#well I didn’t do too shabby anyways

[muteddaydreams]

thinking abt how in my physics 1 class in college how everyone would cheat on every single test while my prof would hold a big ole magazine up in front of his face

[fingertipsmp3]

Just an fyi my doctor told me I’m not allowed to eat salt anymore so if you find me angrily eating unsalted beans or potatoes, you can blame her

[vaaaaaiolet]

A broken backspace key, two rival magazines, and love letters sent through email. It’s the 2000's and Raccoon Mag’s prize photojournalist lands himself a secret admirer. 

You. 

gn / m, fluff, romance via email love letters, how to lose a guy in 10 days-esque, just a cutesy romcom, reader works a stereotypically female job but no pronouns mentioned!

word count: 2.4k // read on ao3

a/n: title inspired by the alicia keys song ofc. thank you to the lovely @kennedysbaby for the prompt inspo and endless support while writing this! this isn't my usual writing style so i'm kinda nervous AHGH but i thought it was cute LMAO. i <3 u!!

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com 

Subject: You Don’t Know My Name

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

I hope this email never finds you well. 

No, no, that came out wrong, I swear! Gosh, I’m not sure how to work the backspace on these new computers. What I mean to say is that I hope this email never finds you.

I’m the new hire for the How To column at STARS Week magazine. They haven’t quite set up an email address with my name yet: I’m using the one readers mail their questions to. It’s a bit of a blessing to not have my name attached to this mortifying message now that I think about it. 

You must be wondering, why does an Agony Aunt columnist from your media rival have your email in the first place? You, the top photojournalist at Raccoon Mag, the highlight of all newsstands. You must think I’m crazy. 

But the thing is that I think you’re simply wonderful.

You visited our office last week. Surely you remember walking into the great big glass doors of the STARS building. Aren’t they glamorous? They make me feel like a hotshot movie journalist when really I just write back to teenage girls and help them pick out the right nail color, or tell middle-aged moms how to dress less like they rolled out of an outdated Sears catalog. I’m eternally grateful to get to work here – Ms. Hunnigan really did a favor taking me on – but I can’t help feeling like a bird with its wings clipped, stuck in a glass cage. I could be doing so much more with my talents. And don’t tell me that I already am; I know my advice articles don’t work because my own mom still wears stripes with polka dots.

Yeesh.

So when you came by last week with your great big camera filled with pictures of all your travels around the world, you caught my eye right away. 

You weren’t wearing a suit like all the other big shots in the STARS office. Mr. Kennedy, you came to what Ms. Hunnigan would consider “the biggest business risk of your life” dressed in a polo and slacks, still looking sharper than our Man of the Month, with not a word extra to say because your photos spoke for themselves.

Mr. Kennedy, I was working my measly little column when I overheard Ms. Hunnigan’s surprise at your refusal to take a dime for the photojournalism you brought to our office. Your manila folder was filled with pictures from a recently hurricane-hit island, one I’m embarrassed to say I only learned of from your spirited tirade. You didn’t care that Raccoon Mag and STARS Week were sworn enemies. All you cared about was combining readers’ donations for disaster relief. I thought it was mighty noble of you.

You didn’t flinch once at Ms. Hunnigan’s unforgiving stare and I know how hard that can be because I got the same one when I asked to switch to a journalism department instead. Ms. Hunnigan isn’t too keen on putting effort where there isn’t turnover. But you came anyway, and you left victorious simply because you wanted to help people that badly.

I think you can assume why I scrapped my article this week about getting over crushes. There’s going to be a horribly empty space in my column if I don’t figure out how to type something other than your name soon. Hence this email. 

(You left your business card on Ms. Hunnigan’s desk, if you’re still wondering how I’m sending this to the right email address. I’m not too shabby at snooping around, in a journalism kind of way, of course.)

I don’t think this counts as getting over a crush. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?

Yours sincerely, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (7/7/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

Did you see the smiles of the children who got their school rebuilt thanks to your disaster relief proposal? I’m sure you did: their pictures, along with all the other photos from the donation effort, got printed front and center on this week’s issue! I nearly sold out the newsstand from all the Raccoon Mag copies I bought the morning they came off the press. Had to hide them from Ms. Hunnigan too; she wasn’t too happy about my less-than-juicy column last week. 

But that’s not for you to worry about, Mr. Kennedy. I’ll figure something else out. Like what color fabric makes your eyes pop, subtle ways to tell a coworker you’re interested in more than just drinks after work, what to eat to look and feel your best in less than two weeks.

On a completely unrelated note, I can’t help but look forward to when you come back to STARS Week in less than a month (according to Ms. Hunnigan’s desk calendar).

You’ve inspired me to get back into journalism; put my degree to use. I didn’t graduate top of my class just to tell people what hairstyle goes with what neckline! I’m clumsy with cameras and not too nifty with technology (I still can’t figure out where that backspace key is!) but I’m a sure hand with a pen. I go to the library after work now and spend hours researching global issues to write about when I get home. My collection of research articles is coming right along. Kind of like your manila folder. I flatter myself.

I wonder what you write, what you read. What makes Leon Kennedy laugh? What does he read before bed, what makes him think? I wonder if we laugh at the same bad jokes. 

Email is a strange mode of communication. There’s an awful lot of dishonesty involved. You get to pick and choose what you leave out. I suppose I don’t get that luxury with my lack of backspace, but it’s the same in conversation when you don’t get to backtrack on what comes out of your mouth. Would it be silly of me to dream that I’m having a conversation with you like this? Through my keyboard?

I’d much rather hear you in conversation, I have to admit. You’ve got a lovely voice. The rest of us are just lucky you decided to use it for good and speak out about the problems of the world despite what may or may not sell (sorry, Ms. Hunnigan). I might even be lucky enough to hear my name fall from your lips one day. Are…oh gosh, this is making me shy. Damn you, backspace key. But I wonder what it feels like to kiss you, Mr. Kennedy. 

I hear tying cherry stems with your tongue makes you a good kisser. I’ll be sure to learn. Maybe if we ever hit the town and we get drinks, I could show you? I’m not even sure what kind of drinks have cherries on top. That’s more a milkshake or ice cream thing. I’d be delighted to get either with you; I even know a trick to cure brain freeze in a second! I hope that’s incentive enough. I’m quite partial to cookie dough if you’d like to share. Not so much if you’re a fan of rum raisin.

And then over ice cream, we could talk about everything under the sun. Your pictures, my writing, bad jokes, good jokes, your favorite rom-coms, important questions like that.

(I’m kidding, promise. The rom-com one is important though. I hope you understand.)

There so much I’d love to talk to you about. But for now, I’m content with sitting in my cubicle in the corner, hiding behind my potted plant and hoping for a glimpse of your golden hair through Ms. Hunnigan’s office doors when you come by. But as all good things must come to an end, here comes the end of this email to my Raccoon Mag Romeo. 

Looking forward to your nonexistent response, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (8/12/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

You used to be in the police academy before you worked for Raccoon Mag? 

Gosh, I hope my snooping doesn’t come off untoward, truly, I don’t mean to – it’s just that you’ve been coming to STARS Week so frequently this month and you didn’t visit in the last few days and…well, I missed seeing you. So it seems I’m remedying that with novice-level stalker work. Er, journalism. 

I’m marvelously impressed by you is all. Your sense of justice runs deeper than I thought. I wonder what made you choose this line of work instead of the force? 

For what it’s worth, digging up your past work introduced me to several fascinating topics. If Ms. Hunnigan lets up on her workload, she might even have time to look at the piece I’ve been drafting all month! You’ve inspired me in more ways than one, Mr. Kennedy, so you understand why I’m eager to see you again in the hope of showing you what I’ve written. I could slip my article into your folder, leave it in an envelope next to the cup of coffee you always let cool on the receptionist’s desk before going into the copy room…

But there might not be a point avoiding you anymore. I’m afraid you’ll run into me sooner than later with the number of errands Ms. Hunnigan sends me on around the office.

Worse yet, I think someone’s caught on to me. 

Claire from Sports is starting to ask about all these emails I type up while my How To assignment of the week sits by its lonesome next to my potted plant. I wish these keyboards weren’t so loud and cranky! They rattle up a storm when I type these emails to you, but turn quiet as mice when it comes time for me to work on my dreadful How Tos. Snitches get stitches, don’t you know?

But I’d never snitch on you, Mr. Kennedy. A tiny part of me hopes you’ve caught on to who hides an extra donut in the fridge for you from our office breakfasts. Rest assured that I can do much better than slightly stale office donuts, though. 

So if that ice cream date doesn’t work out, we could head downtown to Marvin’s on a Thursday for the best chocolate donuts I swear you’ve ever tasted. Thursday is when they bake them up fresh and I know a table by the street where the sunset looks the prettiest. A treat for you and a treat for your camera, how’s that? 

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me. I feel all crazy inside, giddy and smiling over my research like unpaid overtime I’m all too happy to take on. I really hope to show you my article soon. There’s nothing more romantic to a journalist than setting your facts straight next to somebody who smiles like the sun, like you, Mr. Kennedy. I might even dream of my article being printed next to your pictures one day.

But as short as today’s email to you might be, I hope our time together isn’t. The security team is redoing the How To department’s computers after Ms. Hunnigan’s keyboard started acting up – something about manufacturing issues. Remember that pesky backspace key of mine? They’re fixing it later today! 

Actually, they’re fixing it right now. The team’s coming over to my desk, so I’m going to have to enDKJJL

> Send Email? SFHALFNO

> Input detected. Email sending… NJOS NON DON”T SEND 

> Email sent successfully! (9/16/2003)

From: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com To: howtodept@starsweek.org

Subject: RE: You Don’t Know My Name

I’m submitting an answer for July’s How To: how do I get over a crush?

If I’m being honest, I’ve written and rewritten this email a fair number of times. I’m not good with my words. That’s why I take pictures: they say everything I leave unspoken. But it’s also why I’ve grown so fond of a certain How To columnist because they’re not afraid to put their feelings to pen, rather, keyboard. 

It’s just a shame that their name isn’t on any of the sweet emails they sent me. And it’s not like I can just go up to my boss and ask. If I’m their Raccoon Mag Romeo (see what I mean when I say they’ve got a way with words?), they’re the Capulet I’m after. 

So I took a page out of my admirer’s book and went snooping. It’s what a journalist does best, right? 

Marvin’s an old friend of mine. I went to his shop last Thursday to find out who comes for donuts and stays for the sunset. His donuts taste better than the office ones for sure, but there’s something a little sweeter about the thought behind the latter. FYI: my lips are sealed.

All this donut and ice cream business makes me think my admirer’s got a sweet tooth. I’m willing to share any ice cream that isn’t rum raisin either. Cookie dough is a close second to my personal favorite – mint chocolate chip – but that brain freeze trick is enough to convince me to have both. What do you say we try out all the flavors? You might even come across a scoop to write about, you never know. (RE: your question about bad jokes, how was that?)

And last but not least, Claire from STARS Week Sports isn’t too tight-lipped. She was perfectly charming when I asked about any deskmates with clunky keyboards who’ve been quite busy recently, so it really wasn’t that hard to find out who this kind, endearing, and incredibly talented admirer of mine is. 

You needn’t sneak your article into my folder because I found a copy of it on your desk with my name written on the bottom. You say you’ve only been working on this since I came for the disaster relief deal? That’s only two months!

Color me impressed. Ms. Hunnigan would be a fool to miss out on the untapped talent sitting in her How To department, so I think it would be a great idea to bring your article to her together. I’d be honored to straighten out any facts with you, though I doubt there’s much I can add to what you’ve compiled. My camera is at your disposal.

Let’s talk details over those donuts, then? It’s Thursday. I’ll wait by the bench outside the STARS building. I have a feeling it’ll be a nice change from sending emails. 

Yours sincerely (and I do know your name), Leon

(P.S. Personally, I hope this isn’t a crush you need to get over.)

(9/18/2003)

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[fanfic-compass]

~Deal?~

Alastor X Reader

Summary: You're the newest Overlord and meet Alastor at a Meeting, tempting him to offer you a deal.

Word count: 1.3K

It was your first overlord meeting. Nobody knew who you were when you suddenly appeared in hell and killed a man who was coming just a little too close. Little did you know you killed an overlord on your very first day in hell but that asshole deserved it with the way he was trying to touch you and talking you into becoming a porn star.

Anyways, as soon as you killed that guy you felt a weird tingling sensation as if you could feel power running through your veins. And then you started your own little business in hell by building a casino. Who doesn’t like to gamble? And soon your casino attracted thousands of visitors every week and thanks to some of them being completely delusional with their stakes you also got many of their souls.

And then you got an invitation to a meeting of all the overlords of hell. You were excited and curious to see what they had to discuss and who they were. You stepped into a dark alley and you immediately stated questioning whether or not everything was just some prank or revenge. They alley looked so dark and shabby but then you saw another man. He was much taller than you, wore an elegant red coat and a monocle and he had red and black hair. But what you definitely saw first was the big smile on his face that showed his sharp teeth and simply looked creepy. For a moment he looked into what appeared to be a surveillance camera and then he got into an elevator. After carefully watching him you decided to follow him and see where he would go.

So you got into the elevator too and when you stepped out you found yourself in a big hallway with many other people. There were more elevators than you could see on the outside and so you couldn’t help but wonder where they all came from. But you did notice that they were all walking in the same direction and so you simply followed them into a big meeting room. There was a large table in the middle with many different people around it. When you stepped closer you were immediately greeted by a woman you’ve seen before, her name was Carmilla Carmine. You knew she was selling weapons but other than that she was a mystery to you. However she seemed rather friendly.

“Ah, our newest addition. Take a seat.” She gestured for you to sit down somewhere which you quickly did. You sat next to a woman who introduced herself as Rosie and you went along really well. She told you about the tasty side of cannibalism and invited you to come over to have a cup of tea. You agreed, although you were kinda scared that you were her next meal. When you wanted to ask her something again you heard someone clearing their throat which made you turn around in shock. And then you stared into the face of none other than the man you saw at the elevator earlier with his smile that sent shivers down your spine.

“Excuse me, my dear but you’re sitting in my seat. So would you please move?” He said, sounding awfully polite and not once dropping that smile.

You quickly wanted to move, scared of what he would be able to do if you didn’t but before you could get up, Carmilla spoke up.

“Brave words for someone we haven’t seen in seven years, Alastor.”

“Well yes, I have been absent for some time, I’m sure you’ve all been missing me, wondering where I am.”

“Not really.” Carmilla answered bluntly.

Somehow you could see that Alastor didn’t like the fact that she didn’t really care but yet his smile didn’t drop a bit which was honestly impressive and a bit scary too.

“But welcome back anyways. However you will simply have to find another seat if yours is taken.”

“Oh, I can move, no problem.” You offered, standing up but you were quickly pulled back onto your seat by Rosie.

“Don’t you worry, darling.” She said. “Alastor can find another seat.”

Shortly after that the meeting started. It was quite boring business about extermination day and you had to admit you weren’t really interested in all that. So after the meeting you quickly made your way out and went back home.

You were exhausted from your day so you quickly headed off to bed and fell asleep. In the middle of the night though you quickly got woken up again by weird noises. You got out of bed and investigated when you suddenly saw a figure standing in the corner of your bedroom, staring right at you.

“Hello?” You asked, trying to hide the fear in your voice.

The person stepped into the light and you saw that it was Alastor.

“Hello, my darling.” He said in his charming voice that carried a heavy radio static.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Well, I noticed you at the meeting today and I was absolutely intrigued by you. What a stunning young lady you are, down here in hell and immediately an overlord. Not many people got so high so quickly. Nobody except me actually.”

You knew his story, Rosie told you after the meeting. He was the radio demon who broadcasted the screams of everyone who tried to harm him.

“I know about you.” You told him.

“Very well, my dear. Then you are aware what I am capable of doing once you get in my way.” His smile grew a bit.

“I do not plan to get in your way. I am running my casino, I have my fair share of souls, I’m happy.”

“I don’t believe you are. Which is why I am here.”

“To kill me and broadcast my screams? Am I too powerful for your liking?”

Alastor laughed. “Oh no, darling. You are perfectly powerful. In fact I came to offer you a deal: We will combine our power to become the most feared pair in hell. We would be working closely together to get everyone under our command.”

It did sound tempting. “And how will I know once we did that you won’t kill me to have everything for yourself?”

Alastor chuckled. “That’s part of the deal, if one of us dies, the other one dies too.”

“That sounds too good to be so simple. So tell me, what do you want in return?” You knew that a deal would never be so easy. A deal always had a catch.

“We will work closely together, we will be partners. Not just in the conventional way like two business partners.”

Ohhhhh, you understood. But he didn’t seem like the type of man who cared about something like that. And Alastor must have noticed that because he quickly started explaining.

“You see, I was enraptured by you today. How you weren’t scared, how you didn’t care and the fact that you’re so powerful after such a short time… truly inspiring, darling. So what do you say? You will be mine and I will be yours… I’ll give you twelve hours to think about it.”

With that he was gone as quickly as he came, leaving you speechless and confused. You started thinking about it and finally made a decision. In the morning you walked o his radio station where you knocked on the door and were quickly greeted by a smiling Alastor. You didn’t need to say a word before he stormed towards you and kissed you fiercely.

The feeling of his lips on yours was a new sensation and you were startled for a moment before melting into him. He held you tightly but he didn’t force you into any position, he was a gentleman after all. After a moment he pulled away and grinned.

“I assume we have a deal?” He asked and without letting you answer he kissed you once again, sealing the deal.

[what-have-you-contained]

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── WINTER JACKET ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

🔥 // 🍁

☆ pairing: QPR Color & Killer 🌈🔪

☆ summary: Color has something to show Killer.

☆ word count: 586 words

☆ a/n: Kinda short and rushed, so sorry in advance >_< Fluff be upon you!

“Killer, can you come here for a sec?”

Killer perks up from his seat on the couch where he’s idly watching a gameshow on the living room TV. Color is standing at the doorway, his hand holding something green. Killer recognizes it as his puffy jacket for the winter that Color insisted on buying for him last month when the first breeze of winter came. Killer didn’t turn down the offer, but he still thought it was a bit excessive from Color – skeletons can’t feel the cold after all, so a jacket wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Anyway, it was all pointless – that jacket only got to be used for two weeks before some jerks ripped a hole in it, right at the waist area too. Killer doesn’t mind much, since he still has one perfectly functional jacket that he’s been wearing ever since his life in his universe. The jacket isn’t too shabby either – it still holds up well despite all the battles he’s been through in it.

Killer realizes he might have sat on the couch for too long without answering, so he stands up, making sure not to disturb the sleeping cats at his feet before walking towards Color. His flame smiles before holding out the unfortunate winter jacket.

“Can you try this on?” Color says, and Killer shrugs off his signature blue jacket and takes the offered green one.

As he slots his arms into the jacket, Killer notices that the damaged area has been fixed up with a colorful patch that he can’t decipher yet. Whatever. After he dons on the jacket, he feels a bit warmer, not significantly, but he can tell the care that Color has put into the piece of clothing.

“How does it feel?” Color asks next to him, to which he gives a genuine smile.

“Pretty cozy, habibi.”

“Yeah…” Color looks down a bit before looking back up at him with a soft glint in his eyelights. “Sorry for letting those guys stab you back there. I should have noticed.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Better you than me, amirite?”

Color doesn’t reply, only giving him that quick, sad glance again. Killer feels as if he has made a misstep, but he can’t tell what it is. Another error he should look into and iron out later, as usual.

Not knowing what to do, Killer puts his hands in the pockets and looks down to stare at his shoes. Only then does he notice what the patch looks like. It’s a tabby cat with a mischievous look, covered in a banner that says, “never stop believing”. Killer feels his smile involuntarily widen at the silliness of it all.

“Ha, no one likes outdated cat memes anymore, Color,” he tells Color, whose flames shift in that distinct embarrassed expression.

“It’s the only one I could find, okay?” Color huffs. His face must have been as hot as the flames burning in his skull.

Killer grins. After a second of hesitation, he brings his hand up to cup the side of Color’s cheek and leans in, admiring the kaleidoscope that is blooming in front of him.

“I like it,” he murmurs, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. But he’s been trying to say them more and more often now. “Thank you.”

Color beams back at him, nuzzling into Killer’s touch. His hand holds Killer’s own, warm and secure. Killer’s SOUL feels as if it has been expanded tenfold by the affectionate gesture.

“No problems, Killz. I’ll always have you.”

[luffyvace]

Aizawa crush headcanons

”aizawa crush headcanons, but like make him realize he’s in love with you at the end, so that like, he can do something about it or he can’t ignore it”

asked by a good friend of mine irl. she didn’t mention gender so i’m going with afab since i haven’t written for that yet ♡

(ps i’m not going to mention what type of person he would like unless you req that i want to keep this as neutral as possible)

aizawa having a crush on you means finding cats to take care of together

it means warm, comfortable, solidarity silence

he would still be himself around you for sure, he would want you to like him for who he is

changing himself is too much effort. if you don’t like him back he’ll have to move on whether it hurts or not

people still need teaching and saving after all and the world isn’t going to stop just for him

being a realist he’s aware of that

but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to clean up if you go out somewhere together (prior to dating, first impressions are everything)

he wouldn’t be afraid to tell you like it is if you ask for his opinion,

in his eyes sugarcoating things aren’t going to help you

but he wouldn’t necessarily be as harsh on you as he is on his students or mic

to woo you he wouldn’t really do anything above and beyond

he acknowledges that he likes you but he doesn’t want to waste time if his crush on you doesn’t blossom into something bigger

so instead of going all out he relies on things like little compliments, little favors and quality time

examples;

”you don’t look half bad today l/n”

”not too shabby, i guess” *combs hand through hair* (yeah that’s another thing, he’ll do little gestures to sway you but we’ll dabble into that more later)

”you smell fresh, that’s a nice aroma”

for little favors……

you: “ahh crap i left my keys in my car”

him: *magically knows a way to open locked out cars* you: *clearly having a rough day* him: *opens a window for you to vent* you: “awww man the last of ____ is sold out!”

him: “hmm..well, i’ll keep an eye out for when it’s back in stock” *the very next day* “oh yeah turns out i already had one i just forgot, here you can have it”

im not lying he actually did have one and forgot

as far as quality time:

inviting each other over for movie nights (he always falls alseep so you get most of the popcorn- 🎉 unless it’s his favorite movie- then he stays up eyes red and all, while sucking nothing out of an empty juicy box)

although movie night only happens when your closer friends though- he keeps his friend circle small because anyone could betray him and he doesn’t like people (he doesn’t hate them either he just stays to himself)

quality time for him can also be texting and checking up on each other

it doesn’t always have to be physical for him to feel appreciated

if YOU want to sway HIM though

get him a cat

self explanatory

but you can also listen to him when he talks, shoulder massages (only when your real close tho), give it to him straight.. definitely don’t be phony…and yeah!

pretty much be yourself

if he doesn’t fall for you himself there’s no way to convince him to

and if he falls for you it’s not for any facade you put on

its for your real true self

your personality.

he accepts your flaws and who you are but he will talk to you about bettering yourself a few times if they’re really bad and habitual (which he’s perfect if you have low self esteem because he’ll help you realize you might be overthinking and underestimating yourself, bringing you back to reality like the realist he is)

he’s not necessarily judgmental though

i feel like the part of him that’s not afraid to tell it like it is, is being misunderstood as him being judgmental

anyway that’s for when he has a crush on you

now its time for love

😍

okay so what (for), when, where and why right?

(“what about who? 🤓☝️“ YOU, FOOL!)

so what (for):

i dabbled in this okay? he loves your personality

for your flaws, your strengths, your weaknesses, your IQ (high or low), your fears

he loves everything about you

when?:

probably when you guys are pretty close

not him and mic close

but y’all have been friends for some time now

i say a couple of months

he doesn’t fall fast

maybe first though, if you an oblivious typa person

where (does he realize);

he was probably sitting on his couch after dinner, waiting for his shower to get hot, snug as a bug in his sleeping bag, drinkin a juicy box.

see the vision?

okay

so he was thinkin n thinkin n thinkin…

about you.

wait.

about you

why was he thinking so much about you.

omg wait..

he just remembered..

your beautiful smile (don’t care if it’s crooked, missing teeth, over/underbite- it’s GOREGEOUS)

your beautiful hair

your beautiful eyes

your personality

he realized he was thinking about you so much because…

he loves you

sits there head empty for a hot minute…

then falls asleep..

(rip water bill- shower still running)

why?:

wym why he fell in love? your YOU!!

your amazing even if he doesn’t say it all the time

or even if you don’t think it

even if no else thinks it!

someone does!

him!

he’s not the type of person to romanticize the person he loves

but he does accept you!

but as i said he loves you most for personality!

purely, truly—you

now let’s dabble back into the little gestures he’ll do to sway you once he realizes he loves you

for one like i said he’ll comb his hair in his fingers

and if he sees you find that attractive he’ll do it a little more around you

now keep in mind

your special

he doesn’t go around doing things like that for just anyone

no matter how small the change if it’s not beneficial he won’t do it

but this is beneficial

because he’s trying to court you ;)

he loves you, and he wants you to love him back now :)

but anyways

back on topic

he’ll also shrink his personal bubble around you

so now you can;

stand a little closer than normal

brush your fingers together

have your arms side by side

touch knees together when sitting

lay your head in his lap during movie night and he won’t say anything

(he wouldn’t pet your head but he’s not going to move you either)

rest your head on his shoulder as he does stuff/work (usually in private like when he’s planning his lessons on weekends)

speaking of that you can now come over unannounced and he’ll be glad to see you, ask you about your day, etc

back on topic to gestures he does,

his favors can get more personal,

like if you need to run errands but aren’t feeling well he’ll go shopping for you

(although i will say he doesn’t like shopping and has no idea what brands of products you normally buy he’ll do it to help you out)

he’ll also feel comfortable putting his arm on your shoulder (not around, on)

the gestures aren’t a lot because he isn’t the most cuddly guy (in my realistic headcanons)

but they mean something to you

AN: i tried to write canon aizawa more than fanon because it’s better that way to me but if anyone wants a little more cuddly/fanon aizawa i’d be happy to give it to them

i’m really happy with the way this turned out so i hope everyone can enjoy as well

ps: if you want specifically how he asks you out id love to do that (i might do it anyways 😋)

[kaigarax]

"Anyways, I'm Falling In Love With You."

Sabito x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love by overcoming your preconceived notions of someone."

My Dearest,

I don’t do well in cold temperatures and I get sick easily. But I love autumn, even if this marks the end of another year of you being gone. Another autumn without you.

Yours Truly

---

Sabito was surprised when he heard the familiar sound of steel on ice when he entered the rink.

Of course, it was obvious that you would hear the sound of skates in an ice rink but this late at night? It wasn’t usual. Especially because the season for skaters had just started. Most skaters (hockey, figure and speed alike) only made it to the rink during the necessary practice times and gradually ramped it up as the season progressed. So to hear the sound of someone upon the ice this late at night was a pleasant surprise.

Sabito himself had been forced to head back to the rink after forgetting his bag. He usually would have left it but he’d forgotten his phone charger in the bag and wasn’t in the mood to play chicken with his phone’s battery.

So, after grabbing his bag, Sabito slowly made his way to the rink curious to see who was eager enough to find themselves on the ice this early into the season. While he did want to head home and soak in a nice long bath his curiosity won over. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d miss out on much soaking if he was to peek his head into the rink and see who was there.

It could have been a hockey player for all he knew, trying to get some shots up after a shabby practice. Or maybe one of the speed skaters trying to break in a new pair of skates for the season.

It wasn’t.

Sabito wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not to see you on the ice.

You were one of the newer skaters to the scene, seemingly taking the world by storm two years ago. From what Sabito had heard, you’d originally only come in as a replacement skater partner for one of the skaters that had gotten injured and surprised everyone by stealing the gold with your youthful charm and ultimately the starter position. Every tournament after that was an exciting opportunity to see how you’d one up yourself.

It was a shame that your partner would have to retire after only skating with you for a year and a half.

Well, it was a shame for you.

You kind of remind Sabito of a young child as he watches you skate. Filled with so much innocence and passion as you take to the ice.

Sabito, up to this point, hasn’t actually watched you skate. Of course he’s seen you skate through brief glances and highlights that they occasionally play on the television but he’s never actually stopped and waited to watch you skate before like he’s doing right now. Your movements are more fluid than he thought they were and the way you build up to your jumps is a little unorthodox but it seems to work as you soar through the air and spin.

A figure skater through and through.

“Oh, Sabito!” You jump slightly when you spot him leaning against the wall near the edge of the ice, watching you, “I didn’t notice. How long have you been there?”

Sabito feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips as he watches you skate towards him with a polite smile, “not long.”

Your cheeks flush, though from Sabito’s gaze or the cool air of the rink Sabito isn’t all too sure, “oh, do you want to skate?”

“Oh, no.” Sabito briefly looks down to the skates in his bag, “I just came back because I forgot my bag when I left earlier. I wasn’t expecting for anyone other than the janitor and security to be here.”

“The janitor crew usually finishes up around eight forty five.”

“And you’re still here?”

“Yeah.”

“Even after the coach told you to head home and to let your muscles rest?”

“You won’t snitch on me, will you? Coach said that I’ll be banned from late evening practice if she catches me skating late at night again.”

Your words bring a chuckle to Sabito’s lips, “and yet you’re still here?” From the fact that you’re here often enough to know when the janitorial staff usually finish up to the momentary panic you get when you discuss not being able to skate is more than enough for Sabito to tell how passionate you are about your profession.

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck in response, “coach has a date tonight and the security staff and janitor crew like me enough to not tell coach.”

Sabito grins teasingly, “I suppose I won’t tell the coach.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” You smile brightly in response, “I’d be devastated if I got banned from practices again.”

“You love figure skating that much?” Sabito asks, a brow raised.

“Mm,” you give a little twirl as you ponder softly, “something like that.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?” You skate towards the railing separating the two of you lean against it, “why would you be jealous? We’re basically in the same position.”

Sabito finds your naive attitude strangely endearing, “there’s not many people that have as much as a passion for skating as you do. It’s honestly admirable.”

“Thank you,” you blush brightly looking away with an embarrassed smile on your face, “so are you planning to stay for a little while longer?”

“Well, I was planning on going home but I won’t mind staying a little longer.”

“Really?” You beam, “would you want to skate with me? There’s a few moves that I want to find out and I can’t really do them without a partner. I mean, you don’t have to skate with me if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you or anything but I would definitely be eternally grateful to you.”

Sabito feels as though his heart’s stopped as look at him eagerly, “you want me to skate with you?”

“Definitely! I watched you and your partner last year! The two of you were so in sync with one another! I could definitely feel the chemistry everytime you two took to the ice together. And the way you hold her so gently really goes to show how much the two of you trust one another while on the ice.” You blush as if suddenly realising what you’ve said.

Sabito’s own cheeks are flushed bright red as he stares at you.

He’d always thought you were a bit full of yourself if not a little aloof and standoffish when you talked to other figure skaters. But now, looking at you gushing and beaming over the simplest of things, Sabito feels as if his initial judgements might’ve been too harsh. Right now, you seem more like a playful and excitable girl that’s in love with figure skating instead of the stuck up prodigy that he’s pegged you to be up until now.

“Alright,” Sabito sighs as he takes a seat and begins to lace up his skates despite all of his muscles screaming for him to take a break, “I’ll skate with you.”

“Really!”

“But only for a bit.”

“Sounds good to me.” You say before skating off in excitement.

You twirl around on the ice in excitement that has Sabito chuckling slightly in amusement. He doubts he’s ever seen anyone as excited to skate as you.

How had he gotten such an impression of you in the first place? Sabito finds himself feeling a little bad for how bad he had thought of you before with most of his opinions and thoughts coming from what he had heard others say about you. It didn’t help that the impression you gave off to others was more rude and arrogant than the socially awkward person that Sabito saw you as now.

Slowly, after some brief stretching, Sabito steps out onto the ice, his skates fully laced up and his jacket left tossed on the ground.

You skate towards Sabito smoothly when you notice him, reminding him more of an eager puppy.

It’s cute.

You’re cute.

“What’re you thinking about trying out?” Sabito asks.

“Hmm, nothing too difficult. Maybe we could try out a few side by side jumps and…” you trail off.

“And?”

“A death spiral?”

Sabito laughs, “a death spiral? I thought you said you wanted to do something easy.”

“Okay, you’re right.” You blush brightly, “that was stupid. But we can try some side by side jumps, right?”

“Sure,” Sabito smiles softly, “let’s try it out.”

“I’m surprised you decided to skate with me.” You say, skating backwards as Sabito begins to find his bearings. He skates forward as he begins his usual warmups. Sabito finds it a little annoying how easy you make it seem as you traverse the rink as if it’s your second home but pushes his annoyance away. It’s not a feeling befitting of a man. Or just any person in general.

Sabito laughs, “what kind of man would I be if I were to deny a request from a young woman in need?”

You hum contemplatively, “I didn’t think you’d liked me very much.”

Sabito’s expression falters for a moment.

You weren’t exactly wrong.

He, truthfully, wasn’t your biggest fan. Not just had you come out of nowhere but you were three years his junior in terms of skating and a few more younger than him in age. It was honestly a little infuriating how someone so young and green could suddenly come up and win something he had been trying to win for ages.

Not only had Sabito taken silver in the doubles skating competition the year you won gold but his partner had subsequently chosen to retire after watching you skate. Sure, she was a few years past her prime but it was honestly a little infuriating that all those chemistry bonding practices had gone to waste. Now Sabito was left struggling to find someone to partner up with him in time for them to both develop chemistry and a good routine.

“I…” Sabito trails off.

You laugh softly, as you continue to skate backwards, “right on the money, huh?”

“You’re different.” Sabito says suddenly.

“Hm?” You tilt your head to the side cutely, “I’m different?”

“You’re different from when you’re on the ice to when you’re not.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“You’re kind of like a child trying to impress their crush when you’re on the ice.”

You blush brightly in response, almost stumbling over yourself, “pardon?”

“You’re a lot brighter while on the ice. You command a lot more attention and have a larger presence in general.”

“A larger presence?”

“Um,” Sabito feels his cheeks heat up, “I guess it’s kind of like you shine while skating.”

“Thank you,” you smile brightly, “you’re the second person to have told me that.”

His treacherous heart skips a beat at your smile and he hopes you don’t notice the sweat in his hands as he gives you a nice and simple twirl.

The touch between the two of you feels almost electric and the movements come so nice and easily. Sabito wonders if this is how skating with another person is supposed to feel. He’s skated with many other people but nothing has ever felt quite like this. He suddenly finds himself understanding why the skating world seems so enamoured with you. Not just does everything feel suddenly easier but Sabito feels as though the world is at his fingertips.

“So,” Sabito begins, feeling butterflies begin to rouse in his stomach, “how has finding a new figure skating partner been?”

“Oh,” you look down to the ice, your face flushed red slightly, “it’s been going. How has it been going for you? You recently just got partnered up with…”

“We tried a few practices together,” Sabito begins, “but it ended up not working out very well.”

“No?”

“Yeah. We just didn’t really have a lot of chemistry with each other.”

You smile, “well I’m sure you’ll find someone that meshes well with you.”

Sabito twirls you around before pulling you close, “yeah.”

You look up at him surprised at his sudden movements.

“Have I ever told you that I think you’re pretty?” Sabito asks suddenly as he leans in close.

“Ah, no,” you look away with flushed cheeks and this time he’s sure isn’t because of the cold or you bring out of breath, “I don’t think so.”

“Well you are.”

“You’re pretty too.”

Sabito laughs, “ah, thank you~”

---

After an hour of skating with you Sabito relearns why it’s so important for athletes to take breaks. He most definitely is going to be sore beyond belief tomorrow morning. Despite only doing simple exercises you really managed to push him to the max with how you challenged him to increase the velocity or his turns to the frequency in which he completed his jumps.

He could definitely see why it was so hard for you to find someone to partner up with.

Despite being well intentioned you had the tendency to push people past their limits. And with how bright eyed you were, it made it difficult to say no. Not that Sabito would ever say no. He wouldn’t be able to call himself a man if he backed down from a challenge.

But his body would definitely be screaming at him later.

But how could he have known that he’d end up delaying his cool bath by an hour?

You, on the other hand, looked like you could keep skating forever. Not physically, of course, but even then Sabito suspected if anyone could it would have been you.

“So,” Sabito leaned against the wall, watching as you slowly unlaced your skates (having already unlaced his own a few minutes earlier), “do you want to grab a bite to eat with me?” Your lack of an immediate response caused Sabito to second guess himself, suddenly feeling embarrassed as he watched you slowly unlace your skates. Sabito begins to ramble in hopes of making himself look like less of a fool, “I mean, you definitely don't have to if you don’t want to. I totally get it. There’s not a lot of places open right now and it’s not like we’re that close anyways. I could end up being a total weirdo. Not that I am a weirdo of course it’s just that-”

You cut him off with a small laugh, “don’t worry. I don’t think you’re a weirdo, I was just a little lost in my own thoughts. I’d love to go out to eat. What did you have in mind?”

“Well there’s the bar down the street that serves food if you’re up for it. Or there’s truck food if you’re up for it. I know that truck food isn’t actually good for your diet but…”

“Take me wherever you’d like.” You smile in a way that makes Sabito’s heart start to race, “I’m not a picky eater. You should pick the place we go out since you’re the one that agreed to skate with me despite being sore.”

“You noticed?”

You tilt your head to the side, “don’t most people?”

“No,” Sabito laughs heartily, “definitely not. Just you, sweetheart.”

You blush brightly in response, “is it weird?”

“No. I actually find it rather endearing.”

You visibly brighten at his words.

“It’s pretty neat that you notice those kinds of things about the person you’re skating with. I’m sure whoever your skating partner ends up being will be a very lucky person. You’re a gold medalist afterall” Sabito added, nudging you playfully as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sure whoever your partner ends up being will be really lucky too!” You say, “you’re a… silver medalist?”

“Wow.” Sabito says dryly, a smile on his face, “way to rub it in.”

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it! I really do think you’re an incredible skater!”

“I’m only teasing, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

Sabito nudges you lightly again before opening the door to the building and letting you out before him, “so do you have early morning practice tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “you?”

“Mhm. Do you wanna partner up with me tomorrow?”

“Really?” You practically bounce in excitement, “you want to partner up with me?”

“Well it’s certainly worth a try, right? We did well today so I don’t see any harm in seeing how we mesh tomorrow.”

“You won’t tell the coach about tonight though, right?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head off, sweetheart. I won’t.”

“Oh, thank goodness! The last thing I need to do is be banned from the ice again.”

“The season just began.”

“Well you never know,” you begin, “last time it was nearing competition time when the coach banned me from the night hours on the ice because I wanted to switch up the ending of the routine.”

“I mean, that’s kind of reasonable.”

You pout, “you’re supposed to be on my side, Sabito.”

“I am,” he chuckles, “I just also happen to see reason.”

“I’m reasonable.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

“I am!” You exclaim, crossing your arms like an angry child.

“Anyways,” Sabito smiles warmly, “I’m falling in love with you.”

Fall in love by overcoming your preconceived notions of someone.

---

Her: Are you sure you love me?

[slythepuffle]

Here’s a one-shot inspired by @dismissivedestroyer’s Dexter Lives AU! I hope I’m doing it justice. I’m planning on doing one for Tender Treats too if this one does well. Set during Unwanted Guest. TW for Demonic Possession and Demonic Throw-Up

Lila struggled against the grasp of the possessed exterminator, wheezing and gasping as the air was squeezed from her lungs. He was saying something about – Killing her and leaving her alive, somehow – when she heard the door open and she could feel a spark of hope – Maybe this person could help?

“MOM!” her son’s voice cried out, and her hope dropped, replaced with panic. She opened an eye, looking at the door where her son and his friend stood. They were both grinning happily, having not yet realized the carnage inside the house. “Can we–?”

He trailed off, taking a moment to take in the whole scene – His mom, being held up in the air by what appeared to be a floating yellow demon, with broken wood and glass shards scattered across the floor. “Uhhh…”

“K-Kids!” she called, hoping the pause would give them time to go and get help. She didn’t get the chance to, as she was suddenly thrown away as the demon snarled, “You two! You–!”

It went on a rant about being left in the attic for two years – Oh, so that’s what was making those sounds – but she wasn’t really paying attention to it. She was desperately trying to find something that would help – A weapon, a phone, a distraction, anything that could be helpful – when she saw the pieces of her ruler.

She had used it to try and fight the demonic being earlier, but it hadn’t really helped, resulting in it breaking into two pieces. An idea popped into her head, and she hastily rearranged the pieces, whirling back to where the demon hovered over the two boys. She shouted, accidentally interrupting the boys arguing, “T-The power of Christ compels you!”

“We are having an exorcism!” the two boys cheered once they saw what she had made, the argument already forgotten. It was a very badly made cross, both pieces shaking as she held it up in the air. The demon whirled around, eyes narrowed as it considered the terrified woman and her shabby defense.

“You think that’s going to work on me?” it snarled, flexing the dangerous yellow claws at the tips of the gloved hands. Lila, though terrified, glared back, commanding in a less shaky tone. “Get out of that body! It’s not yours! The power of Christ compels you!”

It sneered, advancing on her, before suddenly pausing. It could feel the body’s stomach suddenly churning, an almost sickly feeling rising up the throat. It growled under his breath – So the cross did work. Very weakly, but still. Bah, this isn’t worth it. It needed more strength. Perhaps a new host as well.

It turned back to the two boys, who were happily singing back Lila’s words, unaware of their danger. Both or either would do – They were chaotic little brats that could be useful to its endeavors. They owed it anyway – They were the ones who summoned it, so now they had to be the ones who dealt with it.

The woman behind it was still chanting, using her semi-functional cross as it glared at the smiling, oblivious boys. It snarled and then shot out of the body, a black sludge firing out of the mask’s nozzle and straight for them–

That’s when Dexter woke up.

~~~~

Now, Dexter had no idea what the fuck just happened.

The last thing he remembered was being in the attic, preparing a trap for the little pest hiding in the nice lady’s house, when he suddenly turned around and jumped by what appeared to be a red demon.

He was an exterminator, not a priest. The hell was he supposed to do against it?!

Dexter would worry about that later. Right now though, he was focused on the disgusting, sticky feeling coating the inside of his mask and clinging to his throat, choking him. He gasped and heaved, fingers clawing at the base of his neck as he tried to take off his mask. He was able to get it off, and threw it off to the side somewhere, hacking out the sludge-like substance from his throat.

He could feel someone hitting his back, most likely trying to help him out, while also spewing out panicked and hurried apologies. He didn’t focus on that, eyes still squeezed shut, wheezing as he digested the events that had just gone down. The person hitting his back stopped, helping him to his feet and leading him somewhere else.

“I’m so so sorry about that!” Lila continued, her expression guilty as she led Dexter over to the kitchen and helped sit him down in a seat. He continued coughing, listening as she limped towards the fridge and poured a glass of water, pressing it into his hand. “Here, drink this, it will help.”

“Hey, Mom!” a kid in a skeleton costume – Wasn’t it June? – yelled, poking into the kitchen. Another kid poked his head in, this one wearing a pumpkin costume. “Can we watch something?”

“Sure, kids!” she replied, still looking at Dexter with a motherly look of worry. It reminded him of his own mom – Geez, he needed to call her after this, she was probably worried out of her mind. He realized that she was waiting for him to drink, and he quickly took a sip of water, almost sighing in relief as the liquid passed through his throat. Right, manners. He still had those. 

“T-Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled, scratching at his face with his other hand. He felt a bit naked without his mask, but he had no idea where he had thrown it in the living room. She beamed at him and he glanced away, sipping at the water again. “It’s no problem! I hope you’re feeling alright, I really am sorry for what happened, I had no idea that it wasn’t a rat up there–”

“It’s fine, ma’am,” he interrupted, not wanting her to continue rambling. “At least it’s gone now, right?”

She nodded, reassured at the moment, before bustling around the kitchen, leaving him to quietly and awkwardly sip at his water. Well, this was an incredibly weird and rather fucked up day. But at least he’s still alive! He couldn’t wait to go home and–

His vision was suddenly filled with white and orange, two pairs of eyes blinking at him. “Hi!”

“Holy–!” Dexter leaped back, biting back the curse that lingered on his tongue. Children. He didn’t have much exchanges with them and he was a bit wary of interacting with them, more for their sake than for his. Especially given his… thoughts…

He blinked at them, awkwardly silent, and they blinked back, still smiling innocently. “Uhh… hi?”

“Do you want to watch with us, Not-Moloch?” the skeleton kid chirped. He tilted his head, eyebrows creased in confusion. “Uhhh… I’m Dexter. Not… not-moloch?”

“Oh,” the skeleton kid said simply. The pumpkin kid grinned at him. “I am Pump! This is Skid. Do you want to watch with us, Dexter?”

“Uhhhh.” He glanced back at Lila. She still seemed preoccupied, doing whatever she was doing in the kitchen. His eyes darted back to the children, still beaming at him brightly, waiting for his answer. Damnit, he couldn’t say no when they looked at him like that– “Sure?”

The two children cheered, taking him by his gloved hands and dragging him to the living room. He nearly tripped over himself with how fast they were pulling him, and let out a small ‘oomph’ when the two of them pushed him onto the couch. He let them, watching them silently as they took places on the floor to continue watching.

“Hey, Mr. Dexter?” the skeleton kid – Skid – suddenly asked, drawing his attention. “What were you doing in my house?”

“Oh – I’m an exterminator. Your mom asked me to get rid of a rat in your attic,” he mumbled in response, fidgeting in his place on the couch. The two turned to look at him with unblinking gazes, unnerving him slightly, before Pump asked, “How do you get rid of rats?”

Dexter blinked. That’s… not what he was expecting to be asked. “Uhh… Well, before I can get rid of them, first I have to catch them. There are a lot of different ways, but I prefer using insect traps. They tend to work better than the usual mouse traps because of the sticky layer. Makes it a lot harder to move.” 

The exterminator’s tone took on a bit of cheeriness as he continued, relaxing on the couch. “I’ll lay them out on the floor and add some cheese to it, to lure the rats in. When they step on the trap to try and get the cheese, they won’t be able to escape, no matter how hard they try. Then I take the rat and I–”

He cut himself off. He was rambling, and he knew if he were to continue he would scare them. He waited for them to go silent, to look away from him and go back to watching TV or–

“That sounds so cool!” Pump cheered, grinning as he looked at Skid, who nodded in agreement with a similar look on his face. “It’s super spooky! What else do you do?”

Dexter stared at them, confused. What? They… weren’t weirded out by it? He scanned their expression again, expecting disgust or worry or something else generally negative, only to see nothing but eager curiosity. They… really weren’t afraid. They were actually excited, judging by their expressions.

He opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again, but was interrupted by Lila coming in. She was smiling, holding a plate of snacks and placing it down in front of them. “Here you are! Sorry for the wait, kiddos. Oh! Dexter, here’s your mask.”

She handed said mask to him, continuing to speak as he absently thumbed at the rubber. “I decided to clean it up for you, seeing as there was still some of that nasty sludge on the inside for you. Hope it helps.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” he mumbled, briefly peering into the mask. She really did clean it. That was… nice of her. She smiled at him. “It’s no problem! And you don’t have to call me ma’am. You can just call me Lila!”

“Uhh… Alright then, ma– Miss Lila,” Dexter corrected, slipping on his mask. He felt more comfortable with it on rather than off. Even if these people were really nice and actually seemed interested in what he was saying or doing– He abruptly stood up, causing the two kids to look up from their snacks.

“Is something wrong, Dexter?” Lila asked in concern, but he quickly shook his head in response. Putting on a chipper tone, he answered, “Everything’s great Miss Lila! But I’m afraid that I have to go. A lot of jobs, you know?”

That was a lie. This was his last job of the day and he doubted that anyone would need his services this late at night. In truth, he just wanted to go over and analyze the day by himself, without confusing distractions. The children let out a bout of complaints over it, wanting to hear more about his job, but Lila shushed them. “Now, now kids, we don’t want Mr. Dexter to get in trouble, do we?”

Skid and Pump shook their heads immediately. She nodded, and then guided Dexter to the door, digging through her pockets as she did. “Thank you again for your help tonight. I know it wasn’t exactly your normal job.”

She opened up the door and he stepped out, pointedly looking away from the sky. Lila stayed at the door, but offered her hand out to him and– Wow that was a lot of cash. “Here’s your payment!”

“I–I can’t take this!” Dexter spluttered, trying to push it back into her hands. But she shook her head, pressing it into his hands. “Tonight was a lot and I insist you get paid double for your troubles.”

Dexter tried to protest, but Lila wasn’t taking no for an answer, so he gave up. Pocketing the money, he smiled at her weakly. “Thank you for your hospitality tonight, Miss Lila.”

She nodded, smiling. “Of course! If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

The two kids suddenly popped out from behind her, shooting him wide happy grins. 

“Come back soon!” Pump chirped. Skid nodded happily, adding, “Yeah! Tell us more spooky facts next time!”

Dexter swallowed, returning their enthusiasm with a weak grin and nod. “A-Alright, kids. See you!”

He stumbled down to his truck, settling in before driving off with a wave to the house. Today was… definitely something. But, despite the whole ‘demonic possession’ situation, he didn’t mind it. Thinking back on it, the memories of their kindness lingering in his mind, made him smile. 

Yeah, he didn’t mind it at all.

[saxamophone]

wip snip

Thanks to @academicdisasterfic for tagging me in their laugh-out-loud-i'm-deceased wip snip (Bottoms x Drarry, swoon).

I'm in the middle of three things right now. There's The Big Thing (wip snip below, you can skip the rest of this paragraph if you want) that I needed a break from. I'm at the dreaded halfway point were plot lines need to start actually making sense, and wanted to clear the cobwebs by writing some fun little side fics. Under 5k. Sexy. Easy. Next thing I know, I'm 10k deep in a Dreville fic about them falling in love and a Drarry hookup piece that somehow has me researching the cult of Apollo, Ezekiel's descriptions of angels, the Green Man, and Beltane rituals. Like, can't everyone just f**k in peace?

Anyway, The Big Thing is a Wolfstar fic ---Aftermath of October 31, 1981, Remus gets Harry and, whoops, Regulus is alive and supposed to help him. They hate each other, but maybe they can get along well enough to break Sirius out of prison. Maybe.

Also f**k Dumbledore.

Opening bit:

“No.” Remus tries to close the door.  “Remus,” he says kindly, and it’s almost more than he can bear.  “Go away,” Remus grits out, pushing the door, and it won’t close. It won’t budge, and Dumbledore isn’t even holding it open on his side of the jamb. He didn’t say a spell either, the fucker, and the door is stuck open, unmoving, and nothing Remus does will change it unless Dumbledore wants it to change.  He realises in this moment that the door is a metaphor for his whole miserable life, stuck where Albus Dumbledore decides, but he can’t address that right now. It’s too much to contemplate after everything else, so he decides the least he can do is close the fucking door.  Remus throws his shoulder into it. He’s always strong, but his strength will increase as the frost moon approaches. His tall, lanky build belies the monster beneath.    “Remus,” Dumbledore says again quietly.  Remus ignores him and throws his shoulder into the door. The fucking door that won’t fucking close. He slams his shoulder into it so hard the frame rattles, grunting at the blow.  “Go away,” he growls. He feels it, the wolf inside. Always lurking but more insistent now. Since everything. “Go away!” Remus shouts and smashes into the door, almost splitting it. It hurts, but it feels good, too.  The damaged door still doesn’t move, and Remus is properly angry now. He’s been numb for days, ever since he found out…ever since…he squeezes his eyes closed and tries to shut out the memory of finding out about James and Lily and Peter. And— “No!” he bellows, and he’s about to give the door one great shove when, suddenly, he’s yanked back as if an invisible rope is attached to his spine. He scrabbles for purchase, trying to grab hold of the hall table or the reception archway. He can’t get a hand on anything before he finds himself deposited on a sagging floral sofa, sitting upright but unable to move, arms pinned to his sides.  Dumbledore glides into the room after him, and Remus can hear the front door close with an offensive little click. He tries to wriggle out of whatever invisible binds he’s in and can’t. His wand is in his back pocket, useless.  He scowls as Dumbledore sits in a chair across from him, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His blue eyes are red-rimmed behind his half-moon glasses, and he’s wearing a Muggle suit—brown plaid print and a bit shabby, a bit too large on Dumbledore’s thin frame. And that’s when it hits Remus—All of this is true. It’s not some nightmare he’s lived in for the last five days like he keeps hoping.

Five days. He’s been cooped up here in Milton Keynes, waiting for five fucking days. His arrival triggered the mora protocol when he opened the door. The protocol that meant they were compromised and to stay put. Don’t move. The Order will be in touch. And finally, after five days, Frank Longbottom showed up, his big eyes sad, and his voice low. He’d told Remus what had happened, and it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real. It was all a big mistake. Someone had made a mistake.  But he’s immobile on an ugly floral sofa, and he knows. It’s all real, and it happened, and it’s still happening, and Albus Dumbledore is wearing a brown plaid Muggle suit, and Remus’s life as he knows it is over. 

Tagging @geesenoises @citrusses @tackytigerfic @arminaa8 @maesterchill @romaine2424 @skeptiquex if you have anything you'd like to share! No pressure!

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current LOCATION: mini golf course (probably not haunted?) PARTIES: @debauchfairy & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix and kieran embark on a minigolf date. the whole 'cursed to speak in rhymes' things threatens to make it go... less than great. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

When they were a kid, before their father moved them into the woods and the whole world had changed, Felix got it into their head that they wanted to learn how to juggle. They’d gathered all the oranges from the kitchen — their sister wouldn’t let them use her softballs — and began tossing them up into the air, confident that this would be easy for them. And when every single orange dropped to the ground and rolled away, bruised and dirty, they’d realized that ‘catlike reflexes’ might have been just a little overstated.

They’d never gotten much better at juggling. It wasn’t just oranges they struggled with, either; it was kind of everything. Literal juggling, like with the oranges, but metaphorical juggling, too. They struggled to maintain a personal life alongside their ‘career,’ had a hard time remembering to do simple things like respond to messages and make plans. And they were starting to get better at it, they really were… but then they got cursed. With rhymes.

Classic. 

Still, they were determined not to break the plans they’d made with Kieran, because they liked Kieran. He was cool and fun and confident, and sometimes hanging out with him made Felix feel cool and fun and confident, too. They just had to hope he wouldn’t notice the whole rhyming thing. Maybe it wasn’t as noticeable as they thought it was! Maybe they could keep it on the DL. Maybe.

“Hey, Kieran,” they greeted with a smile as he approached. “How have you been, man?”

—

Mini golf was a first. Kieran didn’t mind - for someone who had already blown through a lot of different firsts, it was always a nice change. Sure, maybe not the thrilling environment he was used to but the weather wasn’t too shabby and there was a general sense of enjoyment at this place. Pure and innocent, sure, but invigorating all the same. And turning down Felix’s idea while trying to build a rapport was definitely the wrong way to go. Why exactly that was his mission, to get to know someone who held back on their whims (well, mostly) and had the self-esteem of an orange, Kieran wasn’t quite sure. There was something there, buried deeper, maybe. 

And besides, why did anyone do anything? For the hell of it felt like a good enough reason. 

He’d dressed down for today, as much as he could anyway, well aware that the tight black pants flattered him. Plus, it was sunny out so no one could blame him for leaving a few buttons open on the soft lemon striped shirt. With the watch and shoes that could probably pay this place’s entire salary for a week, Kieran didn’t exactly fit in but that was never the intention. Standing out was so much better. 

Felix trotted inside, already looking much less nervous than last time, and Kieran returned the smile - even if a quirked eyebrow accompanied it at the greeting. “Hey yourself… dude,” he replied, a slight chuckle in his voice. Not exactly a greeting fit for someone who had done the things Kieran had done to Felix last time, but he digressed. “Fair warning, I have never done this before and if I don’t instantly excel at it, I might get a bit moody.”

—

Kieran looked nice, and Felix was beginning to get the impression that he just kind of always did. Felix felt underdressed by comparison, their rumpled button-up and black jeans having felt appropriate when they’d dressed in the corner of the boiler room but a little less than what they probably should have gone with. They almost apologized, but they stopped themself. Kieran, they thought, didn’t want that from them. That was part of what they liked about Kieran. He just wanted them to be comfortable.

Which… Felix rarely was, these days. Or any days, really, but especially these ones. Between the boiler room and the whole rhyme curse hanging over his head, comfort was pretty far in the rear view mirror. This seemed proven when Kieran responded to their greeting with a similarly strange one, and Felix shifted their weight. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” they said, smiling and rubbing awkwardly at the back of their neck. “I just started talking, and all my thoughts kind of… disappeared. That happens a lot. Smooth, I am not.” Aaaand now they were talking like Yoda! This definitely proved the ‘not smooth’ point. They didn’t even think they could blame it on the curse — Felix was just like this. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Bad at conversation.

But, hey, things moved forward. Kieran had never played mini golf and Felix had, and maybe that meant they’d be on something resembling equal footing here. “I could teach you how to play,” they offered. “I mean, you probably know, but — god, I have no idea what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, I guess we both know I’m not great at… this. The whole thing’s kind of hit or miss.”

—

Compared to their last meeting, Felix instantly seemed more vocal. A sign of decreased tension, sure, except… Kieran’s head was cocked, an expression of mixed amusement and confusion on his face. There hadn’t been that much rhyming last time, that much he was sure of. Shit, not any rhyming once you discounted the singing. If this was a way to stave off nerves which honestly, who got more nervous after they’d been intimate - it was indeed a weird one. In their defense, the faun was a force to be reckoned with and stranger behavior had occurred. Kieran didn’t mind oddballs, at least they were interesting but he did wonder how long it would take for the rhyming to get old. Maybe they’d simmer down once the initial nerves wore off. One way to find out. 

“I can be smooth enough for the both of us,” Kieran decided, slinging an arm around Felix’s waist to lead them inside. At least he wasn’t bored. Yet. This was an… interesting place for a second date, Kieran thought as a depressed looking teenager handed over some clubs and very colorful golf balls, seeming about as confused about their presence here as the faun was. Holding out the golf balls for Felix to pick a color, Kieran swung the flimsy club lazily as they walked towards the first hole pointed out to them. A child holding an ice cream currently fighting for its life, half of it spread over the child’s fingers and face, approached at record speed and he made sure to avoid contact and then some. That was not the kind of sticky he went for. 

“Alright, show me how it’s done,” he encouraged with a lazy smile, letting Felix take charge on the first hole, amidst the fake grass and slightly worn down wooden decorations. 

—

Kieran didn’t call out the strange verbal tick, and Felix was glad for it. They were nervous enough without having to explain the stupidity with which they’d gotten themself cursed by buying an ugly orange egg. They didn’t think Kieran would laugh in their face or anything — they liked to think he’d proven himself to be too kind for something like that — but they were a little worried he might think they were stupid. Not loudly, not in a cruel way, but in the privacy of his own mind. It wouldn’t be a terrible thing to think, Felix thought. It was mostly true, anyway. 

They smiled, a little of that relief shining through, as Kieran announced that he’d handle the ‘smooth’ part of the evening. “Well, that’s a relief,” Felix chuckled, some of the tension falling out of their shoulders. “Otherwise, this would probably be brief.” They collected the clubs from the bored employee, flashing a small, grateful smile. As Kieran held out the balls, Felix picked the blue one and made their way towards the first hole.

They’d read online that mini golf was a good ‘activity date.’ According to the internet, ‘activity dates’ were the best kind for two people only just beginning to get to know one another. Dinner could be filled with too many awkward silences, while movies had the opposite problem of limited communication. Activity dates, according to the article Felix pored over at two in the morning half-panicked, allowed you to both avoid awkward silences and still carry on a conversation. 

Felix had not been cursed with rhymes when they’d decided that carrying on a conversation was important. Maybe if they had been, they’d have gone with the movie. 

“Okay!” Felix came to a stop at the tee-off point, holding their club a little too tightly. “Let’s play! So, um, you want to hold your club just like this.” He demonstrated, loosening the grip a little and standing carefully. It should be noted, perhaps, that while Felix had played mini golf before, it had been a while. They weren’t really an expert, even if they knew more than Kieran did. Still, they’d watched a dozen YouTube videos in the hours leading up to the agreed upon time to meet Kieran, so they thought they would be fine. “And it’s okay if you miss! You might not hit it every time, and that’s totally fine.” They reared back carefully, then moved their club forward to hit the ball and send it rolling in a straight line towards the hole. It circled the hole, but didn’t go in. Felix was a little disappointed. They liked to think Kieran would have been impressed with a hole-in-one.

“So, that’s how you start,” they announced. “And I… don’t really have any more wisdom to impart. So, um, it’s your turn! I guess… you can show me how well you learn.” The small smile that accompanied the poor attempt at flirting might have been more charming, Felix thought, without the rhyming curse.

Ah, well. So it went.

—

They really were precious. The thought was somewhere between genuinely appreciative and a bit patronizing, the smile on his face mirroring that. Kieran couldn’t imagine going through life with the confidence of a dirty rug but there was something interesting about simply… observing it. Curiosity had brought him back, too - part of him wanted to understand why Felix was that way, not to mention if it had anything to do with the scars his fingers had traced along last time. All of that was irrespective of the feeding. Felix was an easy feed but then again, so were a lot of other people. Whatever, he didn’t care to look much deeper into it, much too focused on Felix explaining the concept of golf to him like he was a small child. Again, precious. And a solid distraction from the rhyming still taking place.

“I’m usually more of a teacher,” Kieran replied without missing a beat, smile much brighter than Felix’s and accompanied with a wink. He took his position, glancing over at Felix with an expression of ‘I’m honestly not sure why I’m here but I guess I’m amused by it’, before taking his shot. The ball veered, bonking straight into one of the wooden blocks successfully acting as a barrier, and rolled back to about a single foot from where it had started. He cocked an eyebrow, turning back to his date with a look of bemused offense. “Think I need some more hands-on tutoring.”

—

This was actually going really, really well, Felix thought. Kieran hadn’t mentioned the rhyming curse at all. It was like he didn’t even notice! The relief was just a little overwhelming, to the point that it almost certainly showed in the balam’s bright grin. But, they thought, Kieran probably wouldn’t care much about that, either. Kieran was laid back and cool, two things which Felix was decidedly not. It added a certain layer of comfort to the whole exchange, made it a little easier for Felix to relax. 

They let out a little laugh at Kieran’s wink, ears burning just a little. But, whereas that feeling usually came with the mocking jeers of the handlers at the Grit Pit, today’s variety was more of a pleasant thing. Felix didn’t mind it much. Watching Kieran’s ball go wide, Felix tried not to laugh. “Okay, so maybe it’s a little harder than it looks,” they allowed. “But, hey, as far as first tries go, I think that’s one for the books! I could… give you a little more help, if that’s okay? Uh, you know, stand behind you and guide your arms like… a total cliche.” 

—

Felix was enjoying themselves, obviously, Kieran was a delight but… the faun wasn’t hating this, either. Sure, this was much more toned down than his usual scene and filled with rhyming and he was definitely wondering if this place was too family friendly to serve some cocktails. But it wasn’t the worst. Felix was cute and happy and would provide for a decent snack later on but for now, Kieran would be damned if he was going to suck at something as simple as mini golf. 

“I don’t mind a cliche if it comes with physical contact,” Kieran hummed with a grin, reaching down to reset the colorful ball before gesturing for Felix to make good on their suggestion. “You know,” he started as the other got into position, letting them rearrange his grip on the comically small golf club. “I am going to have to ask about the rhyming at some point. Much too curious not to.” It felt safer to ask while there was no eye contact, while Felix wasn’t being scrutinized by what some people had described as an intimidating gaze. Kieran couldn’t help that he had gorgeous yet intense eyes. 

—

Sliding up behind Kieran, Felix tried to pretend that they were… smooth and unflappable instead of themself. But Kieran had made it clear that he didn’t mind Felix being themself, and they tried to remind themself of as much as they wrapped their arms around him and placed their hands on top of his. Was this okay, or was it awkward? What was Kieran thinking now? Part of Felix wished they knew, another part was too afraid to ask.

They concentrated on the club, shifting Kieran’s hands into position and gently pulling his arms back to prepare a put. And then, Kieran mentioned the rhyming, and Felix fumbled. They accidentally swung their hands — and Kieran’s by extension — forward a little too hard, sending the ball flying up and out, over the barrier. “I was… kind of hoping you hadn’t noticed it,” they admitted, almost sheepishly. “That was probably kind of stupid on my part, I’ll admit. Um, would you believe me if I said I was cursed? I’m still trying to figure out how to get it reversed.”

—

The ball bounced away pathetically, slowing to a stopway outside of the course. So maybe distracting the supposed teacher was not the way to go if Kieran wanted the stupid ball to go where it was supposed to. “If there’s one thing I do, dear Felix, it’s notice things,” he explained calmly, slipping his hands out from under Felix’s to turn and face them, palms resting on their hips as he cocked his head. A curse? Had some fae with a twisted sense of humor and penchant for literal word games gotten to Felix? Maybe it wasn’t surprising that they would be easily snatched into a bind - Kieran could have wrapped the other up in promise after promise with all the thank yous and less than careful wording. Kieran didn’t because he was nice. Mostly. 

“I believe you,” Kieran replied without hesitation, both because it was believable and also since Felix had no reason to lie. He wasn’t even sure they could lie properly and if they could, why lie about this? One hand moved to gently tilt Felix’s chin up, to make that sheepish gaze meet his own. “Do you know how? Or who?” he pushed, wondering if there was someone out there that needed to be told to back off. At least while Kieran was still interested. “It’s impressive, don’t get me wrong, but I definitely liked you better without the rhymes.”

—

Of course Kieran had noticed. It wasn’t as if the rhyming was a subtle thing, though part of Felix wondered if they could have made it more subtle if they were a little smarter. Maybe if they knew more words, if they were more creative, if they weren’t as stupid as they were… Of course, if they weren’t as stupid as they were, they probably wouldn’t have been cursed to begin with, would they? This was the sort of thing that didn’t happen to people with more… awareness. Sure, a few others had been caught up in it, but only because Felix had taken too long to figure out what was causing it, or because Felix hadn’t been able to get a warning out in time to keep them from cursing themselves, too. 

At least Kieran didn’t think they were lying about the cause. Relief flooded through them, and they offered him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks,” they murmured, looking him in the eye as he tilted their head up. “I was worried you might think it was a prank.” That wasn’t something they’d do to Kieran, or to anyone, really. Pranks, to Felix, often felt cruel, even when they weren’t intended to be so. “I think it’s less of a who and more of a what. I mean, I guess there could be someone behind it, but…” They trailed off with a shrug. “I bought an… egg thing at a thrift store. Um, I just moved into a new space, and I was trying to brighten it up a little more. But I knew the woman who was running the thrift store, and I guess I panicked? So I grabbed the first thing I saw, paid for it, and vanished. But I guess anyone who touches this egg gets the curse. And, like, it could definitely be worse! Mostly, it’s just annoying. But it’s not like it’s sending me out to do destroying?” That one wasn’t even grammatically correct, was it? Felix winced a little, offering Kieran a smile that, this time, was almost apologetic. “I like me better without the rhyming, too. But I’m glad it doesn’t… bother you.”

—

Felix looked a bit pained at having been caught out, or maybe just to be cursed in the first place, and it really was impossible not to feel some empathy for them. Normally, people made their own messes and Kieran was more than happy to scoff and imagine the situation could have been avoided with some smarter decision making - hypocritical beyond belief, Kieran was not known for his sensible choices. Somehow, Felix managed to inspire just that bit of pity and it was only mildly patronizing. Partly, the faun was curious about this mystery ex who was presumably responsible for all this damage and he wondered how much of it could be undone with the right kind of attention. Humans were mostly disposable, sure, but Kieran couldn’t imagine going out of his way to break one down into the nervous wreck that was Felix. What the hell was there to gain from that?

“I find it very hard to imagine you pulling a prank,” Kieran mused, making a mental note to have a chat with Felix about the endless thank-yous at a later time. Even though it seemed their current predicament had nothing to do with a fae bind. Kieran’s eyebrows raised at the description of this cursed egg, unable to resist an amused smile. As far as curses went, it definitely could have been worse. “Yes, suppose we should all be grateful that you’re not out doing destroying,” he teased, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous notion that something as trivial as this would be enough to knock Kieran off kilter. 

“I can put up with it until you find a way to break the curse,” he assured Felix. “And if it does start to bother me, there are ways to pass the time that don’t involve as much speaking.” With a grin, Kieran ducked his head for a kiss, pulling Felix closer and allowing himself a bit of feeding - like a reward for all the nice and reassuring things he’d blabbered out in the last few minutes. And it was sure to reset Felix’s nerves, too. Aware of a few disapproving stares from frigid parents on other parts of the course, Kieran finally pulled away, grin still firmly in place. “Now, are you going to help me get that ridiculously colorful ball where it belongs?”

—

“If I wanted to, I could definitely pull off a prank,” Felix protested, feeling a little lighter now. It took some time for them to feel secure around a person, but Kieran had done a pretty good job in lowering their defenses. It was easier to be more themself with someone who reassured them that themself wasn’t a bad thing to be. “I bet, if I really wanted to, I could rob a bank. Not that I would. But, you know, I think I could.” They thought of the pixies they’d encountered, the ones that had… attempted to rob the bank with Felix and Van as their witnesses. If nothing else, Felix thought he’d be a lot more successful than they were, even if that wasn’t really saying much.

Of course, they had a few… extras that Kieran was unaware of. If some curse had implored them towards destruction instead of rhyming, Felix knew they were capable of a lot more than it might outwardly seem. The jaguar had proven more than once that he could be a dangerous thing, and control was already harder to manage than Felix would like for it to be. If something took away that control entirely, made it dependent on some outside force… They were lucky, really, that the curse they’d been saddled with was such a silly one. A lot of people were lucky for that.

Their smile softened a little as Kieran reassured them again, claiming that he could handle the rhyming. “If it gets to be too much, I wouldn’t blame you for taking a break,” they said, not wanting him to feel obligated to stick to something they might not really want. “I mean, I know there’s probably only so much a person can take. I thought it was fun at first. But… I’m definitely ready to have it reversed.” They flushed a little at the mention of other things they could be doing, Kieran’s lips pressing quickly against theirs the only thing that prevented another bout of awkward, rhyming rambling. When he pulled away, they grinned, letting out a breathless laugh. “Um, yes!” They agreed. “I think we need to hit it… a little less?” They fetched the ball, bringing it back over and setting it down once more. With a little more confidence than before, they wrapped their arms around Kieran to guide him into a more controlled put.

—

The insistence that they could pull off a prank had Kieran smiling which escalated into a chuckle when prank became bank robbery. “Definitely call me if you decide to rob a bank, then. I would love to see that.” Of course, bank robberies necessitated scaring people, making them uncomfortable and frightened on purpose and that was probably what would hold Felix back more than the whole ‘being illegal’ part of a bank robbery ever would. Kieran couldn’t help but wonder how time consuming it was to go through life constantly wondering how everyone else was feeling. And not even for a less than selfless reason like how Kieran was currently making sure his companion had a nice time. 

Which, for anyone wondering, was clearly working if Felix’s flushed face and unguarded grin were anything to go off. Like an eager puppy, Felix bounced off to retrieve the ball, which did seem fair seeing as they had been the one to whack it out of the course. With the whole rhyming debacle put to rest for now, Felix immediately seemed less tense, even managing to guide Kieran into putting the ball to just a few inches away from the hole. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Kieran cheered, the feeling of accomplishment more prominent than he’d expected since said accomplishment was rolling colorful balls into holes. Yes, he liked to make it known that he could make any situation fun but as Kieran watched Felix make their way down towards the hole to finish their shot, he found that a surprisingly low amount of effort was needed to make this… pleasant. Probably had more to do with the promise of less mundane things later on. Surely. “We still haven’t discussed possible rewards for the winner,” Kieran mused as he joined Felix by the first hole, gently nudging his own ball down it. “I’m feeling like I might have some beginner’s luck after all.”

[thomine]

through thick and thin : mika

pair: mika x reader info: general audiences, biker gangs, a little bit of delinquent vibes from reader, slightly dystopia vibes, not proofread

summary: mika hides a secret from his brother. it involves bikes, gangs, and the person who saved him—you.

word count: 600 words series: day 18 of au august 2023 / prompt: biker links: work tag

The television in the living of Mika and his brother’s shabby shared apartment plays the news. The audio glitches and the colours are off—not that it matters. All the news has to say is how bike gangs erect fear and discord, what’s new? Perhaps the name of the bike gang that caught the spotlight of news reporters. Favonius.

“They’re activities have spiked as of late,” Huffman says while wearing his police attire. Its cleanliness gives it a certain glow in the dim apartment, the only light coming from the television’s flicker. He sighs and ruffles with Mika’s hair. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have to work overtime.”

Mika remains quiet.

When Huffman waves goodbye and the door closes behind him, Mika starts the countdown in his head. At the 10-minute mark, he takes his newly bought helmet stuffed under his bed and switches off the television. Swiftly, he heads to the ground floor and wears his hood over his head.

“Pst,” a voice calls from one of the alleyways. Mika walks on. His small statue and quiet personality make him anything but a person of interest. The hood was just to prevent his brother’s hawk gaze from seeing him—in case Huffman has not left the area.

The sound comes again. Curious, Mika looks at who might be hiding in the shadows.

You are there, leaning against the wall.

“Took you long enough to notice me,” you tease. “Varka won’t be pleased that we’re late, and it’s your first day as well.”

“You’re here to… pick me up?” Mika asks in a whisper. “You didn’t have to. Now you’ll be late too.”

“Don’t sweat it. Boss had a quick look at your profile, and he seems to take a liking towards you. We’ll be fine. It’s just not nice to keep me waiting, don’t you think?” You hook your arm around his shoulders. Mika hopes you don’t feel the heat that clusters on his face. Other than his brother, he’s not used to close contact.

“Either way,” you add, “Although we all answer to Varka, since I saved you and recruited you, you’re technically under me too. Wanted a nice second impression to greet you before you meet Varka and officially join our team.”

Case 321: Huffman arrested a man for a long list of crimes. He was part of a large criminal organisation—Mika learned from Favonius—and that was why after he was arrested, people tracked Mika down in hopes to return with a hostage.

Mika’s not sure what else can be a cooler first impression than drifting through alleyways and charismatically announcing take my hand as he laid on the floor, cornered by thugs. He’ll never forget it if that concerns you.

“Anyways, you’re right. I’m glad I’m here to pick you up. Considering your unique situation because of your… close relations, I guess I should ensure you don’t get busted before your first day even starts.”

“I know my way around,” he says, hoping his timid voice does not betray his intention to make himself seem… less timid. The fact the criminal organisation thought he was an easy target grated on his nerves. He didn’t want to be the damsel in distress.

“I don’t see a reason to disagree.” You point him up and down. “You’re here in one piece. But it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

You’re about to sit on the bike but don’t.

“Oh, right, I forgot to say I’m also here to test you in advance. Not Varka’s command, he’s not that strict. Just something I want to know…”

Mika sees the way your eyes glint at the sight of his shiney helmet in his hands. You throw him something. He almost stumbles when he catches it. It’s a key.

“Do you know how to ride a bike?”

Mika gulps. It’s just like riding a bicycle, is it not?

author's note: i initially wanted to keep this story to at most 100 words, but i couldn't really find the words for it, so it became 600 words, whoop

[starset21]

Disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower

A/N: This story is heavily inspired by the hallmark movie of the same title and is very self-indulgent. I'm also trying a different format than I'm used to using so it may change in the future chapters.

Looking for the other chapters? U.S.S. Christmas Masterlist 

Summary: The final day of the tiger cruise is being wrapped up and its time to say goodbye.

Chapter 6: Disembarking

“Kate, how is the article coming along?” Ron asked as they were decorating some Christmas ornaments.

“Um, unfortunately, it's not coming along as easily as I had hoped, but it's been a fun adventure and… Jake's been amazing,” she told him.

“Jake?” Jackson asked in a teasing tone.

“Wonderful. It's been, uh… Enlightening,” he told them.

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. And I hope everybody enjoyed the cruise,” Ron told them.

“This time with my kids… was just the best Christmas gift,” Elizabeth told him.

“That makes me happy. Family is everything,” Ron said, a bright smile on his face.

“Apologies. I need to excuse myself,” Jake told them, standing up.

“Work?”

“Just a few lists I need to double-check. Excuse me,” Jake smiled before walking off.

“A toast. To friends… Family… And Christmas!” Ron added.

“Cheers, Merry Christmas!” they all echoed. 

“Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho ho ho ho!”

They all turned to see Santa walk over to one of the chairs.

“Yay, Santa's here!” some kids cheer.

The Santa adjusted his beard just enough for them to see it was Jake. Kate laughed and he sent her a wink.

“Oh ho ho! Merry Christmas! Come on, kids, line up in a single-file line, everyone can see Santa,” Jake bellowed.

“You are a miracle worker,” Ron smiled, turning to Kate.

“Me?”

Ron nodded. “What happened on that trip to New York?” he asked.

“Oh. Um, we just talked a lot about the past and the future, and... I reminded Jake what makes Christmas so special,” Kate told him truthfully.

“Well… He seems very happy,” Ron nodded, turning back to the ornament he was working on. 

Later that night Kate stood up in the crows nest, getting some air.

“I told you that first night I met you I can be spontaneous,” Jake said, coming to lean against the railing beside her, his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah, you did. And I was wrong about you. Where'd you get that belly, anyway?” Kate asked, looking out at the water.

“Two life preservers, remember?” Jake laughed.

“Oh… Good use of a flotation device,” Kate shook her head. Jake pulled his hands out of his pockets and with it came a very glittery snowflake.

“Yeah, and sparkles. Tons and... tons of sparkles. Voilà. Not too shabby, huh?” he asked, handing it to her.

“It’s beautiful Jake…” she trailed off as little white things began floating down around them.

“Is... is it...?” she asked.

“Snow. It's the perfect night,” Jake told her.

“Absolutely… Perfect,” Kate echoed.

Jake took a step closer to her. He was never one for the romantic aspects of relationships, he was always so career driven, but with her, it was like he was an entirely new person. He would not lie and say he didn’t enjoy being this new guy, one who could open up and express his thoughts to her, watching him quietly. He leaned in and Kate did too. But before her lips could do more than brush his, she pulled away.

“Jake, this isn't a good idea,” she muttered before taking a step away from him.

“Why not?” he asks.

“I think you're so great, but whatever this is here on the ship, it's… It's not gonna work back home. I… I'm so sorry. I should go,” she tells him, turning and walking away.

“Kate, don't…” Jake trailed off but she was already gone. 

“Tigers, thank you for joining us on our 4-day cruise of the eastern seaboard. It's been a pleasure having you onboard, and we wish you the merriest of christmases,” the intercom clicked off after they had docked.

“Sayonara, ladies, Jackson, Have a wonderful Christmas. I'm off to Aspen to meet the rest of my family,” Charlotte told them.

“It's been real, Charlotte,” Kate told her, shaking her hand.

“Real fun,” she smiled and nodded before heading off with her brother.

“Oh! We just had the best time, Ron. Thank you,” Elizabeth gushed.

“You're welcome. And I hope I wake up to your article Christmas day,” Ron directed to Kate.

“I hope so too,” she told him. “I thought Jake would have shown up to say goodbye, but… Well, Merry Christmas, ladies,” Ron told them.

“You too, Ron. Merry Christmas.” Kate grabbed her bag and they were about to head out when they heard heavy footsteps coming from behind them. 

“Kate! I'm so glad I caught you before you left!” Nick exclaimed.

“We'll get the bags to the car. Do you have the keys?” Jackson asked their mom.

“My brother found a Jonah William who was a pilot on the polaris in 1965,” Nick hurriedly told her.

“That's amazing! What about the records? I thought we needed a freedom of information request.”

“Turns out he was awarded the Navy cross for extraordinary heroism. He shot down three enemy aircraft in Vietnam, and that makes him a person of exceptional prominence, which is an exception to the rule of releasing records to the public without a formal request,” Nick told her.

“That's so amazing. So where is he now?” Kate bit her lip in anticipation.

“He went back to Vietnam in 1967 and, sadly, went missing in action,” Nick told her and Kate frowned.

“Oh. Did they ever find him?” she asked.

“It's complicated. While Jonah was Mia, there was a fire at the VA storage facility in Missouri which houses the records. The strange part is, after the fire, the trail goes cold. My brother couldn't find any more from military records.” Kate’s head dropped.

“So we don't even know if he's alive?” she sighed.

“Okay. Well, I have his name, I can do my own search. Thanks Nick.”

Nick nodded. “Well, I hope it works out. Good luck,” he tells her.

“Thanks.”

Kate turned to leave but Jake walked out just as she did.

“Merry Christmas, Jake,” she said quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Kate.”

Kate swallowed, looking up at him.

“You stay safe, okay?” she asked and Jake nodded.

Kate nodded once more before heading off the ship. 

[puella-peanut]

If Alpha Twig got Omega Danny pregnant in high school, do you think they would have stayed together? How would their families react?

Well well...depending on how much I want to be nice or mean to Danny-boy and Terry, the scenarios could vary. Since I have a similar ask for this scenario but that Anon wanted fluff, this one will be on the angsty side (sorry, Danny-boy). Heads up for underage Daniel, Omega-sexism, me making Danny suffer, and super bastard boyfriend psycho Terry (as well as his shitty father). 

.

.

.

—By early February, as soon as his Ma leaves, Daniel spends nearly every morning before school resting his cheek against the cool porcelain toilet in the bathroom he shares with his Ma in their shabby apartment. He turned 15 in December, still looks like 12—he’s just a kid, a pup, a freshman, and now he’s...

Daniel can’t even finish the thought. ('Cause he promised Ma, Madonna bless her, he’d be good here in Omega-friendly California, stay outta trouble. That’s why she allowed him to go to one of these progressive Integrated Schools instead of a mediocre Omega Government-Funded Institution.) And he’d been so happy, so excited—and now he’s in the worst trouble of his life. Daniel’s eyes fill. What on earth is he gonna tell his Ma? What on earth is he gonna tell...

...Terry?

(The ridiculously handsome, popular Alpha who’d graciously invited Daniel to his Christmas party at the fancy loft in upscale LA, a week before Christmas break, and Daniel had innocently gone along, totally flattered that his crush since the very first day of school in August had asked...him! Poor, plain, and little almost-15-year-old Daniel LaRusso! And Terry had been tall and dashing and seductive—giving Daniel all of his undivided attention, and then his first taste of champagne, and a bit later his first kiss. And then real late that very evening his first...well, everything.) 

Daniel had lost a lot that night, more than he knew at the moment, and had woken up alone, and sore, and frightened—and with an aching head in a guest bedroom instead of Terry’s apartment-sized bedroom. A Beta maid had offered him breakfast, but he’d turned the lavish tray down, mortified, and left immediately once he found his clothes neatly folded and freshened up on the vanity’s chair. He hadn’t seen Terry. (He'd...wanted to.)

Ma had been more worried than angry, and had fussed over him when he’d returned with a feeble lie. Luckily he was wearing a turtleneck sweater, so she didn’t see the bruises and bite marks on his neck and shoulder, and the matching hand-shaped bruises on his wrists. And she didn't have a clue about the mouth-shaped-marks on his chest, his inner thighs. Thank the Alpha up above. Anyways, he’d moped over Christmas not feeling himself, and daydreaming about Terry, wishing he would call, and not thinking too much on why he didn’t. 

But after a holiday that was anything but merry, Terry didn’t even spare him a passing glance when school started again on the 3rd. That first day back without a single word or look of acknowledgement from the Alpha had crushed Daniel, deeply, and he’d cried a little in the bathroom after he’d thrown up all his lunch. So he ended up being not only heartbroken, but ill for the new year. Go figure. 

I think in this one, Anon, Terry is a Senior. He’s wealthy, spoiled, and a playboy—he has time to fuck around with many a pretty Omega, but no time to stick around for one. Terry’s going places, you see, he’s a brainy and bookish scholar despite the lecherous side; he has been accepted to several of the Ivy League Alpha-Only universities of Yale, Columbia, Harvard; maybe even to schools abroad like Oxford—he can’t be having a fucking pup now. 

(Why Alpha above, he could’ve shaken the boy as he’d stuttered and stumbled through telling Terry about his...condition in a classroom in a lonely part of the school. Wanted to, badly, when the kid had started crying these great hulking sobs that shook his body, looking so small and delicate and fragile—and giving off such terrified pheromones that it made Terry’s stomach roll with...with he didn’t even know what. He didn’t even respond to the boy’s pitiful pleading, just left him there all crumpled and blotchy on the floor in the too-big red sweater Terry had ripped off him that night in December...only now with endless tears running down his face. But Terry could smell it on him, easy, like Alphas could of the Omegas they’d knotted up. He was reeking of it. Those pregnancy pheromones, his and the kid’s mixed together, tangled up in a knot...)

...He gets his father, the Alpha Silver-senior, to hush this nonsense all up, threaten the kid and his mother if they retaliate (not that Betas, and especially Omegas, had much of a percentage, if any, of winning a lawsuit against an Alpha). And Silver sr. does, because his only child (a strapping boy, an Alpha! How proud is he!) is set to take over the legendary Silver business, and needs to keep the connections, name, and social hierarchy a fancy university will maintain for him—not the shame a penniless, pregnant Omega and bastard puppy will bring. Why, what a pity they outlawed the Breeding Farms a century ago—he’d have that Omega slut banished there instead. He wishes Terrance had been more discreet, true—but then there’s that ridiculous Alpha bragging pride that his son knocked up an untouched 14 year old Omega at, what, only 18? A proper Alpha already! He signs the papers with a flourish, plans out the monthly fee—measured in accordance, of course, if the child comes out an Alpha (wonderful, but doubtful), a Beta (boring), or an Omega (vermin). He chides Terrance with a good laugh over their favorite Irish whiskey and imported Cuban cigars, and doesn’t give the matter a second thought. Margaret will oversee the little monthly problem. Now, back to securing that fantastic deal with that German company...

(Anyway, Anon, Terry did think that Danny-boy had been quite the little darling, probably the prettiest Omega Terry ever saw—but that means nothing, really, since the kid was only good for an (admittedly excellent) fuck, and it had been great fun taking his first time. Oh, he’d seen the way the boy’s big eyes had looked shyly his way after that night when they passed each other in the school corridors between classes they never shared—and he’d paid no heed outside of scoffing once he’d passed. What, did the kid think Terry would date him or something, that they’d be official? That Terry’d give him his varsity jacket, like how Johnny had given his to his Omega girl, Betsy? Did the boy really think Terry would love him? Omegas these days. Ridiculous.)

Father transfers the boy to another school, Omega only, and not that dreadful like most of those were—really, the boy should thank him on bended knee!—so he can have the pup like he wants (why not just terminate the blasted thing?), and complete his education. It’s more than many an Omega usually gets, since the discomfort of unshared Heats, the high-percentage fail rate of suppressants, and the sheer yearning of wanting an Alpha to fuck and mate them make many drop-out young. And they’re pressured anyway, to find an Alpha, and get married off as soon as possible, even as young as 13 if they start their Heats early—something which the Government always turned a blind eye to, even here in progressive California. After all, Omegas don’t need to have brains, just spread their dainty legs and pump out pups. Easy peasy. 

So, Terry feels good about the...situation. Mostly. There’s a niggling sensation there, something that feels like it’s pressing on a bruise that Terry doesn’t even know he has. No matter, it’ll pass. He’ll ring up his Alpha pals, Johnny, Ponytail, and Mikey—it’ll make for an amusing yarn to share over dinner and bourbon (and maybe a couple Omega whores if he can bribe Milos to get them for Pony and Mike, since John got boring once he started mooning over Betsy). 

Terry only just wishes he could get the kid out of his memory, damn it. Why, the way he’d caught Terry’s eye since the school year had started, tiny little fluffy-haired brunette—like he’d been tailored just for Terry’s personal tastes. The sweet, addictive scent of him when Terry had bumped into him between classes, once, twice, thrice on purpose—before casually asking him to his party. And when he’d shown up, all in over his head and cutely thanking Terry for the invite—Terry had been ridiculously charmed, deciding then and there that the kid was his that night. (Who cared that he was 14-looking-12? Society didn’t give a flying fuck about Omega-rights and nor did Terry, though both pretended they did.) Anyway, he knew he’d decided rightly when, later on, his mouth had watered like never before to stake his claim on that mating gland when the kid had curled up in his lap away from prying eyes, tipsy and adorable. Or how gorgeous those brown eyes were, especially when they’d looked shyly up at him with such tender affection that Terry had carried him off then and there to his bedroom. The flushed cheeks, the plump mouth moving naively against his own. It was nearly too much. And those sweet, if surprised, sobs of pleasure when he’d...

Shit, he needs another fucking drink. 

So what happens next, Anon?

Daniel has the pup, of course—an Omega he names Samantha. And he loves her from the moment she’s placed screaming in his exhausted arms. Adores her instantly, perhaps even more than usual, because she has her father’s wavy dark hair, and his bright blue eyes...

...Daniel manages to get through school until 18, finding it tremendously difficult to balance studying, and a part time job, and a puppy, but he pushes through it, sometimes on three hours of sleep a night, determined. And maybe a little bit angry (and a lot hurt). The meagre monthly stipend he receives from Terry’s father for having an Omega puppy covers some of Sam’s expenses, and that’s a blessing regardless, because she’ll have it until she has her Omega coming of age at 16, when the dole will stop. It’s not that bad, he supposes wistfully sometimes when Sam’s asleep, and his homework is completed, and it’s just him and his lonesome thoughts. 

(Not that bad even if it does sting that Terry’s never bothered to contact them, or that he hasn’t seen the Alpha since he was pulled out of that school early March. Just to have one more look at him, that’s all he wanted. For old times sake...)

As for Ma, well she's eternally disappointed in him, of course, even though Daniel tries his very best. But she left New Jersey to give him a better life, a better chance across the country where Omegas were allowed to flourish—and what did he do to repay her just a few months later? Oh, she loves Sammy very much and helps take care of her, but something breaks down in their relationship, and Daniel simply doesn’t have the tools to fix it. So when, at 18, Daniel and little Sam relocate to the Bronx for a charity-organized paid training position for single-parent Omegas it’s with a strange, if bittersweet, relief on both sides of the parting. 

But he’s grateful to be trained as a mechanic, a position Omegas aren’t usually taught, nor hired to be in. But Daniel’s a fighter, he fought for equal-opportunity job rights, fought for his little Sam, for himself. He won’t let his past hurt him. He’s gonna move on. Maybe the progressive, Omega-friendly New York City is where he’s meant to be. 

And for a while he’s right, Anon, because now, at 20, he’s respected at his job, and makes a decent living. He’s even landed a good-looking 30 year old blond fighter pilot in the Alpha Armed Forces (the AAF) named Johnny. They’re living together, and Johnny popped the question a little while ago. Daniel’s now got a nice little ring on his finger, and Johnny’s even tried to Claim him, but for some reason it didn’t take...

Whatever. Johnny doesn’t care that the Claim didn’t hold, or that Daniel has had a pup with another Alpha. Sammy likes him, he’s got a steady job, he makes Daniel laugh nearly as much as they bicker, and okay, okay—it’s so very nice to be petted, and cuddled, and wanted, and have his natural Omega urges satisfied. Oh, Daniel likes Johnny very much. (Maybe one day he’ll even love him.)

So, overall, things are going well!

...Until it doesn’t, Anon, because one day, Daniel finds himself adding the finishing touches to a gorgeous vintage black convertible with red leather insides that some fool rear-ended. A classic make like this would cost a pretty penny; whatever Alpha owns this (and of course it’s an Alpha)—is filthy, disgustingly rich. 

He should have known then, should have realized before the owner showed up, before the long stride of expensive dress shoes was heard echoing off the concrete floors. Before that familiar scent of bourbon and cigar smoke hit his nose.

But Daniel doesn’t, so when Terry Silver—wealthier, taller, and more dashing than ever—shows up, Daniel finds himself backing up against the car he just polished, so many emotions tangled up in his stomach it’ll take years to pull them apart, if ever. 

Terry’s polite, charming, sophisticated. But the years have sharpened him like a knife, making his smile at once captivating and deadly. He tells Daniel in a friendly manner how he’s very recently become the head of his family’s company, now that his father’s finally passed. That he’s the one who sent Daniel the latest monthly stipend for Sam seeing that Margaret was dismissed immediately after the funeral. That he’s known the exact whereabouts of Daniel and Samantha for two weeks now, since the day his father died. 

Terry tells him, still grinning even while Daniel’s hands start shaking—of the fact that his convertible landing in Daniel’s bodyshop was not a stroke of luck, but rather a set-up. A plan not only for Terry’s personal amusement, but also to soothe his rage—to observe Danny at work, see how an Omega got by at a (haha!) paying job. A job which he, sweet Danny-boy, should never have been fucking trained for in the first place, which he should never have been working at. Or working, whatsoever. 

That Terry knows—and here his blue eyes grow so cold when he glances in utter disgust at the simple engagement ring that they look like ice—about Johnny. About their wedding plans. About the failed Claiming. 

And lastly, lastly because this is all not enough of shock for one day, for one life—

—the reason, Terry says as lightly as if he were mentioning the weather, the Claiming failed from that subpar fool of an Alpha is because you’ve already been Claimed, sweetheart. Since that night when you were 14. For several years now, you’ve been mine. And, Danny-boy, darling—you didn’t even suspect a thing. 

Daniel can’t breathe, can’t think. Can’t do anything except put up his hands defensively as Terry steps in close, crowding Daniel against the convertible, the knots of his spine shoved hard enough against the polished metal to be sore for days. 

Terry’s shadow towers over Daniel, and his hands hold his wrists so tightly that he wraps them in bruises just as he did all those years ago. Daniel whimpers in pain, in fear, in terrified confusion at how quickly his life has turned upside down again—and Terry’s smile broadens as he grinds Daniel’s wrist bones painfully.

All these years, Terry whispers in his ear, I couldn't get you out of my fucking mind. It was like having a fever that never got better. I had to make it better; I had to get better, Danny-boy. My father, curse him, wouldn't have it. He thought it was nonsense, that it would run its course, and when it didn't, he took great care to keep any and all information about you and my pup away from me. Margaret helped. And I waited, waited until he dropped dead by either my hand or fate, and everything he owned and signed and kept hidden—became mine. Though you, Terry says kissing the top of his head tenderly, have always been. 

He takes Daniel in his arms, rests his head against his chest, against his heartbeat. Chuckles when he feels the tremors going through Daniel's body. 

Terry gives Daniel an ultimatum: Daniel and Sam can go back with him to LA on his private plane, latest by tomorrow night—or he takes Sam with him in the next hour, and Daniel will never see her again, he’ll make sure of it. What's Daniel going to do, anyways? A working-class Omega who got knocked up at 14, attempt to go up against an Alpha, a Silver? Oh, sweetheart. How you make me laugh! 

And it's bullshit, total bullshit in every way because of course there's only one solution. There's no way Daniel would ever leave his little girl, and Terry knows this. He's always known this. It's the ace up his sleeve. 

So he wipes the tear that falls down Daniel’s cheek almost gently, letting his thumb linger on Daniel’s wobbling bottom lip. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a possessive desire. A cold-blooded triumph. 

“Well, Danny-boy?” he says fondly. 

[husbandomail-archive]

Deuce Spade + "Honey, I'm home"

“—can I stay here tonight?”

It was a common question now, and didn’t startle you quite as much as the first time he’d asked. Deuce was always showing up at your little Ramshackle dorm, his uniform mussed, an unzipped bag thrown over his shoulder because he knew you’d say yes. And you did, every time— you’d let out a very heavy and very fake sigh, but move aside anyways to make room in the narrow hallway for the broad-shouldered boy.

Something seemed… off. The air around him was electric, and Deuce’s handsome face was dark with an emotion that wasn’t familiar on a boy like him. He was quiet as he dropped his bag on the kitchen counter and climbed up onto his favorite stool.

“How’re we supposed to feed three people so last-minute?” Grim yowled up at you from his spot on the floor; you barely glanced at him as you took Deuce’s uniform jacket and hung it on the coat rack.

“We’re not feeding three people, Grim,” you said, “I’m feeding two people and a cat.”

Deuce snorted at that, and relief fluttered in your chest. He wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings, so you weren’t going to pry into whatever had him down, but— if he could laugh at something like that, he would be fine.

One week later, there was a familiar knock at your door. You were sprawled out on the floor of your bedroom, which happened to be right over the rickety porch; popping your head out the open window, you waved at Deuce, who grinned back up at you.

“Can I come in?”

“It’s unlocked!”

You heard the door swing open and then it slammed shut hard enough to shake the frame. Heavy footsteps came crashing up the old stairs; it wasn’t long before Deuce was collapsing on your bedroom floor beside you, textbooks and handwritten notes spilling out of his backpack.

“So for Alchemy,” he started before he’d even kicked his shoes off, “I didn’t understand the end of today’s lecture— can I copy your notes?”

“Copyin’ ‘em won’t help,” you chided as you rolled over, “because I didn’t get it either. I picked up this library book Trey suggested, though—”

Deuce sighed and ran a hand through his hair, only to make a face when he realized he was still wearing his uniform gloves. Strands of deep blue clung to the fabric, static continuing to spike them up like a boy from the manga on your shelves. “Would you believe me if I told you I can’t read?”

“Nice try, Spade.”

It was about another week before your Heartslabyul friend returned to Ramshackle. You were stretched out on the shabby couch that’d been left in the dorm when you arrived; you’d caught some kind of cold, and laying on the thin, hard cushions was doing nothing for the ache in your neck. Grim had dropped a bottle of thick syrupy medicine into your hand that morning, and since you’d taken it, you’d been too dazed to do anything but stare at the ceiling—

“Honey, I’m home.”

Stare at the ceiling and hallucinate Deuce’s voice, apparently.

“—hey, did you hear me?”

You blinked, forcing yourself upright because your body ached too much to twist and glance over your shoulder. Deuce was standing in the doorway, kicking his shoes off as one hand delved into the plastic bag he carried. “Ace said you weren’t feeling well, so I—”

“What did you say before?”

He paused, hesitant to repeat himself. But only for a moment.

“Said honey, I’m home.”

[breakerwhiskey]

053 - FIFTY-THREE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

Week 11 - Breaker Whiskey

[click, static] [beeps] [click, static] Yeah, okay, I guess I really had given up trying to be subtle about it. [click, static]

You didn’t put a question mark at the end, but I’m going to assume it’s a question anyway—or, asking for confirmation at least.

I’m glad you’re okay—thanks for sending me something, even if I’m not totally sure what to say in response. I’ve never really, um...talked about this. At least not to anyone not in it with me.

[click, static]

But, yes, I was an art thief. I mean, that’s the easiest way to describe it anyway. And, you know, it wasn’t always art-art— like with Sylvia, it was sometimes antiques and what-not. I’m sure you’re wondering how I got into it when I’m clearly not an art connoisseur and the answer is really

that I fell backwards into it. To finish my story from the other day, I guess, and completely incriminate myself I met Pete trying to rob him of some jewelry he’d robbed from some Park Ave fat cat—that was mainly my thing at the time. Burglary. Um, I didn’t—when I got to New York, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, so I got a job at a hardware store in a really nice part of town and that led to me doing in home repairs for some folks in the neighborhood and...well, you fix enough wall sconces in five bedroom apartments while you’re living with four other people in a shitty downtown box and you start to have some feelings about some things.

I am as good at breaking things as I am at fixing them, so it was easy for me to get into empty apartments, into locked drawers or safes and it was easy for me to case a place if I was already there doing repairs—

[click, static]

God, it’s weird to talk about this out loud and on a public frequency. I don’t know what you might be thinking of me, finding out I’m some kind of common criminal, but I never stole from anyone who really needed it. I always tried to make sure to leave alone the stuff that seemed like it might have real sentimental value to, but of course you can never really tell—

[click, static]

Anyway, Pete—rather than punching me in the jaw for trying to rob him, he offered me a job. He said he liked the way I had broken in, leaving no trace. He needed a yeggman—um, a safecracker—and I wasn’t too shabby at it, even as inexperienced as I was. So that’s what I did.

[click, static]

I was twenty-two years old and I’d been in New York for all of...eighteen months? And I had somehow fallen in with one of the best thieves in a city filled to the brim with expert criminals.

Up until I got stuck with Harry for half a decade, I had pretty good luck with the people I fell in with.

And now I’ve got you, Birdie—or, I hope I do, after all this. So I think my luck is turning back around.

[click, static]

[itsohh]

Together in the Rain

A/N: G/N reader, this was asked over a month ago when I first announced I was doing Christmas ask. I wrote something for this ask and just hated it. All this time I’ve kept it for when I eventually rewrote it and now I have. I’m pretty happy with this outcome. It’s a lot more fluffier and softer compaired to all the pure smut and angst stuff I write. It’s a nice little change.

Word count:  3303

Warnings: NSFT, Smut

AO3

The first thing that you noticed as the pair of you arrived at the airport was that it was cold. Like really cold. Freezing cold. Timur had been practically buzzing on the flight over. While you slept most of the flight, he had been awake and alive dragging you around.  Almost immediately he had given you one of his large jackets, a jacket that you refused to give up as he took you to the place he called home. His home surprised you, it was so… normal.

 An apartment in the middle of town, surrounded by other apartments. It was decently sized. It opened to a kitchen leading to the combined living room and dining room in an open floor plan. To the left side was a hallway that branched off. The first room to the left was a small standard bathroom, and the room next to it was a workout room; a gym. On the opposite side of the hallway was a larger room, one that housed his painting station. At the very end of the hall was the master bedroom, a private bathroom attached to it, one that had seen far more usage than the one in the hall. 

 Timur didn’t bother turning the radiator on, much to your displeasure. He didn’t give you much time there at all actually. After the tour of the house, admittedly brief, your bag was left next to the side of his bed, and you would eventually unpack later. His hand in yours he was quick to drag you out of the apartment. “I hope you slept well.” He was practically glowing as the pair of you headed towards the lift. It wasn’t too often you saw him like this, so peaceful and happy.

 “Where are we going? Timur slow down.” You held no negative feelings about the situation, you just wished to know what was going on. In the lift, he seemed to slow down a bit. 

 “When I was young, I always wondered what it would be like to bring my partner home." His fingers interlaced with yours and this thumb stroked over your knuckles. "At the time, admittedly I didn't think of anyone from outside of Russia, the city was closed to outsiders at the time you see." The elevator soon opened and you were pulled out into the cold once again, light rain in the background. "I had dreamt where I would take them, lavish dates and whatnot. But now that you're here, my mind is very far from what I had thought as a child."

 "Oh?"

 "I want you to see this place the way I see it. Or at least glimpse a small part of where I call home." He grinned and turned forward, pulling you along. 

 "Where are we walking?" 

 "Wait and see." Through the streets Timur took you. It wasn't dead in any matter, people passed you and others carried on in their own lives. Timur was quick out to point out places he knew even with the smallest of stories. "That place there, do you see it?" He pointed across the road and you nodded. There were shabby-coloured lights on the building. If it was like that for Christmas or all year round, you couldn't tell.

 "One-year Alexsandr had borrowed my couch for a break, back when he was still with his wife. He had to get away from her you see, didn't want to go home. Well, there's the bar that I took him to."

 "I've seen Alexsandr outdrink Jordan with ease."

 "Jordans a lightweight." You let out a huff at Timurs playful jab. Jordan was not a lightweight in any manner. "Anyway, that night Alexsandr outdrank four people and eventually got us kicked out.

 "Oh god, what did you two do?" 

 "Ah, you think we aren't the most model citizens?" 

 "Timur…"

 "Frankly we didn't do much at all. People got pretty pissed when Alexsandr won the bet. It wasn't so much that we did anything, that they lost a few chairs against Alexsandr's back." 

 "You got into a bar fight?" 

 "More they tried to fight us and he was a brick wall." You grinned at the story and the thought. How a civilian could ever go again Alexsandr amazed you, that being said alcohol did make people do dumb things. As the pair of you reached the end of the covered area, a large umbrella appeared over you much to your surprise. In the rush of Timur pulling you along, you didn't notice he had grabbed one.

 "How long have you been living here?" You asked as the pair of you continued your venture in the rain. 

 "All my life  It's where I grew up, I've had to of course move away at times for work and study but I always find myself coming back to this city." The pair of you eventually neared a school, it seemed to be empty. Children at home for the Christmas break. 

 "Is there where you went to school?" 

 "No, no. I went to school at a place on the other side of town."

 "Ah and how was young Timur? I bet you were an adorable kid."

 "My father would certainly agree with that statement. I think I was pretty normal, a bit of a trouble marker as my teachers would make me out but nothing serious."

 "And what did little Timur get into trouble for?"

 "Not starting fights if that's what your wondering."

 "Nor finishing them?"

 "Not that either, I'll have you know I stuck to my own lane. It was more of not paying attention or being late more than anything. Though one time…" Your brow raised as his eyes became a little distant at the memory. "I was, still am, good at climbing. But when I was a kid I wasn't the best at getting down."

 "Oh no."

 "My school had this massive tree on the field. I got stuck in it. Then when people tried to get me down I climbed up further. I started to throw sticks at people down below, other children, and teachers. I hit them too. Not hard."

 "How did you get down?"

 "I fell. I fractured my arm. I was lucky, the people I landed on not so much." He grinned and you couldn't help the laugh that stuffed from your mouth. "We weren't allowed to climb trees after that. Or at least I wasn't."

 The sound of the sea soon filled the air around you as the pair of you neared the docks. Boats occupied the rough waters as people continued to work. The scene was by no way pretty. A scene of industrialism and people hard at work. It certainly wouldn't normally be a scene for a date. "I spent a lot of time here when I was younger. My father would get me things and I would meet him here." He pointed over to a small block of shops just down the path. Three buildings in need of a good paint, all their signage in Russian like the rest of the country but you could tell exactly what the one Timur pointed to. A food joint. 

 "He would take me here for dinner, just the pair of us and we would watch the waves together." Timurs face glowed at the memory and you could tell it was one of his favourite ones from when he was a child. "My father wasn't around too much, he worked a lot but those days were certainly the best." As the pair of you started to approach the old building you realized that's what his plan was, to replay that same experience but with you. 

  There was a single person behind the desk with a wall of text above them. “Timur, I can’t read any of this.” You leaned over, slightly embarrassed by the situation. Yet, he didn’t fret, his hand tightened in yours for a reassuring squeeze. 

 “Don’t worry I’ll order for you.” He knew you well enough to do so. There was an older woman there, one who seemed delighted to see Timur. The pair of them dived into a conversation and her eyes soon fell on you. Timurs hand untangled from your own and handed you the umbrella, now closed as he went to pay. There were a couple of seats in the front of the joint, a waiting area of sorts. He sat next to you and the woman disappeared into the back room. “I’ve known her for a very long time, she was saying it was nice to see me again. Thinks your cute.” Timur let out a small laugh as you coughed out, hitting him lightly with the back of your hand. 

 It was calming, seagulls in the background while the roar of the sea and machinery continued working on. The rain added to the environment, and the chilly air nipping at your face was soothed by the hot air coming from inside the eatery. Content in the moment, the ten minutes went fast. Soon the pair of you had your food and Timur was saying goodbye to her, a goodbye that you attempted to join in on with broken Russian. The woman seemed to appreciate the thought and waved you goodbye. 

 The umbrella up in your hand, sheltering the pair of you from the rain, Timur led you out towards the docks. An empty old wooden chair lay in wait. With his coat covering your body and one of his own, the wetness of the seat didn’t bother the pair of you when you sat down. It was rather stable and didn’t show any sign of protest. The food was warm and he had that same smile on his face while he look out to the ocean. So calm. “In English…” He paused to take a small bite as your attention was drawn to him, your eyes on his blue ones. “You say I love you so, carelessly.” you raised a brow at his words and he frowned. “No, I would say it's more common, more freely used.” He let out a deep breath, putting his food on his lap, leaning his arm on the back of the chair while he turned to face you. 

 “To me, I feel it doesn’t properly express how I feel about you- it's too weak of a saying.” His brows pressed down and swallowed. “I know you do not understand but ya lyublyu tebya fsyei dushoj.” In silence you stared at him, you didn’t know how to respond. Not because you hadn’t declared your love to him before, no the pair of you had expressed yourselves many times before. This time, it felt different. Your heart roared inside of you louder than the ocean beside you, louder than the rain that fell from the skies above. Yet he didn’t seem to mind, not a bit. His hand gently reached forward to touch your face after a few moments. The touch snapped you out of the frozen state you had been in, staring at him. 

 “Your crying.” He explained as he wiped away the tears. Were you? You hadn’t realised. You blinked a few times and used the palm of your hand to pad your eye ducts. 

 “Oh fuck, sorry I ah.” You laughed it off and his hand caught yours, bringing it to his face he cradled it in his hand before pressing his lips against it. 

 “No need to apologise, I doubt those are tears of anguish.” He held your hand there against his face, the warmth radiating off your hand mixing with his face. The moment was soon cut off by a partially large wave crashing over the edge and drenching the pair of you- and the food in your laps. He let out a sound of surprise, one that echoed with your own. “Ah, I remember why we would only sit here when the sea was calm.” He laughed, picking up the two packages with one hand. The umbrella now closed in yours, the pair of you couldn’t get any wetter. Timur led you with your hand off the chair. Now soaked there wasn’t much care for the weather as the pair of you started to make your way back to town. The remains of your meal were disposed of while the rain came down forever harder. 

 The streets became ever emptier as the sun set, its orange hue hidden by clouds. Completely drenched, water dripped off the pair of you as you made it back to his apartment. The door unlocked and Timur immediately went to turn on the radiator, allowing it to warm the apartment. Meanwhile, you shrugged off his coat from your body, its thick layer had protected you from the water, only the bottom of your pants and shoes getting really wet. Timur took the coat from you and placed it with his on the coat hook. “It shouldn’t take long to warm up, the apartment's pretty small.” It wasn’t small. 

 “Thanks for taking me out Timur.”

 “I intend to show you more, but we did arrive today and well, it's better not to overwhelm you yet.”

 “Yet?”

 “I assure you, by the time we are done here you shall know every nook and cranny of this old town.”

 “You say it like it's a threat.” You hummed, hanging your arms around his neck. 

 “It's a promise.” He closed the gap between the pair of you, his forehead resting against yours, his nose barely touching yours. In a second that felt like forever, his lips your against yours. The kiss was slow, gentle as if you would break if he pressed too hard. His lips were so warm, full of life and comfort. Yet, something was wrong, you could tell when he pulled away, his lips turned downward. 

 “Timur?” 

 “Your cold. Too cold.” A sigh of relief had your shoulders drop and you pressed your lips against his again, your nose next to his. How he had managed to keep his face warm actually amazed you quite a bit. He did run warmer than most people though, the cold never really bothered him. 

 “Then warm me up.” You breathed out as his sweet lips parted from yours. The blue of his eyes met yours under hooded eyelids. Catching onto your playful words, he nipped at your bottom lip. Too quickly did he pull away, his hand dragging you down the hallway to the bedroom. Often at times, Timur and you fucked. Hard. Messy. Wet. Full of horniness and desire for each other. Yet this time the situation was different. His movements were far slower, pealing away your shirt from your body, running his hands from the bottom of your torso to the top of your chest. He looked at you like a god, someone worthy of worship. 

 Timur's focus was solely on your as he popped the top of your pants open, pulling them down with your underwear. The warmth of his lips pepped over your legs as he gained a good grip on your thighs. With a swift movement, he picked you up, turning you, causing you to fall on the bed with a shout of his name. Arms spread out by your head and a grin on your face, he stared at you from his now standing position at the end of the bed. “Words, don’t describe, can’t come near how stunning you look at the moment.” 

 “Oh really? Not even in Russian.” The humorous smile on your face was mirrored by his own and he stripped away his clothes giving you a show where you lay. 

 “Not even in Russain. They need to create a new language just to describe you and you alone.” He kicked his pants off and started to crawl over the top of you. Warm, so warm, a sigh of relief escaped your lips as his skin made contact with yours. This wouldn’t be a night of desperate drilling and being coated in his seed. His lips pressed against yours and your arms wrapped around his body, pulling him flush against your body. No, his romantic side was here to stay. As he couldn’t get enough of you, his lips kissed all over your face causing you to let out of small laugh at the feeling. He would make love to you as if his life depended on it. 

 Timur rolled the pair of you so that you were on top of him. He sat up with you in his lap, one hand of his on the back of your neck. Lips against yours he held you as close as he possibly could. But it still wasn’t enough. A small pop came from his hand and you broke away just for a moment to see the small bottle of lube in his hand. His portable one that he always kept with him. It had no doubt been in his pants pockets. “Is this okay?” Timur whispered. The man could pin you against the wall, hand in your mouth and ruin you all night without so much as a word of concern- only his cocky grin but here he was, soft look in his eyes as he held your neck. 

 “What's the problem here is that you stopped.” 

 He rolled his eyes at your comment but listened to it regardless. Once again his lips were on yours as he blindly lubed his cock between the pair of you. Timur pulled away just a second. “Up.” Pushing up from him, you gave access for him to align himself with your entrance. The hand on your neck left and gently coxed you onto him by your thigh. The contact of his warm hand on your thigh grew as he rubbed it slightly, giving it a good feel. 

 Impaled on his dick the pair of your groaned in unison from the intoxicating feel of him. To your very soul could you feel him, so deep down inside and holding you so tight there wasn’t a world around you. There wasn’t the weather, the sky or the moon. There was only him. Him and him alone was the thing on your mind. Lips on yours, on your face, neck. The roll of your hips allowing him to find new spots inside of you. Pleasure joining your desperate for affection. The gentle moans of your name against your ear, the wandering hands of his mapping your body. It all melted away along with time, a moment you don’t think you could ever forget. 

 Timur loved you, so incredibly and surely so. Everything about you, no matter the flaw, it was perfection to him as he made love to you. With gasps, you ripped your lips from his, your forehead against his as he thrust up into you. “Together.” He whispered and you nodded, understanding. Your hands found his shoulders as he continued, a beautiful curse leaving his lips as he came, your own pleasure soring with his. 

 “I love you Timur. ” You whimpered out, a cry of desperation and love, his grip tightening on you at the words. He stopped and the pair of you stayed there like that, enjoying the high together. “I mean it, I do, with all my being I love you Timur.” The words rushed from your lips, finally knowing what to say. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his. Staring up at you, lips parted. “What does it mean? What you said at the dock.” At your own declaration, you finally dared to ask him.

 “I think, you supplied us with a close enough translation already.”