I Have Dubbed Thee Auction House PC

I have dubbed thee auction house PC

Closeup:

goodnight (goodnight)

⭢ alan x mc, 1.1k

p is for phone calls. ⭢ alphabet series | ao3 insp by @kurosagi-h8r's alan headcanon!

Alan waits until you disappear safely into the lit haven of your dorm room before turning away, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

It is a new feeling, this bursting and blooming of ardency beneath the race of his heart. Just the thought of you, laughter tangled into his own, fills his fingertips with morning sun and soaks into the heavy of his bones; it slides clouds under the soles of his feet and springs under his step. 

He doesn’t quite know why you set your mind on him all those months ago, has never quite understood why you  would ever look at him the way you do even after seeing him doused in another’s blood, but he does know that ever since you stepped foot into the grime of Vagastrom his world has never been the same. 

You look at him and still love him even on the days he can barely stand to look at himself. When you’re around it feels like his hands can be used for things other than hurt. When your fingers interlace with his he learns they can be gentle; when you turn your nose to the heat of his palm he learns they can be tender. When you slide them up your waist and let them coax gasps from the heat of your lips he learns that strength is not inherently brute and that maybe, sometimes, they deserve to hold good things too. 

He is still learning, with every day you choose to love him; he will continue to learn, for as long as you’ll let him.

His thoughts carry him all the way to Vagastrom. It is a familiar route now, with all the times he’s walked you back to the cathedral - he’s even added the cathedral as a stop on his morning jog, just so it becomes muscle memory to travel to where you are. 

(He doesn’t protest, though, when your hands still find his on the premise of tugging him in the right direction. He will gladly let you guide him anywhere if it means getting to hold your hand.) 

The garage is already dark, meaning the first years have already turned in for bed, so he picks up a folder of undone paperwork and heads upstairs. He makes short work of his night routine, but instead of settling down and reviewing the general students’ reports he finds himself staring at the Wickchat icon on the tiny screen of his phone. 

There is a little red bubble next to your name. An indication of an unread message, he remembers, and he taps it to find a sweet, “Thank you for today, Alan!” tucked into a white text box. 

The strange, bursting feeling in his chest returns, and before he knows it his thumb has found the little phone icon tucked into the corner of his screen. 

You answer on the third ring. “Alan?” 

There is always something in the way you say his name that makes it feel like it has been swaddled in clouds. His name might be all storm and mountains and divine punishment, but on your tongue it dissolves like cotton candy, a type of sweet nothing he has never imagined himself to be. 

“…Alan?” 

He can hear the smile in your voice, can picture you lying in bed cradling your phone to the apple of your cheek where he left a goodnight kiss not even an hour ago. “…honour student.” 

You laugh, bright and sparkling, all honey lemon soda in the warmth of his night. “Is there a reason you’re calling, or did you just miss me already?” 

Alan flushes. Ah. 

He did call without thinking, huh. 

He runs his fingernail against the edge of his desk, and scrabbles to verbalise the first thing that pops into his mind. “Are you free tomorrow?” 

He has no new missions to invite you on. Hell, he has so much paperwork for general missions to get through he should probably be working on that instead. And yet… 

You hum. He can hear you biting back a smile as you say, “I’m always free, for you.” 

The bubbling in his chest intensifies, and he strains to keep himself from smiling giddily at the silliness of your response. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to find the best words to say, but you understand his silence anyway, like you always do. 

“My classes end at two tomorrow, but I can bring my homework and meet you in the garage after, if that’s okay?” you say. 

“Yeah,” he says, intelligently. “Yeah.” 

There is a rustle on the other end of the line, like you’re turning in bed. “See you tomorrow, then?” 

“See you tomorrow,” he echoes. Some part of him wishes you’d stay on the line, fill the stifling silence of his dorm room with the sun of your voice and the sweet of your smile, but he knows he should let you rest. He shouldn’t be so greedy - your presence during the day time should be enough for him. And yet something keeps him from hanging up, from shifting his one lifeline to you away from his ear. 

“Alan?” 

There it is again, the way your tongue rolls his name around your mouth like a piece of caramel. He cannot stop the way it makes his heart swell; if he could, he’d listen to the way you say his name forever. “Honour student.” 

“If you miss me, you could have just said, you know,” you continue, cheekily, and he laughs this time, a low chuckle two shades more embarrassed than he’d like. 

“Goodnight, honour student,” he says, instead. 

“Goodnight, Alan.” 

A thought springs, unbidden, into his mind, a quiet picture of you in his sleep shirt, curled up in the off-white of his duvet and blinking sleepily at him as you say those words to him in person. 

He wonders briefly if he can get you to stay over tomorrow, if he can get to curl his arms around you and kiss the crown of your head and feel the rise and fall of your chest as you drift off to sleep, then shakes himself. He shouldn’t. Not… not yet. 

“I’m going to hang up now,” you say. The glimmer of laughter in your voice that dances its way straight into his heart. “Or we’ll never get off the phone.” 

He bites back the upward tug of his lips. “Alright.” 

There is a soft rustle before the line goes dead, and he lowers his phone, tilting his head back with a contented sigh. 

Tomorrow. He’ll see you tomorrow. 

Historically accurate episode 9

Bonus

mortkranken girls doodles >:3

He's not "fuji-kun pay your fucking debt" *shotgun click* anymore.

He's now ``Good evening, Mr. Fuji, I wanted to remind you about the (amount) our casino lent you a while back. I'm sure you've been busy, but I wanted to see if it would be possible for you to repay it sometime soon."

I hate this so much

This shit is so cursed..

HOW DID I MADE THIS MAN LOOK SO INNOCENT?!

This is shit is ass and cursed af.

jack of no trades. master of fuck all