next to the room’s entryway, deliberately left ajar. He shoves the hat back over his head and toes his shoes back on, but blinks deliberately at the rest of his attire. They are, of course, crucial parts of his armour, but what was to fear for stepping out without them? Heinz’s scheme was thwarted for the day, and lest the man was suddenly overcome with another plan while Perry was out, which he sincerely doubts, Heinz would not have reason to attack him out of the blue, and certainly not out of armour. He was obsessed with playing fair, and acting by the book. As far as they are both concerned, they were now both off the clock.

Perry decides to take the clothes and fold them over his arm, but he steps out without putting them on- the vest tends to cinch, which he tolerates, but not without reason-and goes to search for his host to make his goodbyes.

It’s easy enough to find him; Heinz is in the kitchen, naturally, making dinner for himself, with Norm at the dining table carefully slicing vegetables and making prep; something doughy, it seems. Perry wonders if it’s pie-Heinz makes wonderful doonkleberry pie. He rests his hips against the doorjamb, and chatters his teeth to make his presence known, a noise Heinz is well familiar with. It cuts off the man’s mindless chatter, and he beams. Perry can’t help his own answering smile.

"Ah, Perry the Platypus!” He crows. “Just in time for dinner! I don’t suppose you mind setting the table, just need to give me another couple of minutes-,” he cuts himself off as he sees Perry shaking his head, and Perry signs, regretfully, that he has to make himself scarce.

“YOU AREN’T STAYING FOR DINNER?” Norm asks, as despairingly as his cheerful-sounding robotic voice could make it sound. His mouth is down turned.

“Yes, it’s already so late, Perry the Platypus, surely your report could wait a couple of more hours.” Heinz adds, cajoling. “I worry you know, a man has to eat homemade meals every couple of days, else you tend to get sick to the stomach. I don’t know if you cook. I’ve made lemon pie for dessert.” Heinz sing-songs enticingly at the end, and Perry has to admit it’s persuasive. The man really does have a knack for baking.

But he’s already missed out on family dinner yesterday, due to making up for Agent G’s maternity leave, and the Flynn-Fletchers would worry if he missed out on another. He knows for a fact Linda’s made her award-winning meatloaf tonight, and hedgehog cake for supper. He’d hate on missing out on the treat for the world.

He’s halfway through realizing he’s said it out loud, ‘I have homemade meals at home,’ before he freezes, taking in Norm’s and Heinz’s curious blinks, and his hands pause abruptly, letting the sentence trail off awkwardly. He could see from the look on Heinz’s face that he was curious, mouth opening as if to pose a question, but seems to ultimately decide against it. They’ve both scrambled enough of the expected norms of their Villain-to-Spy nemesis-ship today, and crossing the line to figuring out Perry’s home life seems a midge too far, even for them.

Heinz hums, and changes the subject. “Are you really driving home fully dressed like that?”

Perry looks down at himself. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

“Nothing, which is my point. You could just leave them here, you know, they’re all dirty, Norm can run them through with the rest of the day’s laundry, and you can pick them up tomorrow. It’s weird to see you all dressed down, you know, but not bad weird, a good weird, makes me feel like a good host. That’s how you know you’re an adult sometimes, ugh, just listen to me talk about good hosting etiquette, Vanessa never has to worry about that sort of thing you know, even though she should. I hope Charlene’s teaching her.”

Perry’s wandered over to the coffee machine at this point, using context clues to figure out how it works and avoiding the large red button in a transparent case on the right-hand side of it’s case. He taps it, and churrs again.

“Oh, coffee! That’s a good idea, Perry the Platypus, some strong caffeine to help drive you through that traffic, I bought this travel mug for you!” Heinz hands him a short and stout chrome and teal travel mug with a silicone top and an anti-slip base. “I saw that color while scrolling through Etsy while I was looking at bento-boxes for this scheme I’m cooking up next week-oop, forget I said that Perry the Platypus, no spoilers! It reminded me of you! But the travel mugs aren’t related, it was just in the same shop, I love travel mugs, especially these newer novelty ones, you know there were never any novelty items back in Drusselstein, on account of the state largely frowning on any sort of color or patterns-,”

Perry churrs again, twisting the top of his cup back on and pointing out the door. Heinz visibly deflates.

“Oh, right, yes, leaving, of course, Perry the Platypus, let me just let this simmer and walk you to the door-and leave the clothes with Norm, Perry the Platypus, I’ve told you, you can come to fetch them tomorrow.”

Heinz helps hold the mug for him while he gets himself settled back in the hoverjet, and the clock on his dash informs him he should reach the house just in time to reach the Flynn Fletchers begin dinner if he rushed. Heinz leans forward to hand him the travel mug, leaving them close, just close enough that Perry feels the ridiculous urge to-maybe-leave a soft kiss on the other man’s cheek, the way Lawrence does when Linda was about to leave the house for the errand of the day.

Heinz doesn’t seem to notice, mumbling about setting the mug just right into the cupholder behind the handlebar, because it was hot, Perry the Platypus, we wouldn’t want a repeat of the driving test incident, do we? When Perry switches the jet on, Heinz waves. Perry, inexplicably, tips his hat back in return.

It isn’t until he’s 15 minutes away from the house that he realizes he really had left his vest and tie behind at Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. He hopes Heinz doesn’t plan to do anything inadvisable with them.

For some reason, Perry doesn’t believe that he will.

[linked-through-the-centuries]

To help explain personality/chaos levels/Vibes for each of the Links, here’s how I imagine all of them would drive if cars existed (loosely ranked from best to worst, it’s not a hard set scale):

Twilight: Literally perfect, has never hit the curb before in his life, always uses his turn signal, never speeds, has never been pulled over. Driving with him feels SAFE and he makes sure everyone is comfortable and ready to go BEFORE he starts the car. He will tell everyone off for being too loud and tell them he needs to focus on the road, and he also checks the traffic maps before he goes anywhere so he knows the best route to take because he gets anxious sitting in heavy traffic. Most likely to have a minivan to drive ‘the kids’ around in, and also a pickup truck for work

Calamity: Perfect driver, both hands on the wheel always. The car ride is dead silent because he’s mute and also refuses to put on music, plus he’s not that talkative anyway, so it’s up to whoever’s in the car to talk if they want to. Would probably drive a small black SUV

Past: The kind of person who you cannot read whether or not they’re a good driver just based on vibes, but are surprisingly good. Sometimes stops are a bit rough and maybe they’ve hit the curb once or twice, but has never been given a ticket. Would have an older car that they’ve taken good care of, like an early 2000s Toyota Corolla

Mask: He’s a good driver, he’s just so stressed he has a death grip on the wheel and if people don’t let him over on the highway or he can’t merge over on surface streets he will burst into frustrated tears. Has to have the music turned up loud enough so that Hylia can also hear it, but without it he’ll be too much of a nervous wreck to drive. Would drive an SUV, he couldn’t handle anything bigger (he’d get too stressed out)

Sky: His kindness and music taste makes up for the fact that in a fifteen minute drive, you gripped the handle and feared for your life once. He asks if people are buckled up before he starts the car because one time he braked so hard Mask’s face bounced off the dash and he still feels bad about it. Would drive a smaller car and it’s definitely bright red

Minish: Inexperienced, and sometimes forgets to put on his turn signal. Has ran a red light once or twice. He’s 15 so he wouldn’t have his own car, he’d probably use Twilight’s or Wars’s

Warriors: He has never been in a crash that was his fault, which no one believes because getting in the car with this man feels like tempting the reaper. The kinda guy to hit a pot hole that leaves the car making a brand new sound and just go “OOPSIES!!!” but he cries himself to sleep over it. He either screams along to his playlists or he tells you the hottest gossip you’ve ever heard. Usually has an iced coffee in one hand and waves it around when he talks. Would have a Ford Escape, but like a 2013 Ford Escape specifically. He also checks the traffic maps before he leaves because he likes to he efficient and will leave very early for whatever event he’s going to

Tune: He’s never been the direct cause of a crash and that’s what’s important. He calls his car “ol’ girl” in the most respectful loving manner, and treats the car better than anything else in his life. That being said, he is a truly awful driver and would have a little old sports car

Hyrule: Struggles to stay in the lanes because he gets distracted by landmarks. Past has had to grab the wheel and steady it on more than one occasion. HAS hit another vehicle because he stopped too late. He’s also run several red lights because he thought he could make it

Tears: Better at off road driving than on road driving. You need to take a car up the side of a mountain? Tears is your guy. Otherwise don’t get behind the wheel with them, EVER.

[tigertofu]

Hate to love headcanon between a fem!reader and North Yankton Trevor :)

fuck ya love the whole hate to love thing sm 😭 ...... also im sorry i struggle at making headcanon lists that are just pure n simple LISTS as they should be w/out slipping in some form of narrative sometimes and this prompt just lends itself to a story so well..... so this is some sort of half fic/half headcanon list monster. but hey this was rlly fun to write !!! ty as always for requesting 💞💞

pairing: fem reader/Trevor

summary: headcanons/short fic thing about a hate to love relationship between reader and North Yankton Trevor.

cw's: mentions of sex, alcohol

wordcount: 1,714

for narrative’s sake, let’s say that you are a small–time criminal in one of the many little podunk towns of North Yankton. one day, you catch wind of a new crew that’s set up in the area. four guys: a computer–hacking tech whiz of some sort; a big lug of a brute with a penchant for starting unnecessary barfights; a smaller, scrappier brute who’s already sniffed out and either done business with or scared off all the drug peddlers in town; and a stern ringleader who only barely manages to control his anger issues better than the others.

unbeknownst to you though, this crew has also caught wind of you. and one night, as you’re trudging through the snow to your shitty little studio apartment from the grocery store, a car pulls up alongside you and the window rolls down. the driver introduces himself as Michael. he tells you he’s heard about you; heard about how you’re one of the better thieves in the county. he tells you he’s got work for you, if you’ll take it. and ever the opportunist, you do.

a week later, you head out to meet the rest of the men you’ll be working with. they’re currently squatting in an old, abandoned hunting cabin out in the woods that border town. as you sit down for beers and talk with Michael and the computer guy—who introduces himself as Lester—you get a brief rundown of the crew’s history. they hit banks. this tends to cause a stir, so they’re almost always on the run; they landed in their current safehouse just two weeks before. while Lester and Michael cook up plans for the bigger, more dangerous heists, they make a living off of smaller endeavors. holding up gas stations, gutting truck shipments of electronics that Lester then sells off, sticking up gas stations and liquor stores. this is where you come in: there’s a well–to–do pawn shop in town, and Michael wants to hit it. but the people in your town are weary of outsiders, and the heat from the crew’s last bank job hasn’t died down yet. Michael wants you to go in and case the joint for them and, if you’re up to it, help them hit it.

right after you agree (so long’s you get a fair cut of the profits), the wooden door to the cabin slams open. two men stumble in. their faces are red from the cold and, when they get within your smelling range, you realize from booze, too. one’s tall, built like a truck, blond; the other’s got the scraggly, dark brown ends of a mullet peeking out from the edges of his askew trapper hat. there’s something animalistic in his eyes and in his drunken smirk and when he turns his gaze on you, you realize that despite his disheveled everything, he’s actually quite handsome. and you feel Something. a spark or a pang in your chest.

but then he turns to Michael and slurs, “If we’d’ve known you were getting a call girl tonight, Brad and I wouldn’t’ve stayed out so long!” and that Something instantly snuffs out as you now glare at the man with the mullet. you tell him you aren’t a fucking call girl as Michael lets out an exasperated huff and says “Shut the fuck up, Trevor.” but this Trevor guy has seemingly taken a liking to you. he saunters up to you, wavering on his feet, smirking like a cat with a mouse. asks you if you’re sure you don’t wanna make a bit of money tonight, ‘cuz he’s feeling awful lonely and you’re just a real pretty thing. you roll your eyes, tell Michael to keep in contact with you, and make your leave. you slam the door of the cabin shut on Trevor’s pleas to stick around and have some fun.

as you periodically meet up with Michael’s crew over the course of the next few weeks, your mild distaste for Trevor deepens to downright hate. sure, you think he’s attractive and you find some of his obscene jokes and observations funny, but mostly you just find them disgusting. every time he sees you he tries to coax you into bed with him, or convince you into a quickie in the car, or offers you a hit off his well-loved meth pipe, or asks you out on a date to the local tavern. you decline him every time, each “no” growing firmer and snappier. you don’t know why he makes you so mad. maybe it’s because if only he wasn’t so fucking annoying, you’d have fucked him by now.

the pawn shop heist goes well. so well, in fact, that Michael decides to keep you on for their next job: hitting a electronics store in a town a couple hours’ drive away. he sends you and Trevor alone to scope the place out. at some point during the drive, an argument erupts. Trevor asks you why you hate him. you tell him because. he asks what "because" means. you lose your temper, wondering why he chose to have this conversation now of all times, as you’re driving down an empty country lane through a nighttime snow flurry. you put on the brakes and park up on the side of the road and yell at him that you hate him because he’s disgusting, he’s pushy, and he drives you fucking crazy. as you catch your breath from your tirade, he is ominously silent. and then, in a low rumble that makes you feel things you wish it didn’t, he tells you that you drive him crazy, too. 

you kiss him for the first time then and there, if only to get him to shut up. you fuck him for the first time then and there, too. an intense mix of hatred and lust that you’ve never felt before makes it rough going. while he’s got you twisted into a pretzel in the back of the car, fucking you like an animal, he keeps trying to praise you: telling you’re pretty when you’re mad, that he knew you had nice tits, etc etc while you keep snarling at him to shut the fuck up. 

it’s good though, and addictive. from that day onwards, all your fights lead to angry sex. if you two start arguing in front of the others, you will both “disappear” soon after the yelling stops. if you two start arguing when alone—which starts to happen more frequently because, despite butting heads, you start to be okay with him showing up at your place unannounced—the spat will turn mid–fight into fucking. 

at first, you insist on parting ways immediately after both of you are re-clothed. but then one night, after having sex in your bed, Trevor doesn’t get up to leave right after. he lays beside you, one arm slung over your bare stomach, his head face down in your pillow. and for some reason, you don’t try to push him out of your bed. 

eventually, post–coital cuddling joins the mix. at first it feels wrong and gross. you haven’t quite gotten used to the various bad smells that usually cling to Trevor. but there’s something comforting about being in the arms of someone and having your arms around them after the intense emotional releases of an argument and fast, desperate sex. 

he starts to stick around for long after you’ve both had your more physical needs fulfilled. you start to engage him in non–shouting conversation; start to get to know more about him. and then one day when he comes over, and there isn’t any arguments at all. just talking, drinking beers, and the slowest—which is still rough by most people’s standards—sex you two have had yet. he has a habit of sputtering out frantic “I love you”’s during sex, and it’s always annoyed and repulsed you. but this time is different. you tell him you love him to as you feel him finish inside of you. 

as soon as your feelings are made known, he starts to relentlessly tease you. "Oh, but I thought you hated my guts!" he'll tease you about this so much that you'll start to actually hate his guts again during these moments when he pesters you.

for a few wonderful months, whatever is going between you two turns into a relationship. there isn’t much work for Trevor to do during this time, aside from prepping for some vague, big heist that Michael has cooked up for the crew. 

by now, the other guys have long figured out what’s going on between you two. Brad frequently teases Trevor about it. Michael says he doesn’t care who fucks who, so long’s it doesn’t get in the way of your guys’ criminal careers. and it doesn’t. things go well, until—

eventually the day of Michael's big heist he's been talking up comes around. they're robbing a cash depot in town. you aren’t there for it; banks are a bit more dangerous than the marks you’re comfortable with robbing. Michael knows this and insists you sit this one out. but Trevor promises to swing by your place to lay low for a bit after the deed is done. all day you look forward to it, waiting for him to show up at your door with a big, manic grin on his face, ready to celebrate with drinks and a night in together. but then the time that he told you he’d show up at comes and goes. and then hours pass. night falls, and there’s still no sign of Trevor. you try calling him, but there’s no answer. as you lay in your bed alone that night, unable to sleep, you think that maybe the cash depot heist didn’t go according to plan and the boys had to skip town ASAP. you aren’t too worried, though. you know that Trevor can handle himself and you knew from the get–go that Michael’s crew is one that doesn’t like to stay stationary, so this was bound to happen eventually. so it’s not worry that keeps you awake until the early morning of the next day: it’s a bittersweet gratefulness for what little time you did get to spend with Trevor, and some slight regret that you hadn’t stopped hating him sooner. 

[jamdoughnutmagician]

As It Should Be.

Cowboy!Eddie x Female Reader (Fluff)

Summary: Eddie wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Proposing to the girl of his dreams was just the next step.

Warnings: Just tooth-rotting probably badly written fluff

Word Count:1,147

Authour’s Note:I’m absolutely obsessed with cowboy!eddie and so I wanted to write a little something more with him.  If you’re wondering who Miss Evelyn is, she’s a little old lady who is a regular at the pie shop. You should probably check out this thread I wrote with @munsonology to help make sense of things.

also here’s a link to my previous Cowboy!Eddie fic

Masterlist

Wayne unfurled the small velvet box from the depths of his denim work jeans, before cracking it open to reveal the small oval diamond settled nicely onto a delicately weaved gold band.

Eddie eyed the ring in the box with awe, and a slight nervous excitement fizzing inside him.

“Thanks for this, Wayne. I know that this ring means a lot to you.” Eddie nods as he takes the ring and box from his uncle’s hands.

“Your momma would’a wanted you to have it, Ed. I was just holding on to it until you needed it.” Wayne smiles as he lays a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. 

"Think she'll like it, Pa?" Eddie asks, turning his head towards his uncle.

Wayne knew how Eddie could be sometimes. Getting in his own head and worrying too much. 

"Son, that sweet girl loves the bones of you. She looks 'atcha like the sun shines outta your ass. She'll love it, because she loves you." Wayne chuckles in his gruff voice. 

“I just want everything to be perfect for her, y’know?” his big brown eyes look out to the slowly setting sun from the porch overlooking the sprawling fields ahead of him.

“It will be Son. She’s gonna love it.” Wayne smiled as he ruffled the mess of Eddie’s dark curls. 

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Eddie finished up putting the last few bits into the picnic basket. A few bits of fruit, some bread, as well as a container of Miss Evelyn’s famous fried chicken and mac and cheese, which she had kindly made and gave to Eddie when he told her that he was planning to propose to you. She insisted that if you were going to do this then you should do it right, and with a good meal to share between you. 

Finally finishing up with a bottle of champagne tucked into the basket, and with a little bit of hope, and if all went to plan, the evening would end in a celebration. He makes one final check that the ring is safely hidden away in his pocket before he heard your voice calling out to him.

“Eddie, Honey? Are you ready to go?” You call as you make your way down the stairs, and towards where you know he is in the kitchen.

“Yeah Sugar, we’re all packed up here” he shouts over his shoulder before turning around to look at you.

You’re wearing a cute blue and white chequered sun-dress, and a pair of flat sandals. Your hair is in a perfectly messy updo, with a few loose curls framing your face. 

Eddie can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees you, everyday he counts his lucky stars that you’re with him. He doesn’t want anyone else. You’re it for him. He wants those cosy moments curled up in bed together, he wants those early mornings sharing breakfast together, and every little moment in between.

He takes you by the hand, leading you towards his pickup truck. Opening up the passenger side door, he helps you into your seat. He quickly rushed around to the driver's seat, before hopping behind the wheel next to you.

“Ready Darlin?” 

“Let’s go cowboy!” You laugh.

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Eddie pulled up to your favourite spot. The sprawling and colourful flower fields with the grand oak tree. The very same tree that you and him had carved your initials into on your one year anniversary of being together.

Getting out of the truck, he once again rushes around to your side to take your hand and help you step down from the passenger side.

With the picnic basket in one hand and your hand in his other you two set off to find the perfect place to set down your blanket. 

Eddie spreads out the soft blanket on to the grass, and you both begin to pull out all the food and drinks from the basket.

The sun is setting, turning the sky a hazy shade of pink and you and Eddie spend it laughing and joking, talking about everything and anything. It was always so easy between you, the conversation never running dry. The food was amazing, you’d have to thank Evelyn for next time she was in the shop, and make sure to save a slice of maple pecan pie for her to take home.

You’d comfortably been laying your head across Eddie’s lap as he leant back against the tree, loosely twirling a strand of hair between his fingers. Just enjoying the comfort of being in each other’s company.

The evening drew in and the small velvet box was burning a hole in Eddie’s pocket. He had to ask you. It was now or never.

“Hey, Darlin’...Look at me a minute, I wanna talk to you..well, I wanna ask you something, really.” he starts.

“What is it Ed?” you say as you begin to sit up, your eyes looking at him so sweetly.

He steadies his breath for a moment. He’d thought for a long time about what he would say to you in this moment, how he’d ask you, but right now his words were failing him. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“I like to think that the stars aligned the day I met you. I knew I wanted to get to know you more. Then when I got to know you more, I knew that I never wanted you out of my life. I can’t imagine the rest of my life without you in it. Darlin’ you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and I want to be with you forever and always. So what I guess I’m asking you, Sweetheart, is that…Will you marry me?” he finishes, pulling the ring box from out of his pocket and opening it up before you.

You’re overcome with emotions, crying tears of joy as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh my god! Yes!” you cry, wiping away the tears from your eyes.

“Darlin’ I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” he says as he plucks the ring from its box and slips it over your ring finger and pulls you close to kiss you deeply.

“Oh Ed! It’s beautiful.” you marvel, looking at the delicate band that now adorned your finger. 

“It was my Mom’s, she would’ve wanted you to have it.” he smiles.

Your heart warms at his admission. He wanted you to have his mother’s ring. You didn’t think it was possible to love him anymore than you already did, but now your heart was overflowing with emotions for the sweet man in front of you.

He was the only one for you, and you couldn’t be happier to begin to plan the rest of your life with him. Just you and Eddie. Together. As it should be.

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tagging: @munsonology @sunflowerdaydreamer @itsfreakingbats @seatnights @harringtons-cupid @penguinsandpotterheads

[ratatatastic]

(Top photo of Niko Mikkola: Joe Puetz / Getty Images)

Now that Niko Mikkola is in the NHL, his older sister, Nina Linnainmaa, laughs hysterically when she remembers the story.

As it goes, 20 years ago, the now-24-year-old St. Louis Blues rookie was in daycare in Finland and was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“Ice hockey was always his thing, so he said that he will be an NHL player,” Linnainmaa recalls, bursting between words. “But he had a backup plan, and that was to be the driver for the trash car. You know, those cars that pick the trash from people’s houses? Garbage truck! That seemed like a compelling option. NHL player or drive the garbage truck.”

When Mikkola is told over the phone that Linnainmaa has shared that with a stranger, you can almost hear the 6-foot-4, 185-pound defenseman’s shoulders slumping.

He sighs and can only surmise that the big truck had him in awe.

“Yeah, probably that’s why,” he says, shifting the conversation back to hockey. “But I think it was NHL player. I always like all kind of sports, so probably that’s my career option.”

It has turned into a wise choice for Mikkola, who scored his first NHL goal in San Jose on Monday night. Just 21 games into his NHL career, the fifth-round pick from 2015 has many in awe of his veteran-like ability. In an era in which young defensemen are coming into the league looking like forwards and wanting to make their marks in the offensive zone, he seems to enjoy coverage responsibility and physicality.

“Yeah, he has a different element in today’s game,” Blues general manager Doug Armstrong says. “He’s a defender, and there’s not a lot of defenders out there anymore.”

It’s as if he chose the more thankless of his two career aspirations.

To learn more about how that make-up evolved, The Athletic spoke to those who have known Mikkola since his garbage-truck-loving days, those who were there for his path through Finnish hockey, and those who identified him as a player who could make an impact at the NHL level.

A young Niko Mikkola skates at an outdoor rink in Finland. (Photo: Nina Linnainmaa.)

Sports were always part of life for Timo and Pirjo Mikkola’s two children: Nina, who is three years older, and Niko.

Timo played ice hockey and was a coach, so that was the family’s main sport in Kiiminki, a municipality that is now part of the larger city of Oulu. Both kids played, and Pirjo would volunteer at the rink.

Mikkola played for his dad from ages 4 to 10, and as he grew older, he was always on the ice.

“He would spend a lot of hours on ice hockey,” Kinnainmaa says. “Even after the official trainings, he always wanted to go to the public rink to skate with his friends.”

Blues defenseman Niko Mikkola rollerblades with his sister, Nina. (Photo: Nina Linnainmaa.)

And if it wasn’t hockey, it was some other competition: soccer, baseball, skiing or orienteering, which combines hiking and navigational skills.

“We used to compete a lot. And it didn’t matter where, we competed,” Linnainmaa says. “Our parents would sometimes play a trick on us and say, ‘Run around the yard, and we will take time.’ They didn’t take time. They were just telling us, ‘OK that was a bit faster than last time. Please try again.’ That was their way (to get rid of us).”

Asked who won those races, Mikkola doesn’t hesitate in responding. “Me.”

Linnainmaa jokes, however, that her younger brother has never won a fight between the siblings. She let that slip in an interview with a Finnish gossip newspaper a few years ago.

“That became like a headline, like shocking news: ‘Niko has not won against his sister on a fight,’” she says. “He was embarrassed.”

Mikkola didn’t find out what his sister had said until he read it in the article.

“I was laughing first, and then I call her,” he says. “I say, ‘Don’t say that again.’ She was laughing.”

So is it true?

“I don’t know,” Mikkola says.

“Yes,” Linnainmaa says. “I was three years older, and Niko moved away when he was 15, so …”

In 2012, Mikkola left Kiiminki to play for the U18 team of the Finnish Elite League’s KalPa, which is located in Kuopio, about 3 1/2 hours away from his home. He would be living on his own, which he admitted was “a little bit scary.” But his parents would visit and bring him food, and Linnainmaa wasn’t worried. Her brother had always been independent. When he was little, he would pack his own hockey bag, making sure he had his helmet, skates, etc.

“It’s not just something he learned,” she says. “It’s something he’s always been.”

Mikkola played just 12 games in his first season for KalPa but suited up in 46 his second year and finished with four goals and 17 points.

“It was kind of like a fresh start,” he says. “I did get more ice time on that team, so I feel like that was good for me for sure.”

Meanwhile, the defenseman was sprouting. His dad is 6-foot-1 and both his mom and sister are 5-9, but Mikkola was well on his way to towering over all. In 2014, the year before he would be eligible for the NHL Draft the first time, he grew three inches.

“Niko was in Kuopio, and I was busy with my university studies, so living in different cities, I didn’t see him often,” Linnainmaa says. “It was like an instant that he became so tall.”

But despite his game developing and his frame extending, Mikkola, not unsurprisingly, went undrafted.

Timo Koskela, a former Blues area scout in Finland, was in his first year with the team when he spotted Mikkola.

“He caught our eye the year he went through the draft, but in the second year, his game really improved,” Koskela says. “But he was a late bloomer, a little bit, over here. He was a lanky kid, but every time when I saw him, the two things that caught my eye: He really wanted to make a difference and his ability to skate as a big man.”

In Mikkola’s third season with KalPa, 2014-15, he had nine goals and 23 points in 37 games on the U20 team and also made his first appearance in the Finnish Elite League. But still, when Central Scouting released its mid-term rankings of European skaters in January, he was not among the 210 on the list, and when the final rankings came out in early April, he was No. 111.

The Blues thought at the time they might be able to get Mikkola in the sixth or seventh round of the 2015 draft. But that changed when Koskela watched him at an international tournament in April, two months before the draft.

“He played really well at the end of the season, and I was nervous because there was a lot of scouts (at the tournament),” Koskela says. “I kind of thought that he wasn’t (a secret) anymore.”

Two years earlier, the Blues had made a trade with New Jersey, sending forward Matt D’Agostini to the Devils for a conditional 2015 seventh-round pick. The condition was if D’Agostini was not re-signed by New Jersey, the selection would become a fifth-rounder.

D’Agostini was not re-signed, therefore the Blues got pick No. 127 from the Devils.

“I remember we were discussing closely, like, ‘What would be the right time to take him?’” Koskela says. “We had a pick early in the fifth round, and we thought that’s the place where we can get this guy.”

Then Koskela had an idea. A day or two before flying to the U.S. for the draft, which was held in Sunrise, Fla., that year, he would drive to Kuopio to meet Mikkola in person.

“I wanted to get an idea of how many teams interviewed him,” Koskela says. “I waited a long time to be the last one who could interview him before the draft, so that’s why I drove and tried to get all the possible information. But you know, Niko was smart. He said he had some interviews.”

Mikkola says he wasn’t fibbing when he told Koskela that he had spoken with 10 to 15 NHL clubs.

Either way, the Blues knew if they wanted him, they had to grab him sooner than later.

“He was late on to our list,” says Bill Armstrong, the club’s ex-director of amateur scouting, who drafted Mikkola. “Timo kept talking about the kid, and then he played well in the late tournament. We went to go see him at the end of the year, and everybody just came away excited about him. You’ve got to give a lot of credit to the area scout for really going to town on him and getting him on the board.”

That year, the Blues took Vince Dunn in the second round, followed by forwards Adam Musil and Glenn Gawdin in the fourth.

“As the head scout, at that point, you’re looking for something of a quality,” Bill Armstrong says. “I’ll give you an example: So, OK, a guy has 110 points in junior, but he has no size and he’s just playing with somebody good, so his game is not going to translate. … He might be a great junior player, a great college player, a great European player, but you want to see NHL qualities so you can sink your teeth in and say, ‘This is why we’re taking this guy.’ With Mikkola, we could sink our teeth into the quality of his size, his compete and his ability on the defensive side of the puck.”

So after Carolina made its pick at No. 126, the Blues took him. Mikkola actually thought the fifth round is about where he’d go, and because typically only players who are projected to go in the first few rounds attend the draft, he was not in Florida.

“No, no, no. He was in the sauna somewhere in Finland,” Bill Armstrong says.

Actually, with Rounds 2-7 taking place in the afternoon, Mikkola was out for dinner with some friends when his agent called to tell him the news.

“I think I was like one step closer,” he says.

Before he became the Blues’ GM, Doug Armstrong worked in Dallas under Bob Gainey, and one of the many lessons he learned from the Hall of Famer applied in the decision to keep Mikkola playing in Finland after he was drafted.

“The feeling was: Until you can play in the World Championships, there’s enough you can develop over there,” Armstrong says. “A lot of organizations see it totally different. They want to get them over to North America as quickly as possible. I personally have no problem leaving a European there until (age) 22-23 and let them just develop in a very comfortable environment.”

Mikkola agreed with the decision.

“I wasn’t ready for the NHL back then, but I was growing up as a player,” he says. “There’s no rush to get there if you’re not ready. So I stayed for a couple of years. I think that was good for me, growing up as a player. … I found more of my game, like my style.”

Growing up, Mikkola had watched skilled Finnish defensemen Teppo Numminen and Kimmo Timonen, along with the likes of Janne Niinimaa and Joni Pitkanen. But he modeled his game more as a sturdy blueliner who liked to defend.

“He has a big frame, and since I’ve known him and played against him, he’s always been willing to go in and battle and lay the body on people,” says Jani Hakanpaa, a Ducks defenseman who played with and against Mikkola in Finland and trains with him in the offseason. “He knows how good he is, and that’s one thing that keeps him going. He always wants to challenge himself and be in your grill out there. He always wants to win and be the best guy out there.”

Koskela remembers a story that demonstrates Mikkola’s competitiveness. It was Mikkola’s second full season playing in the Elite League, and he was eyeing a more prominent role on the team.

“The coach (Pekka Virta) told me that he interviewed Niko and he asked, ‘What’s your goal for the upcoming season?’ and Niko told him, ‘To play in the top six,’” Koskela says. “They had a really good D that year, and the coach told him, ‘OK, this is the list. Who is the guy that you are going to push out from the lineup?’ Niko’s answer was, ‘That’s your problem, but I’m going to be one of those six who’s going to play.’ And he did it.”

“Just be confident and trust myself,” Mikkola says. “I knew I’m going to take that spot on the team. Yeah, I took that top-six spot.”

Niko Mikkola participates in a Blues’ camp in 2017. (Photo: Scott Rovak / St. Louis Blues.)

The Blues would get glimpses of Mikkola’s ability when he visited St. Louis for development camps, rookie tournaments and one training camp.

“The first thing you notice is his size,” Doug Armstrong says. “He’s got great reach, good size. And then you watch him play, and he’s competitive. He was raw at that time, but he is a very competitive person. You either have that or you don’t have that, and he had that right from the get-go.”

For the first time, Mikkola was measuring himself against future NHL players.

“I felt pretty good at that time,” he says. “I just knew that it was my goal to get here someday.”

After one final season in Finland, Mikkola came to North America in 2018-19, making the transition to a new country, new language and smaller rink in San Antonio, Texas, where the Blues’ AHL affiliate played at the time.

Everything translated.

In 70 games, Mikkola had just two goals and nine points, but his defensive play was impressive.

“You don’t have that much time on the puck, so that was the thing maybe took a little time, to move the puck quicker than back in Finland,” he says. “The Blues said that, and I felt that myself. But it was getting better.”

Doug Armstrong remembers the minor-league reports on Mikkola.

“It just re-enforced what you saw his first time: that high level of competitiveness — sort of a North American stature to his game,” he says. “He was willing to play on the edge. He fought. He did the things that aren’t common in European hockey. Then the rougher edges started to get smoothed out. His passing became accurate, quicker, harder. His reading the first play was becoming natural to him and just keeping the game in front of him.”

The World Championship was in Slovakia the next season, and when Jere Lehtinen, a former NHL player who is Finland’s national team GM, reached out to Armstrong. The two were in Dallas together.

“Jere said, ‘We don’t really have him on our radar screen,’ and I just said, ‘Well, he’s played really good in the American League this year,’” Armstrong recalls. “So they brought him in, but he had to go there not knowing if he was going to make the team.”

Jukka Jalonen, the coach of the national team that year, already knew Mikkola, having coached him in 2015 at a U20 international tournament.

“He made an impression for me, but back then, he didn’t have great puck skills,” Jalonen says. “He wasn’t that major, to be honest with you, because he was a younger guy. (But) we hadn’t seen him so much lately because he had played for AHL team. I thought we will need size on our roster in the World Championships. (Lehtinen) was also very positive watching him play on TV from videos.

“When he came in, right away we noticed that he will make the team.”

The configuration of the World Championship lineup is a little bit different because teams play as many as 10 games in 17 days, so they dress eight defensemen. Mikkola was in the second pair, logging about 14 to 16 minutes per game, which included time on the penalty kill.

In that tournament, which features many NHL players whose clubs aren’t in the playoffs, Finland ran into some serious offensive talent. Sweden, whom the Finns edged 5-4 in overtime in the quarterfinals, had Vancouver’s Elias Pettersson and Toronto’s William Nylander.

“I remember that first faceoff in overtime,” Mikkola says. “It was like Nylander, Pettersson and like (Oliver) Ekman-Larsson. Yeah, I was like, ‘Oh fuck. I have to skate hard.’ But it went pretty well.”

Finland advanced to play Russia, which had Washington’s Alex Ovechkin and Evgeny Kuznetsov and Pittsburgh’s Evgeni Malkin, in the semifinals, and blanked them, 1-0.

“Just looking back at the last minutes of the game, (Mikkola) did a good job of handling them,” says Hakanpaa, who was also on the team. “He doesn’t care who’s coming at him, if it’s Ovechkin or Malkin.”

Niko Mikkola defends fellow NHL rookie Kirill Kaprizov at the World Championship in 2019. (Photo: Robert Hradil / Getty Images.)

Finland won the gold-medal game 3-1 over Canada, which was led by Vegas’ Mark Stone and Philadelphia’s Sean Couturier.

Mikkola finished the tournament with two goals and five points in 10 games and was a plus-3.

“He did exactly what we wanted or imagined,” Jalonen says. “He didn’t play the power play, but still he had five points, which was very good. … I remember him defending against very good NHL players. He’s a little bit like a horse. He’s in very good physical condition, and he battled all night long.”

“I played pretty good,” Mikkola says. “It was kind of a breakout, for sure.”

Back in San Antonio in December 2019, Mikkola was anticipating a visit from Linnainmaa and her boyfriend (now husband), spending a few days together for Christmas. But with the couple’s flight laying over in Chicago, Mikkola was called up by the Blues. So they rented a car and made the five-hour drive to St. Louis.

“We wanted to make sure that when we were in the United States, we will get to see Niko at whatever costs,” Linnainmaa says.

Unfortunately, Mikkola didn’t play that night, but he did skate in the warmups.

“We made these really big placards, saying, ‘Niko’ and ‘Mikkola,’” Linnainmaa says. “There were like three times that the security personnel were stopping us saying, ‘Why do you have those kind of fan posters?’ They were OK because they were only ‘Niko Mikkola.’ So we went to really near the ice hockey rink, hanging our cards there. I think that I got noticed by the team.”

Nina Linnainmaa and her boyfriend show support for Linnainmaa’s younger brother, Blues defenseman Niko Mikkola. (Photo: Nina Linnainmaa)

Mikkola, who beforehand begged them not to embarrass him, doesn’t believe any players saw it.

“But our equipment guy noticed and asked me if I had family here,” he says. “I was like, ‘Yeah, my sister and her boyfriend.”

Shortly after, Mikkola was re-assigned to San Antonio, and they got their holiday time.

His sister had returned to Finland by the time he was recalled again and made his NHL debut against the Sharks on Jan. 6, 2020.

“The first game, we had to watch. That was huge!” Linnainmaa says. “Niko texted us that he will play on that night. So, yeah, we spent 30 Euros ($35) to get to see the game. I think he was excited, but sometimes it’s hard to tell because he doesn’t like scream or anything. He just says, ‘OK, I will play tonight in my first NHL game.’ You know he’s excited, but he’s really casual.”

“I know it’s a big deal, and those are big moments,” Mikkola says. “For sure I was a little bit nervous, but that was a very exciting day.”

He remained on the Blues’ roster for five games, averaging 14:22 of ice time. He was impressive enough that two weeks later the team signed him to a two-year, $1.6 million contract. It’s a one-way deal, meaning he’ll be paid an NHL salary even if he’s assigned to the minors.

“I give him credit. We’ve obviously given him a one-way contract because we think he can play in the league,” Doug Armstrong says. “When he’s in there, he’s proven he can play in the league. It’s just a matter of a consistent opportunity.”

In 16 games this season, Mikkola is averaging 13:17 of ice time, and that elusive first goal came Monday.

“He’s done a great job of kind of doing what’s been asked of him,” Blues defenseman Justin Faulk says. “He’s open to everything. He listens. He works hard. And as a young guy, if you continue to do that, it generally makes your job a bit easier. You start to settle in and get more comfortable. He hasn’t played a ton of games, but he’s going to have an opportunity here to kind of cement his spot in the lineup and show what he can do. We all think he’s capable of kind of taking the reins and stepping up.”

In addition to now being a regular in the NHL, Jalonen says, “I’m sure he’ll be fighting for a spot on the national team for the (2021) Olympics. He has a chance to be involved, for sure.”

Linnainmaa can’t fathom the opportunities her brother is creating for himself.

“It’s hard to believe because there are so many people that dream of it,” she says. “But on the other hand, he has always been really hardworking and diligent and responsible person. So, in a way, he had the qualities to make it.”

“Niko has done the work,” Koskela says. “I was the first guy who saw him play, but keep the credit for Niko.”

Don’t talk about credit with Mikkola, though.

“I don’t think about it like ‘I made it,’” he says. “I’m still on the way, and there’s still things I want to do to be better.”

And whenever his hockey career ends, there will always be an opportunity to drive the garbage truck.

“Yeah, usually you don’t play ice hockey when you’re 60, so you still have some good years after the career,” Linnainmaa says.

“He can do that when he’s retired from the first part,” Doug Armstrong adds.

“That’s true,” Mikkola says.

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The Athletic | 3.10.21 (x)

[roe-and-memory]

HI (*^▽^*)┛I saw u mention in your pinned that ur ok with asks but im hoping this isnt too much trouble!!

I saw in ur headcanons post that u said Doc has a ring and i was wondering if Lightning had any little trinkets or things with backstory like Doc does??

HIYA yes actually we do! there are two specifically that come to mind (and we’ll probably come up with more later i just think these ones are silly af)

first i think he has a lanyard. its not anything pretty, its an old lanyard he got from rusteze when he was fifteen, when he was first taken in by mack (that is a whole other headcanon post for soon..). now, at the time of cars 1, its fairly worn. the rusteze logo has been essentially rubbed right off of it and now its just red with splotches of light pink/orange wherever the logo had been (he did this partially on purpose because he didnt like the logo being on it but also mack got it for free for him so he didnt want to be mean about it).

over the years its collected little gift shop keychains from all across america and canada, because when the person you live with is a truck driver thats taken a role as your older brother and the place you live is the cab of a truck, you do get to see places.. so he has keychains from different states and provinces/territories hanging off of it, and originally it only had one key. it had the spare key to the cab of macks truck. and he wasnt angry about it because at the time its not like there were any other vehicles for him to drive (and also he couldnt drive, this was just in case mack was unloading a delivery and he didnt wanna stand outside or he wanted to lay down on his bunk if mack was in s truck stop or a meeting or something) ((also have i mentioned before that mack 100% let him decorate his bunk walls with stickers and posters because thats his little brother and he deserves to have a decorated space!!!) i think he also has a laser pointer/flashlight on it because hes blind af he cant see a thing (headcanon from the other post)

when radiator springs comes along he gains more keys, specifically from sally and doc. he has the extra key to sallys car and a key to her office and her house, for obvious reasons (theyre the only couple ever tbh), and then he has docs extra key to the hornet and a key to docs house because he lives there. he doesnt use the front door often anyways, hes too busy climbing out his bedroom window thinking hes sneaky but no doc can hear him from across the hall and is very well aware of his supposed sneaking out. he does not care.

AND SECOND he has a lighter. its one of those lighters you buy at the cash register at a dollar store or a gas station and its red but clear, and he never uses it to light things on fire (sometimes), rather he just flicks it on and off. bro is stimming.

he cant help it, its either the lighter or tearing off the fake leather on docs couch and really doc would much rather he just lights the couch on fire than make it look Awful by peeling the leather off. i dont have much to say about this one but i think its silly and its so him (shaking him around)

WAA thank you for the ask though omg im so sorry i had way too much to say i hope this was what you were looking for