#he's gonna beach his own record

[dinosaurwithablog]

He did it again!! Another multi home run game for Aaron Judge!!! He started the game on pace for 58 home runs this year, and after this second homer in this game, he's now on pace for 60 home runs this year. If he keeps going like he is, I bet that he'll break his own record. I would love to see him break Barry Bonds record and put that conversation to rest. If Bonds was in the Olympics, they would've stripped him of all his records because he's a cheater and used steroids. I don't understand why in baseball they glorify him when he cheated and used performance enhancing drugs. It's ridiculous. Aaron Judge is the all time, non cheating home run king. No debate. No question. That's a fact. Not that I have an opinion 😁

Let's go, Aaron ❤️

Let's go Yankees!!!!!

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Topper’s sister (one or two years younger you pick) who does Only Fans and Rafe finds out. He subscribes and watches her content (because she’s hot and off limits since she’s Topper’s little sister) in secret, then blackmails her saying he’s gonna tell Topper. One weekend, she comes to Rafe and Topper’s place to surprise Topper for his birthday, but he’s not there and rafe blackmails her into giving him a blowjob

This is the longest work I've written in a while, I hope you enjoy

p.s. There is a possibility to make a part 2 for this one. Let me know if you are interested

Warnings: 18+, smut, blackmail, oral (m receiving),

—

After showering, Rafe tossed his towel into the hamper and fell on his bed. Topper was out with Cynthia — or maybe it was Vanessa —, which left him alone for the night. Rafe wasn’t complaining though, being alone was nice sometimes. Especially when he wanted to jerk off. 

He could have done it in the shower, but having visual material made the release better. 

Phone in hand, Rafe scrolled for something to watch. Sadly, none of the girls he was following had put up new content, so he looked for new accounts. He found a cute one, brunette with blue eyes, but she had overly huge tits and Rafe wasn’t into that — no offense to the girl. He almost went looking elsewhere when his eyes caught a familiar face.  

Rafe hit the profile and the biggest smirk turned on his lips. 

No fucking way. 

‘’Caught your dirty little secret,’’ he said to himself, his blue eyes staring at the free photoset you had to attract subscribers. Your sheer white bra left not much to the imagination and the curve of your ass had Rafe’s cock twitching. He’s been wanting to hit it since you wore that bikini at this beach parry last summer. 

Without hesitation, he subscribed and opened the first video.

You were sitting cross-legged on your dorm bed with nothing but a baby pink bodysuit, which hugged your figure perfectly. Your hard nipples were poking through the thin fabric, as if they were trying to say ‘hello’ to your viewers. You winked at the camera as your right hand slowly went down your chest, making a show of pinching your covered nipple and catching your bottom lip with your teeth as you let out a little moan. 

The sound made Rafe grip his cock and start to slowly jerk it. He was weak for nice tits…and yours were very nice. 

You pulled your other breast free from the fabric, your delicious nipple popping free as you asked the camera if they'd like to suck on them. Without waiting for an answer — not that you would be getting any since it was pre-recorded —, you looked down at it and dribbled spit onto yourself. 

 If Topper knew he was jerking off to his little sister, he would rip his head off. 

And your parents? If they knew about your secret online business, they would cancel all payments to your prestigious college and bring your ass back to Kildare. Dr. Cynthia Thornton’s daughter could not be part of the world of prostitution. It would look terrible for their name. 

Normally, Rafe loved to ruin people’s lives just for fun, but he was enjoying the view too much. All the photo-sets of you in delicate lingerie, the occasional topless ones, the close-ups of your fingers — and sometimes toys — in your pussy and the sweet moans that came from your mouth every time you were pleasuring yourself were part of his night routine. As perverted as it sounded. 

Weeks passed, and soon Topper’s birthday was coming up. The boys planned on going out to a club and celebrating there, but the plan changed when you showed up to your brother’s apartment for a birthday surprise.

‘’Where’s Top?’’ you asked, walking in like it was your own place. 

With a frown on his face, Rafe watched and closed the door behind you. ‘’At the gym with Braxton,’’ he replied. ‘’What are you doing here?’’ 

‘’Am I not allowed to surprise my brother for his birthday?’’ 

‘’We already have plans, and you’re not part of it.’’ 

Although Rafe had reserved a private booth, there was no way Topper would allow you to come to the club. 

Brushing off his objection, you grabbed your small suitcase and scanned the apartment. ‘’Where’s the guest bedroom?’’

‘’Here,’’ Rafe said, pointing at the couch. 

‘’I’m not sleeping on the couch.’’ 

‘’We turned the third bedroom into a gaming room. It’s the couch or the floor. You pick.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow, considering your options. The floor got crossed immediately — women do not sleep on floors. The couch, although soft and comfortable looking, had probably been used to have sex. It was a college boys apartment. 

‘’Then, I’ll be taking your bedroom.’’ 

 ‘’Absolutely not, Princess. This is my apartment, I'm not sleeping on the couch.’’

You crossed your arms, challenging his resistance. ‘’Come on, Rafe. I’m only staying for two days. I need to be back for Sunday, I have—’’ 

‘’Video content to film?’’ 

You gave Rafe a confused look to conceal your inner panic. ‘’A paper due Monday,’’ you said.

Rafe leaned against the couch, his eyes scanning you up and down. ‘’I know about your dirty little secret,’’ he said smugly, explicit images of yourself flashing in his head. ‘’I found your Only Fans account last month. By the way, you look better in light pink than sapphire blue, it washes you out.’’

At this very moment, you wished you could disappear with a snap of your fingers. With the details he was providing, it was impossible that Rafe was bluffing. You thought your account was well hidden, that your username was well thought and would never give you away. How did he find you? 

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, looking at Rafe with knives for eyes. 

‘’You didn’t think anyone would find out, did you?’’ 

‘’Did you tell Topper?’’ 

Fear started creeping in your stomach at the thought of Topper knowing about that part of your life. 

Rafe shook his head. ‘’Your secret’s safe with me…on one condition.’’ 

You rolled your eyes. Nothing was ever free with Rafe. He always wanted something in exchange. 

The corner of his mouth curled and you shook your head immediately, easily guessing what he had in mind. ‘’Absolutely not.’’ 

‘’Come on. I’m keeping my mouth shut, the least you can do is open yours.’’ 

Your jaw dropped at his crude words. ‘’That’s blackmail!’’ 

Rafe shrugged, not caring that he was playing dirty. ‘’You do what you want. I’m not gonna be the one in trouble after I make a little call to Topper to tell him his little sister opens her legs for money—’’ 

‘’Fine,’’ you said, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, this was more embarrassing than anything you had done on camera. 

Swallowing your pride, you kneeled before him, trying to ignore the cocky winning smile on Rafe’s face as you came face to face with his clothed lower region.  He was already thick behind his sweatpants — you could see the outline through the gray fabric.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled his sweatpants down, uncovering his cock and balls. You gulped at the sight. He was long and thicker than average, which explained where his confidence came from — aside from his daddy’s big money.

‘’Like what you see?’’ Rafe asked, proud of his appendage. 

Without breaking your annoyance, you rolled your eyes. You couldn’t let him know that you were impressed by his size. He would never let you live this one down.

You wrapped a soft palm around his shaft, letting your thumb stroke over his tip and back down until he reached full hardness. Reluctantly, you dipped your head and took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue and tasting the pre-cum that leaked from it before going to the base of his shaft. You didn’t take everything into your mouth — yet —, but tried to fit as much as you could. 

A soft groan left Rafe's mouth, feeling the pleasure of yours. His hand came to the back of your head, gripping your hair into a ponytail and encouraging you to continue your movements up and down. You sped up your pace, saliva spilling from your mouth as precum leaked into your mouth and ran down your throat, secretly starting to enjoy yourself. 

You clenched your thighs together, wetness slowly pooling in your panties. 

Above you, Rafe moaned, his grip tightening on your hair as you slid down as deep as you could manage. ‘’That’s it, baby. Put that mouth to good use.’’ 

Had your mouth not been busy, you would have told him to get fucked. Instead, you let him fuck your mouth like you were a inflatable doll from a sex shop until your jaw was starting to ache and you had to pull away. 

Unsatisfied with your ungranted break, Rafe tapped his cock against your cheek, smearing pre-cum and saliva on your face. ‘’Did I tell you to stop?’’

‘’No, but—’’ 

‘’Then get back to business.’’ He pressed his cock against your mouth, but you didn’t let him in. ‘’Or…maybe I should call Topper and send him a link to your side business?’’

You sat on your heels, letting out a defeated sigh. ‘’My jaw hurts, okay? I can’t anymore,’’ you explained, although doubting Rafe would be compassionate. He didn't care about you, he just wanted to empty his balls. ‘’But maybe we can’t look at other options?’’ You pulled down the front of your shirt, exposing your bra to him.

Rafe's eyes darted down your chest, catching his bottom lip between his teeth knowing what was beneath your bra. ‘’I'm listening.’’

But before the negotiations could begin, you heard the apartment door opening: Topper was back. Quickly, you fixed your shirt and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand while Rafe pulled his sweatpants back up.

—

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[paulmccart]

We're Not Gonna Take It! And the Story of How We Almost Did

Protesters outside of the PMRC senate hearings.

Are you a victim of rock? Well maybe you aren't, but all the way back in 1985 a group of prominent D.C wives felt that they were.

These women, with the help of Beach Boys member Mike Love and Joseph Coors, the owner of Coors Beers, formed the PMRC (Parents Music Resource Center).

Their reasoning for forming as co-founder Susan Baker put it:

"It started because one day my 7-year-old came in and started quoting some of Madonna's lyrics to me, wanting to know what they meant. And I was shocked. I knew that you had to be concerned about movies and TV, but I didn't have a clue that my 7-year-old would be exposed to inappropriate songs."

The goal of the PMRC was to give parents more control over what their children could listen to. As well as implementing a rating system for music with bad language, sexual themes, and anti-Christian messages just to name a few. Eventually the group made a list of the fifteen worst songs, in their opinion and labeled them "The Filthy Fifteen".

(And it also happens to make a killer playlist)

Besides a rating system and lyrics printed on album covers the PMRC had several other goals including:

"...records with explicit covers be wrapped or kept under the counter; that record companies reassess contracts with performers who engage in sexual or violent acts on stage; that broadcasters be pressured to exhibit "voluntary restraint" by not airing offending music videos, which would also be rated."

All that noise coming from the PMRC culminated on September 19th, 1985. When a hearing in the senate occurred. Two musicians were called in on behalf of the music industry, Frank Zappa and Dee Snider of Twisted Sister. Two of musics most studious and serious creatives.

Zappa and Snider both gave eloquent defenses of what they deemed to be free speech.

But the PMRC had a trick up their sleeves... or so they thought.

They'd also invited John Denver to speak that day, assuming that he would stand with the side of "family values" but they were mistaken.

John Denver's testimony was the most scathing that day. He cited his own experience with having some of his music banned from radio. Even going as far as comparing the PMRC and groups like it to Nazi book burnings.

So what did the PMRC end up accomplishing? You know those tiny explicit labels in the corner of some albums? You can thank the PMRC for those. When they were originally introduced they were called "Tipper Stickers" after one of more outspoken PMRC members Tipper Gore (wife of Al Gore).

So while we didn't exactly take it, for a time we almost did. And thanks to testimony from Frank Zappa, John Denver, and Dee Snider, we can regularly enjoy any kind of music we want to- even the songs that promote the occult.

Both photographs come from Mark Weiss who photographed the event for Rock Scene Magazine.

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 28: Filming

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: With your honeymoon almost over, Bucky wants to capture some precious memories on film.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, masturbation, oral (male receiving), slight daddy kink, spanking, slight mention of reader feeling insecure in front of the camera when it’s up close, but she fully consents to being filmed

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: the penultimate part!! I’m gonna miss these two at the end of Kinktober. Dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

💋 Join my Kinktober Taglist 💋

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library | Ko-fi

Bucky has you in his lap, hands splayed on your ass and his tongue in your mouth.

You had tentative plans for today that included leaving your beach front resort to go snorkelling, but when Bucky reminded you this morning that you only had a couple days left of your honeymoon, you decided staying in bed naked with your god-like husband was a much better use of your time.

“You wanna try something new?” Bucky mumbles against your lips, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as his fingers trail tantalising swirls up and down your spine. His bare thighs are sturdy underneath your own, and his tattooed chest firm below your fingertips, but the softness in his eyes makes you melt into him.

“With you, always.” You reach between your bodies and begin stroking him, preparing for what you're certain is about to take place in the expanse of your bed. Bucky groans in response, the noise the most enticing sound you’ve ever heard. “What did you have in mind?”

Bucky Barnes, the King of New York, rarely ever looks bashful, but there’s a shyness to the way he gazes at you in this moment that makes your stomach flutter with butterflies.

“I was thinking… we have our wedding video, how about we make a honeymoon video too?” There’s something so very electrifying and alluring about the thought of immortalising your love for each other in the form of a sex tape. Capturing your most intimate moments and every angle of how perfect the two of you fit together. Something only your sets of eyes will ever view, but that will commemorate the month in your life where Bucky has made you feel the sexiest and most alluring you ever have.

The moment trembles between you, quivering with tension like a raindrop clinging to a leaf as you bite your lip before nodding in excited endorsement. Bucky surges forward, cupping your face and crashing his pillow soft lips to yours as you relax into his familiar, musky scented embrace that will forever be your definition of home.

With his insanely strong arms, Bucky lifts you from his lap, and places you with your back against masses of pillows. A jolt of exhilaration zaps through you as you’re reminded Bucky can quite literally manhandle you any time he pleases.

He grabs his phone, which had been charging on the nightstand, and holds it up as if he started recording instantly. Just the look of pure wonder and excitement on his features is enough for a desperate ache to grow between your legs.

“Touch yourself, baby. Rub that pussy for daddy.” You spread your legs wide to give Bucky and the camera the best view of your glistening folds, gathering your arousal on your fingers before focussing on your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Show me how gorgeous you look when you touch yourself thinking of your husband.”

Every time he refers to himself by that moniker, it makes you even wetter. Your husband. The man who stood in front of everyone you knew and promised to love you forever. Your souls now entwined for eternity.

And if Bucky had his way, so would your bodies.

The way Bucky seductively licks his lips as he watches you pleasure yourself makes you more turned on than you thought possible. Imagining it is instead his fingers playing with your nub, you draw tight circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, your breathing quickening with every flick which Bucky seems to enjoy as he watches you intently through his camera with a delighted smile.

His large frame looms over you, inching the camera closer every second, completely enthralled by the little whimpers cascading from your lips and how your two fingers stimulate yourself and not wanting to chance missing capturing any of it on film.

Bucky groans when you slip your fingers inside you, you’ve never been able to reach the spots he can with his massive hands, but with him watching over you, filming you, you do your very best to give him a show that will be worth watching over and over again.

Drowning in your own pleasure you almost miss how Bucky starts stroking himself with his hand not in possession of his phone, already as hard as a rock observing the pornographic scene in front of him, but your mouth begins drooling at the realisation when you look over to him.

James Barnes, one of the most influential men in the whole world, your husband, is getting off to the picture of you masturbating, precum beading at his tip, all because he enjoys the sight of you spread out of a bed just for him. He has that look in his eye as if he wants to lick every inch of your body, devour you, but behind that is indecision, as if he’s enjoying your show far too much to interrupt for his own selfish reasons.

But as he pumps his thick length watching you intently, your chest also fills with a yearning desire to consume him, and you give in a lot quicker than Bucky does. You crawl over the bed, swaying your hips and putting on a show for the camera which is still recording your every move, before dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Is my dirty little slut desperate for daddy’s cock?” Having the camera this close to your face as you swirl your tongue around the head of his dick makes you slightly insecure, but Bucky has forever praised both how beautiful you are to him and your skills taking him in your mouth, so when he gazes down at you with the most smitten look you’ve ever seen and an anticipation where he can barely keep the phone steady, you forget all about the camera recording you and instead focus on pleasing your husband.

You choke on his cock as he hits the back of your throat, tears welling along your lash line as you push yourself down him as far as you can physically take, while maintaining the stimulating, circular pressure on your own clit.

“That’s my good girl, fuck your throat feels amazing” Bucky proclaims, affectionately rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he lets you set the pace, bobbing up and down his thick length, moaning around what you can fit in your mouth. “You look so hot gagging on this fat dick.”

You continue to suck him off with as much vigour as you can muster, until you get light headed, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, tears spilling from your eyes. Pulling off him, you look up at the camera with swollen lips, probably looking like the picture of pure debauchery. Given the look of utter devotion Bucky shoots you from behind his phone, you suspect he rather enjoys the sight.

He slaps his dick on your extended tongue a couple times, before you swallow him again, having caught your breath enough to continue.

Your thighs start to feel weak as your fingers focus on the bundle of nerves between your legs, and all of a sudden your orgasm comes out of nowhere, hitting you like a bus. You’re looking up innocently at the camera, taking all of Bucky in your mouth as pleasure sparks and rages like a wildfire in your belly, consuming your entire body. Moaning around his cock, you continue to furiously rub your clit as per Bucky’s growled instructions, dirty praises in the sound of his voice filling your ears even though he sounds far away.

Bucky gazes at you with a combination of awe and a craving need, moving the camera closer to your contorting face to capture every moment of pure pleasure as it floods through your body like a tsunami. He gives you his signature alluring smirk as you come down from your high, that one which always suggests he has much more in store for you yet.

He motions for you to get back up on the bed, all the while keeping you in the centre of the cameras shot.

“Show me that ass baby - yeah that’s it, the camera’s got the best view of this fucking perfect ass.” Bucky punctuates his sentence with a delicious slap to the fat of your butt, the short sting only making you drip with even more wetness to show the camera and your core ache to feel utterly full of him. “Gonna see how you take every inch, like the good little whore I married.”

As he thrusts inside you, starting at a brutal pace which has you gripping onto the bed sheets for dear life, you recognise Bucky is fulfilling his promise of keeping you satisfied and stuffed full of his cum throughout your honeymoon.

And now you’ll have the video evidence to prove it.

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[maiiuelle]

˚❀˚

thinking about riding around on the back of rafe’s motorcycle <3

at first, it’s a hard no.

you just hopped out of his f-150, and the bike’s shiny red paint catches your eye. “rafe?”

“hm?” he rounds the truck, fixing his backwards cap as he makes his way over to you.

“you never told me you have a bike.”

you smile giddily, mind racing with the thought of how good he must look riding it. it’s hot that he can maintain his upscale exterior while feeding into your bad boy fantasies. you’re almost upset he didn’t mention it. rafe tongues his cheek, shrugging like it’s nothing special. “okay, so?”

you deflate, sputtering and motioning your arm at the bike dramatically. “so, we should go on a ride sometime.”

he squints at you in disbelief, not expecting you to be so excited by a motorcycle. “yeah—no. you know how dangerous that is, baby?” he laughs, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “cant even go on the shitty fair coasters and you wanna go on a ride?”

“don’t be mean, rafe.” you pout, and he just rubs your arm sweetly, still smiling at his own joke.

“m’not mean, just lookin’ out for you.” he turns you away, but your eyes linger on the bike, genuinely disappointed.

things change when he gets a text from you late one night a few weeks later, his phone screen reading:

"rafee whrer are u?"

"pickme uup? :) pls"

he's been waiting for this text all night. he told you not to go to this stupid party on the cut, but your friends insisted you couldn't miss it. the whole island already thinks he’s a psycho (including your friends), and he wouldn't confirm that by being overly controlling. he played along.

still, he was having a hard time knowing you were out drunk and alone. the few hours since you left were spent impatiently tapping his foot and staring at business emails he couldn't focus on. his blood was boiling at the thought of some pogue trying to talk to you. your invitation for rescue was exactly what he needed. the only problem is that ward took the pickup this morning, going on some impromptu trip to the bahamas and leaving the truck at the airstrip for his return. his only option is to zip over there on his bike. and that’s what he does!

he tears through the side of the island, pushing the throttle as far as it'll go to the cut.

he pulls up to the boneyard in record time, kicking his bike to stand and unlatching his helmet before following the booming music to the beach. he wouldn't be caught dead here on his own accord, and this reminds him exactly why. drunk teenagers sprawl the entire beach, most congregating around a raging bonfire. it doesn't take him long to find you lingering toward the treeline, your friends nowhere to be seen. he flips his keyring around his finger as he approaches you, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. you meet him with a sour look at first, glassy eyes squinted as you try to recognize who it could be, but you melt once you realize it's him.

"rafey!" you exclaim, shuffling through the sand with a dopey drugged-up smile. he meets you halfway, bringing an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. you happily attach yourself to his side, using his torso to stay upright. "missed you so much.”

"you good? the fuck did you take?" he chuckles, looking down and taking note of how low the neckline of your tank top is.

“jus’ some drinks, nothing good.”

“yeah—yeah, good.”

you slip your hand into his, and he wastes no time starting to drag you off the beach. you dont protest, your brain going blank now that he’s here. he pulls you up to the road, and the second your eyes land on the familiar red coloring of his bike, you’re ecstatic.

“you brought it!” you shout, covering your mouth after with a giggle.

“alright, yeah—relax.” he tries to bite back a smile, not wanting to be so obvious about going against his own word. he grabs his helmet from where it’s hanging on the handlebar, unclipping the chin strap and approaching you again. “c’mere, you’re gonna need this.”

you inch closer obediently, looking up at him with doe eyes as he secures the black helmet over your head, pulling on it to make sure it’s secure and tightening the strap. you feel like you’re dreaming, afraid to say anything and somehow change his mind about the whole situation. he knocks on the helmet, his gold ring clinking on the plastic and rattling your head. “feel good? you ready?”

all you can do is nod, the helmet’s weight helping. “m’ready.”

next thing you know, you’re out on the open road. the cut is so beautiful at night, it’s further away from the mainland so it’s easier to see the stars. you’re pressed into rafe’s back, the cheek of the helmet resting between his shoulder blades as you admire them. your arms are around his middle, hands clasped together tight like he told you to. without thinking you let your hands fall to his lap, and when the wind wrinkles the fabric, you slip your chilled hands underneath. lost in your own little world, you can’t help but feel him up a little bit, his abs warm under your gentle touch.

he doesn’t say a thing, only slowing to a stop at a red light. without warning, he curls his fingers under the chin of the helmet, tugging roughly so your chest smacks into his back. your neck pulls over his shoulder, and satisfied giggle falls from your lips. he him pulls on it again. “what do you think you’re doin? huh?”

"nothing!” you whine, pulling your hands off his torso innocently. “s’just cold!”

“cold. sure.” he tugs again to cement his warning, the light turning green and saving you from any further interrogation. for now. “think i can help you out with that back at the house, yeah?”

˚❀˚

[murdrdocs]

thinking abt how adorable young dad!finnick would be with his little son on christmas

maybe him even building a lego set like in that one picture of sam clafflin if yk what im talking abt

this one trust i know

young dad!finnick absolutely adores christmas. as soon as december rolls around, he's coming into the house with a christmas tree strung up and in tow, a big grin on his face as he politely orders you to grab the christmas records and put music on. he decorates. heavily. and his son — your son — does it with him. little fists reinforced with bigger ones on either side hanging up tinsel and handmade ornaments and mistletoe beneath the door frames. and you bet that anytime you are coincidentally under it with either of them, finnick is enforcing the stereotypes and encouraging you to pucker up.

then christmas day comes around and he's never been happier.

he wants your son to believe in santa claus. it's something he needs to happen. solely so he can grab fresh milk from the town market and bake cookies with a recipe sent in the mail by peeta a month ago. your son helps, except he mostly begs to eat the dough and ends up with flour adorably dusting his cheeks and throughout his hair. finnick, slightly less adorably but only because it was of his own purposeful doing, ends up the same, flour scattered through the grown in beard along his jaw.

your son is eventually tucked in for the night, the clock rolls past midnight and into the early hours of the morning, and finnick is gently waking you. his voice is soft, but the excitement is still clear within his words.

"it's 4, baby. gonna go put the presents under the tree." there's a silent ask of if you'll be joining or not, and even though your dream was entering the comforting stages (the three of you on the beach like you usually are, but there's a prominent bump under your sweater this time), you roll out of bed and quietly make your way into the living room.

finnick meticulously arranges the gifts while you sit on the couch and make your way through the milk and cookies, which does nothing to help the sleep tugging at your mind. by the time finnick has decided on an arrangement that he's satisfied with, you've dozed off with half of a cookie in your hand. you awake once more to finnick, him taking the cookie out of your hand and taking a bite for himself, leaving the last quarter on the plate before he picks you up and carries you to bed.

and opening gifts is his absolute favorite part. there are the ones from the two of you, your neighbors in victors village, your families (an especially sweet knitted set from mags for your son, and a quilted blanket for you and finnick), and then comes the ones from santa. finnick sits and watches happily, sometimes even recording with the old camera the two of you have.

his happiness is infectious. you can't help but cuddle into his side, pressing your face to his bare chest as you slink your arm around his waist.

the love in your heart only multiplies when you see finnick and your son building the lego set from santa later in the afternoon, finnick looking extremely determined and your son replicating his fathers face to the best of his abilities.

[triangle-dog]

TW pet death

(Not one of mine, don't worry. You won't miss anything if you skip this post.)

I will always and forever be a collar and tags person (or, look, if you are really concerned about strangulation then a harness & tags person or a breakaway collar or whatever). Microchips are great, all my beasts are microchiped, but if one of them gets out I want to be able to find them and bring them home no matter what has happened to them.

Two years ago, almost exactly I think, friends and I were three miles into a beautiful autumn hike with the dogs. The leaves were turning, the wildlife was active, and there was a crisp breeze. We rounded a corner and immediately saw a body floating out on the lake, a dog, its long black fur drifting back and forth in the small waves. After some deliberation on what to do, and if it was safe, I waded out to the dog while the others in the party held our dogs way back from the lake in case the water was bad. He wasn't that far out really, but it felt like it took forever to get there because I was fervently hoping he'd have tags. I could actually feel the relief wash over me when I got there and saw patches of blue collar peeking out between the drifting fur.

I towed him into the shallows by the collar. I'm the most familiar with bodies, which is why I was the one who went out to him, and I know that they age differently in the water but by my judgment he'd died farily recently - less than a day ago. When he's in close enough to shore that I don't think he'll drift away any time soon, I unclip his collar and return to the group. We sit down and strategize for a few minutes. How do you make a call like that without raising their hopes? (Answer: you can't - just the phone ringing will be enough).

"I'm very sorry," I say, "but I found a dog in the lake and I thought you would want to know." She tells me she was half expecting a call like this, that the gate didn't latch correctly and both dogs got out but only one came home. She tells me that they were so worried he wouldn't be able to find his way home in the storm last night. She tells me he was very old, that his mind had been going for awhile now. She tells me that most of his life, until the last few years as his body became less able to manage the walk, they would come down to a beach near here and that he loved to swim. She tells me she hopes he at least got to relive those memories for a bit before he went.

I give her the coordinates, it's not too far from a road if you bushwhack - certainly less than the 3mi we did, and tell her we'll bring him to shore. I pick him up out of the shallows, he feels frail, yet he's so so heavy from the weight of the water in his fur. He's much smaller than Nova, yet lifting Nova has never felt like that. I lay him gently on the rocky beach in what I hope is a natural looking, less-traumatizing-to-the-kids position. I clip his collar back on, with the fur no longer drifting around in the water obscuring it, you can now see the little tag saying "Poochie" on the front. We head back the way we came. That was walk enough for all of us, it would feel wrong to seek a different ending, and it was an out and back trail anyway.

Ever since then, every dead cat or dog I see reminds me of those lakeside discussions. We are all overly dedicated animal people, we're fully aware of microchips and all of our own pets are microchiped, but carrying a waterlogged body 3mi to the car to drive it to the vet's office was just not feasible - I don't think it would occur to most people that that was even an option. Even if they did think of it, most people would be opposed to putting a dead animal in their vehicle. I'm just gonna make it easy on people and put my phone number on my animals.

(Sorry, that post was so much longer than it needed to be, but my brain must have recorded that experience in a different kind of memory than usual because it is so so clear and comes all as a set like that so that's what you got too)

TLDR: OP found a dead dog once and has big feelings about it. Put collars/etc. on your pets

[ponstermenis-writing]

✩ (There’s No Place Like) Home For The Holidays ✩

Darrel Curtis & Everyone Johnnyboy, Stevepop, Darbit

̣̥☆·͙̥‧‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙冬˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧·͙̥̣☆̣̥

Ever since their folks died, Darry’s been handling the holidays.

The first year they didn’t do anything—they died relatively close to thanksgiving, so it felt wrong to celebrate. But ever since then he goes overboard .

None of them are complaining, a lot of greasers don’t celebrate at all—Johnny and Steve both didn’t even know what Christmas was before the Curtis folks introduced it to them. The only reason Dallas knew was because, well, New York is kind of the place for Christmas.

Their mother loved the holidays. She and Dad would take off work and spend the day with them—it was a lot like those hallmark movies she forced them to watch. Darry didn’t dare let those memories die—he’d put up all the decorations on the first weekend of December, The Beach Boys and Brenda Lee would be on the record player until January.

It was currently December 23rd. Darry didn’t plan on waiting this long to put up decor. But he’d been swamped with work and he knew Pony and Soda would half-ass it. He enlisted Steve, Johnny, and Two-Bit to help.

“Do people even use Nutcrackers?” Two-Bit asked, opening and closing the mouth. “It’s more of a looks thing, Two.” Soda laughs, trying desperately to hang up lights over the fireplace. “Yeah, lord knows Darry doesn’t have enough decorations already.” Two-Bit teases, laughing nervously when Darry glares at him.

“When you finally get your own place, you’re gonna wish I was still around.” Darry gripes, untangling lights for the roofline. “Aw, you wouldn’t come with me?” Two-Bit says, putting his hands in a prayer motion with an obnoxious pout in his face. “I couldn’t deal with the mess you bring.” Darry can’t help but laugh at his own comment—Two-Bit is less amused, an offended sound coming out of his mouth.

“Do you boys want to help me put these up?” Darry asks before Two-Bit can say anything in return. Johnny and Ponyboy share a look—they always managed to communicate without ever actually saying anything. “Sure.” Ponyboy says, standing. “Beats translating Feliz Navidad for Soda again.” Johnny adds.

Soda whips around to frown at him, looking utterly heartbroken. “The lyrics never change, man.” Johnny laughs, bumping into him as they pass by.

Getting onto the roof was always a struggle. Ponyboy’s terrified of heights—but putting up the lights out there makes him feel grown. Darry lifts them up one by one, letting both boys stand on his shoulders and hoist themselves up. Darry can reach The roofline by using a small stepladder from work, so he’s never really had to climb up there.

Putting the outdoor lights up used to be Darry and Mr.Curtis’s job—it’s probably why he’s so insistent that one of the boys do it with him—like it’s a right of passage, or something.

He tosses the lights and the little plastic clips up to the boys and tells them where to put ‘em—he usually fixes the lights after they’re done anyway, but he knows the boys both like helping out.

They’re about halfway done when Johnny pauses, glancing down at the ground just past Darry.

“Jesus.” Dallas groans. “Going all out again this year, huh Darry?” He teases, standing beside him with his arms crossed. Dallas is what the gang lovingly called, a grouch. He doesn’t like the holidays, even when he was little he’d roll his eyes at the mention.

“Hey Dally!” Johnny calls down to him, leaning over the roofline to smile at him. Darry doesn’t miss how Dallas falters—like Johnny’s gonna fall and he’ll have to catch him. “Be careful! Jesus.” Dallas grunts, The other three laughing at him—Dallas was easily the least cautious of them all. But he’d wrap Johnny up in bubble wrap if he could.

“I thought you were going to New York for Christmas?” Johnny asks, ignoring his comment and still very much leaning over the roof.

“I couldn’t leave you guys all alone.” Dallas shrugs. Darry knows deep down that he loves the holidays with them—but he’s smart enough not to comment too obviously. “Besides, nothing up there I haven’t seen before.”

Darry can’t help but smile, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Dallas isn’t much younger than he is—but just like the rest of the gang, he’ll always be Darry’s little brother. “You wouldn’t mind helping us out, would you Dal?” He asks, glancing up at the roof.

Dallas scoffs. “No, Than—“ he pauses, seeing Johnny stare down at him hopefully. “Fine.” He groans, squeezing onto the stepladder beside him and hoisting himself up. He makes a point to drag Johnny and Pony both back a bit so they won’t fall.

Even if they did, they’d crash into snow-covered bushes just a few feet under them. If it were any higher, Darry’d be worried too—but Two-Bit skydived from the height when he was really drunk last summer, so he knew it was fine.

Dallas was actually pretty damn good at putting the lights up where they belong. “For someone who hates it, you sure do have an eye for Christmas decor.” Ponyboy jokes, narrowly dodging the smack Dallas aimed at the back of his head.

Just as their hands were beginning to freeze off, they were finished. Darry helped them all back down—Much to Dally’s chagrin, he did not like help in any sense of the word. They all stood back to take in the house.

“Looks shit.” Dallas says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’ll look better at night.” Pony retorts matter-of-factly. “Speaking of,” Darry says, heading inside while the others trail after him. “You both are staying over tonight, right?”

“I don’t see why not.” Dallas shrugs, slinging his arm around Johnny's shoulder. They all look at the boy expectantly. “I think my Ma wants me home.” He mutters, not looking at them. Dallas scoffs, Ponyboy frowns—but Darry has learned how to get him to stay.

“Aw… I already started making some Mac & Cheese for you.” Darry sighs—he hates guilting Johnny—really, he does. But hey, it works. “Yeah! I thought you were gonna walk with me tonight, too!” Ponyboy adds, looking at the boy expectantly.

“I-I’m sure they won’t miss me too much.” Johnny says finally, giving them an awkward smile. Darry and Pony share a secret high-five—they officially had the whole gang together for Christmas. Two-Bit and Steve often go off with their families for the actual night of Christmas Eve, but the night before works just as well.

“Geez, if I hear one more Christmas song, I’m gonna riot.” Dallas says as they walk inside—hearing Perry Como croon on about being home for the holidays. “My house, my rules.” Darry says, shucking off his jacket. “Which means the Christmas music stays on .” Dallas groans loud enough to alert everyone else of his presence.

“Well, if it isn’t New York’s sweetheart!” Two-Bit calls from the living room. “Glad to know you stayed home, Dal.” He teases, nudging him lightly as he walks back. Two-Bit was the first person of the gang Dallas became pals with—Two was one of the few people who could poke fun at him without getting clocked.

“Yeah, Knew you fella’s would be lonely without me.” Dallas says—Darry doesn’t miss the glance back at Johnny, Dally’s un-official-but-also-un-questionable little brother. Two-Bit just smiles, handing him a balled up chunk of tinsel. “We sure missed the extra pair of hands!”

Dallas groans but does as he’s asked. Johnny goes back to putting up the candles, Pony tries his best to hang ornaments on the tree.

The candles actually weren’t something the Curtis folks ever did—in fear of burning the house down. But ever since Johnny told them that he was Jewish and the closest he’d ever gotten to a holiday with his folks was Hanukkah when he was really little, how could Darry say no?

Annually, at least two ornaments are smashed and one string of lights stops working. Two-Bit found this year's string, holding it up triumphantly. “Lookie here!” He calls, showing it to Darry before he trashes it. Darrel can’t help but chuckle. “It’s not a competition, you know.” He says, letting Two-Bit throw an arm around his shoulder—he’s a little shorter, so his arm has to reach awkwardly around his neck.

“Yeah, well. I still won.” He says, leaning in to smirk in Darry’s face. He’s shoved away a moment later when Ponyboy shuffles into the kitchen. They aren’t very… open about their relationship yet. Johnny and Soda both found out the hard way—but everyone else had no clue. It wasn’t homophobia they were worried about—it was the teasing.

“Can you make us some hot chocolate?” Ponyboy begs—he’s obviously talking about him and Johnny, but the poor boy can’t ask for anything even after all these years. Even when he was stuck in that wheelchair—he was insistent that nobody else move him around or help him carry things. He could walk on his own now, but his back still hurt when he’d stand for too long.

“Sure,” Darry says, smiling evilly. “If you can name all the reindeer I will.”

Ponyboy just groans, walking off. Two-Bit chuckles, grabbing two hot chocolate packets anyway. “I don’t get why he doesn’t make it himself.” He says, heating up some milk in the microwave—after many failed attempts at dinner, Two-Bit Matthews is not allowed to touch the stovetop. Ever.

“He claims that I make it best.” Darry shrugs. “He’s just too lazy to mix it all the way—there’s nothing I do different.”

“Really? Are you sure there isn’t a secret ingredient?” Two-Bit askes, making a kissy-face as he dumps far too many marshmallows into both cups. Darry just rolls his eyes.

Two-Bit walks the cups to the boys and Darry follows—partially to know he doesn’t spill it, partially because he feels lonely in the kitchen by himself. Ponyboy takes both of them gratefully, handing Johnny his cup.

Darry can’t help but feel love surge in his chest—he stands in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, watching over his boys. Johnny picks the marshmallows off and hands them to Dallas, leaning his head on his shoulder while he unravels tinsel. Ponyboy leans against Johnny's legs—he’s on the floor while Dallas and Johnny are on the couch—and sips idly at his own cup, humming along to the music. Soda and Steve keep trying to shove each other under the mistletoe, Two-Bit cheering them on.

“You look happy.” A voice says from behind him. Darry jumps halfway out of his skin, turning around so quickly that he almost smacks his head against the wooden door frame.

Tim Shepard gives him an amused look. Even he looks rather Christmas-y—he’s all bundled up with a hat and gloves that he definitely got from Mr.Curtis a few years back. He’s got a few presents in his hand and a slight smile on his face.

“You scared me.” Darry mutters, breathing out a sigh. “But yeah, I guess I am.” He spares a glance back—Dallas, Johnny, and Ponyboy are all staring at him. “Whatchu’ got there?” Darry asks Tim, trying to ignore the eyes on them.

Tim groans, handing him the boxes. “The bottom two are from Curly—to Johnny and Pony, I guess. But apparently they can’t know it’s from him.” He says, chuckling. “Top three are from me.” He says, not looking at him.

“Well, thank you.” He says, glancing down. “Can I ask who they’re for?”

Tim crosses his arms. “You, Dallas, and Johnny.” He shrugs—Darrel can tell he’s embarrassed. Tim might be one of the most hardcore guys currently in the house, but even he has his own nervous ticks. “I thought I owed you something—y’know, for all those times you gave us dinner and shit. Thanks, by the way—I don’t think I ever said that.” He rambles, still not daring to meet his eyes.

Darry can’t help but smile. “It was no problem.” He says simply, tucking the gifts under his arm. “I assume you have a reason to give something to Johnny and Dallas as well?” He says—he can’t help his teasing tone.

Tim glares at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “They’re good kids.” He says simply, leaning back on the banister by the front door. “Someone’s gotta hang out with Curly, Y’know? Better Cade than anyone else.” Tim shrugs. “Dal has dragged both of ‘em home more times than I can count.”

Darry nods, setting the gifts down. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” He says, dragging a plate from the cabinets. “I assume they shouldn’t know these are from you either?” He can’t help but smile—he dumps the rest of their leftover cookies on the plate and wraps it with saran wrap. Tim pretends not to notice. “Looks like they already do.” He chuckles, glancing back into the living room.

Tim takes the plate gratefully, tucking it under his jacket before saying goodbye with his head ducked down. He’s gone a second later—cat-like agility letting him out of the house before Darrel can even answer him.

“Aw, you gave him the rest?” Ponyboy pouts, walking into the kitchen once Tim is gone—Johnny shuffling in behind him. “I’ll make more.” Darry chuckles. He finds the gift with his name on it and removes it from the pile, handing the rest to the two boys. “These are for you.”

“Really?” Johnny can’t help but say hopefully, glancing back at the door. Darry knows deep down that he looks up to Tim about as much as he does Dallas—he was a Shepard before he was ever a Curtis. And Tim is arguably cooler than Dal. “Uh huh,” Darry smiles, hiding his own behind his back. “One of thems for Dally, okay?”

Johnny and Ponyboy nod and walk off into the living room. Darry can hear Dallas laugh when he’s handed the gift.

He waits till they can’t see him to open his own. It’s simple—just a packet of new socks. But he knows it’s a lot from the Shephards. It means Tim was listening too—sometimes he’ll help Darrel out at work for extra cash—he remembers complaining about the holes in his socks that he couldn’t replace. Darry smiles to himself, tucking the pack back into the wrapping paper—it had been so horribly done, but it was clear Tim tried—and putting it aside.

He’s halfway through getting out the things for a new batch of cookies when Dallas and Johnny enter the kitchen.

“Me and Johnnycakes are gonna go say thank you.” Dallas says, ruffling Johnny’s hair. “No you aren’t.” Ponyboy calls from the living room. “You’re gonna make fun of ‘em!”

Darry crosses his arms, raising a brow at the two. “Are you?” He asks, glaring only at Dallas. “I got something I gotta give to Curly.” Johnny mutters—poor boy thinks he’s angry at him too. Darry just places a kiss on his hairline and sends him off, reminding him to stay warm even for the short walk.

“C’mon Dar, he knew this was gonna happen.” Dallas says, smirking. “Don’t be rude, Dallas. You should be happy he thought of you at all.” Most of the time—Dallas and Tim aren’t on the greatest terms. Darrry knows that better than anyone, having to patch them both up after a nasty fight or two.

“Ya hear that, Dal?” Two-Bit says, sticking his head in the room. He holds a hand up to his ear and pretends to listen. “That’s Santa Claus calling you an asshole.” He teases. Dallas smacks him on the back of the head—just hard enough to sting. “I’ll take the naughty list and shove it right up your ass.” He bites, still glaring at the redhead.

Darry rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna go over there and say thank you.” He commands. Dallas isn’t scared of him by any means—but everyone knows it’s not the best idea to anger someone twice your size. “I’m sure Johnny won’t let you be rude, anyway.” Two-Bit laughs as Dallas saunters off.

“What’d Tim give yuh’?” He asks once Dallas is gone, eyeing the rewrapped gift. “Socks.” Darry says simply, grabbing the ingredients for the cookies. “How sentimental.” Two-Bit chuckles, hoisting himself up to sit on the countertop right where he’s trying to work. “I bet my gift is better.”

“I hope it isn’t similar to what you tried last year.” Darry groaned, shoving him lightly to get him off the parchment paper. “You loved my gift last year!” Two-Bit says defensively. “Besides, it turned out to be, like… the best coming out ever.”

“I’m sure Johnny and Soda would disagree with you.”

“They’ve got their own things going on.” Twobit shrugs, leaning back on the kitchen wall. Darry pauses, raising a brow.

“Come on… don’t say you haven’t noticed.”

“Notice what?”

“You know what!”

“No—No I…I really don't.”

Two-bit groans. “I mean, don’t stay Steve and Soda aren’t a little… suspicious.”

“You act like they’re committing a crime.” Darry can’t help but laugh. “I think it is, in some states.” Two-Bit shrugs. Darry just rolls his eyes. “What about Johnny, though? What’s going on with him?”

“Darry…” Two-Bit sighs, looking at him like he’s about to destroy his innocence. “Two teenage boys don’t lock the door when they’re alone for no reason.”

He has to pause and think for a second. He immediately slaps the man upside the head, causing him to topple forward and almost hit the floor. “I don’t want to hear that!” Darry whisper-yells, acutely aware of the gang still in the living room.

I mean… he assumed something was going on. But he really doesn’t want to know what his sixteen year old brother—who in his eyes, is still a baby—gets up to with his seventeen-almost-eighteen year old friend when they’re alone—he doesn’t want to hear about what Sodapop is up to either!

“Communication is key in every relationship—“ Two-Bit begins as he’s shoved out of the kitchen. “Hey, ow! You’re only upset because it’s true—“ he pauses, glancing up at the doorway.

Ponyboy is standing there with an amused look on his face, glancing at the two. “Was gonna ask where you wanted this.” He says, laughing as he holds up an ornament Sodapop made when he was real young. “I’ll just guess.” He’s gone a second later, letting Two-Bit finally right himself. He puts his hands up in defeat and shuffles out as well.

Darry is halfway through making the cookie dough when Dallas and Johnny show up again. Dallas now has a reasonably sized bruise on his jaw—he definitely did not listen. Johnnys still laughing when they get inside, pulling off his jacket.

“Looks like you two had fun.” Darry says, raising a brow at Dallas—the blonde just walks off with a groan. “Tim was the only one home.” Johnny says, holding up his little present still. “Bummer.” Darry chuckles, watching Dallas throw himself down on the couch.

Johnny lingers behind a second too long, glancing at the bowl in his hand. “Wanna help?” Darry asks, knowing Johnny won’t say anything on his own. “Uh—“ He mutters, glancing back into the living room. “I uhm… I promised Pony I’d help him with the ornaments. Sorry Darry.”

“No problem.” Darry says, going back to mixing. “Can you grab Steve and Soda while you’re in the other room?” He asks. Johnny nods quickly and scampers off before anything else can be said.

Steve and Soda are his sous chefs when it comes to dessert. Not because they’re good at it—but instead because they eat the batter or dough, and will not hesitate to complain if they don’t get any.

He hands the spoon to Soda the second he’s there, trusting him with it while he searches the cupboards for vanilla extract. He’s in the middle of his search when he hears giggling from the other room.

Upon further inspection, Johnny and Ponyboy seem to be messing around under the doorway to the hall all of their rooms are in. “Cut it out, Pone!“ Johnny laughs, red-faced and actively trying to shove the boy off. Pony is trying to pull him closer, making kissy faces and missing Johnny’s face entirely. “It’s mistletoe, John! We have to!”

Two-Bit is sitting on the couch next to Dallas—who is really into getting that tinsel untangled, giving Darry a knowing look. The older simply rolls his eyes, heading back in the kitchen. He doesn't remember ever owning or putting up mistletoe, and he’d bet money that he was right about who did.

“Jesus, how much did you two eat?” He gasps, staring at the—now half full—bowl. “I don’t appreciate the fat-shaming, Darrel.” Sodapop says, crossing his arms. Steve wipes some of the dough off of the corner of his mouth, nodding along. “Yeah, We’re growing boys!”

Darry can’t help but laugh, nudging the both of them out of the way. “You both are considered legal adults in the eyes of the law.” He says simply, mixing in the vanilla extract into the bowl before the two finish it off.

He’s able to get it into the oven with only a few instances of him slapping the boy’s hands away with a spoon. The best friends give up once the oven is shut, retreating back into the living room. Darrel sets the timer and heads back into the living room to check on the progress.

It truly does look beautiful—just like their mother had done. Johnny and Pony were still quietly placing ornaments on the tree, Steve and Soda were back to string garlands on the mantle, Dallas had finally got the tinsel unraveled and was trying his best to be careful putting it on the tree—realistically the tinsel should go first, but he's so proud of the boy for trying that he doesn't dare comment. Two-Bit is off to the side fucking with the nutcrackers—because he’s Two-Bit.

Darry watches silently from the doorway. His boys truly are some genuine souls, aren’t they? He used to be so confused when Mrs.Curtis would watch quietly, smiling to herself like she truly had it all. Darry finally understands that feeling—love swelling in his chest, he can’t help but feel his eyes get wet.

Two-Bit had somehow managed to sneak behind him. “Looks like a hallmark movie.” He says, leaning his chin on Darry’s shoulder and watching alongside him. “Yeah—Yeah, it really does.” Darry chuckles, his voice cracking as he's unable to hold back just how happy he is. Two-Bit smiles, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. “You did good.” He whispers. “You raised some pretty hardcore kids. We really are like a big happy family.”

Darry has to take deep breaths to stop himself from sobbing—has he ever been this happy before? Has he ever felt so content?

Two-Bit just chuckles, placing something in his hands before walking off to get back to his work. It's thin and celluloid—upon closer inspection, it's a polaroid. It truly is something that should be something put in a museum.

It's a wide shot of the living room. He’s not sure when it was taken—Clearly it was Two-Bit’s work, but he’d been idly watching them all for half an hour now. In the middle of the picture is the tree. Dallas has his arm around Johnny’s shoulder while he’s pointing at one of the ornaments—it's one Mr.Curtis had gotten for Johnny on his first Christmas with them. You can only see the back of Dallas’s head, but you can just barely see the smile on Johnny’s face. Ponyboy is right beside him smiling just as wide, resting his head on Johnny’s shoulder while he listens in. To their right is the fireplace, setting a yellow-ish glow on the whole room—Steve and Soda are meticulously putting the garland in place and fixing the candles in-between, Soda’s got his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth—something he always did when he was focusing–and Steve is very clearly giving him orders.

To the left, just barely in frame, it's him. He really does look like his father—standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the wooden doorframe, a content smile on his face as he looks out at the whole scene.

Darry rushed off to his room before anyone could see. He sits down on his bed—staring down at the picture as tears fill his eyes. Something about having the memory caught in place forever really got to him. The fact that Two-Bit knew to take a picture, the warm glow the whole room gave, the content look on everyone's faces.

Darry didn’t consider himself an emotional being. That was Soda’s job—he was the dream-crusher who made sure everything went how it needed to. But in moments like these he couldn’t help loving them—he knows one day they’ll all move on and only visit him when they have to. But for now, all his boys are home. They’re home, they’re happy… they’re safe.

A few quiet knocks hit his door and he immediately knows who it is. He wipes away his tears and tucks the photo in his lap. “You can come in, Johnny.” He says, willing his voice not to crack. Johnny peeks his head in a moment later, looking all guilty.

“Are you okay?” He asks, frowning when he sees Darry’s sad look. He doesn’t really know how to explain this feeling to him—Johnny’s never had a family other than them, and everytime he gets comfortable here—his home, blood be damned—he’d always be forced back into the house with the two people who love him the most. “I’m alright baby, just a lot of feelings.” He replies, giving the boy the best smile he can muster.

Johnny gasps, shutting the door behind him. “Are you crying?” He whispers, brows furrowed and eyes wide. “Is this because I broke that ornament? I-I’m real sorry, Darry—It just slipping from my hands, I really didn’t—”

Darry interrupts him with a chuckle, holding his arms out for a hug. Johnny responds immediately, stepping up and letting Darry hug him. “No, it's not that.” Darry says, ruffling his hair. “I don’t care about some silly ornament.”

“Y-You sure…? I think I saw one like it at the corner store—”

“Johnny.” Darry interrupts, he knows the boy’ll talk himself back into that mindset that everything is his fault if he doesn’t. “I promise you, I’m not upset. Just happy tears.” He says, letting Johnny sit down on the bed beside him. He hands Johnny the photo, watching his face closely. “Gee…” Johnny mutters, smiling down at it. “Golly Darry, I think I’m gonna cry too.”

Darrel chuckles, ruffling his hair. “I think the cookies are done, if you want one.” He says, nudging him. “They should still be soft, I know you like them that way.” Johnny jumps to his feet–giddy with excitement. “Thanks Darry!” He says, handing him back the photo and rushing off to the kitchen. He can hear the boy excitedly tell Pony about the finished cookies and them both rushing to grab them.

He manages to fix himself up before he heads back out. “Everything alright?” Dallas askes as he passes, not looking at him. “Of course.” Darry smiles, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Just, happy to have everyone here.” He says, deciding there's no point hiding the wetness of his voice from his earlier sob-fest. Dallas, who was never big on expressing his feelings, rolls his eyes with a half-hearted smile. “Jeez, You’re a big ol’ sap. Y’know that?”

“You’re not any better.” Darrel teases, shoving him lightly before heading back into the kitchen. Johnny and Pony are splitting one of the cookies in half, idly watching the TV from the kitchen counter. “Any good?” Darrel askes, taking one.

“Mph—“ Ponyboy grunts, nodding his head with his mouth full. “Very good.” He adds once he finishes chewing. Darry can’t help but laugh, ruffling his hair. “Make sure not to eat them all.”

“I can’t believe you’d think so low of us.” Ponyboy replies defensively, grabbing another from the tin. “Just don’t want you two having too much sugar,” Darrel chuckles, moving the tin away from both boys. “With the advent calendar and all the candy, more cookies is the last thing you need. You’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t finish the whole calendar on day one.” Ponyboy laughs around a mouthful of cookie, reaching for his cup of water when he chokes. Darry just sighs, taking his own and sauntering back to the living room.

He sits down on the couch beside Two-Bit, breaking the cookie in half and giving one to him. Two-Bit shoves the whole thing in his mouth without blinking, watch the lovey-dovey Christmas movie on the TV.

“Which one is this?”

“Christmas Angel.” Two-Bit mutters—though he pretends to sound uninterested, he refuses to take his eyes off the screen. Darrel raises a brow, watching the screen for a moment before deciding that this is a very horrible movie. “Didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”

“ ‘M not.” Two-Bit says defensively. “Every channel is playing a somethin’ Christmas, this was just the least-worst one.”

Darrel was sitting there for about half an hour before he realizes that he’s actually watching this piece-of-shit movie. “Darry.” Two-Bit says as the credits roll, glancing over at him. “Hmm?” Darrel hums, still not taking his eyes off the screen.

“You’re my Christmas Angel.” Two-Bit whispers, making a kissy face. Darrel finally looks at him, grimacing. “Wow, that was…” he holds back a gag. “ Horrible . That was really horrible.”

“Just take the compliment.” Two-Bit groans, leaning away from him as if Darrel has betrayed him. Darry just rolls his eyes, a smile playing on his lips—he pulls himself to his feet a moment later, going through the box of Christmas ornaments.

He pulled the delicate star from the very bottom, covered in layers of bubble wrap and packing paper. Ponyboy is standing right behind him when he pulls it out, ready to take it in his hand. “C’mon Johnny!” He calls into the kitchen. “We gotta put the star on the tree!”

Johnny comes out of the kitchen a moment later, Dallas in tow. “Do I need to lift you up or something?” Johnny askes, glancing at the very delicate items in the boy’s hands. “I don’t think you can.” Ponyboy chuckles.

“Hey! I’ve been doing very well since the fire, y’know! Soda’s been taking me to the gym an—“

“That's not what I meant.” Ponyboy interrupts, placing a hand over the boy's mouth—he tears it away when he licks it, wiping it on Darry’s shirt because… well, why wouldn’t he? “You’re like—5’8” man, I’d crush you.”

“And a half!” Johnny adds, crossing his arms. “And I’ll have you know I picked Dally up once.”

“Barely.” Dallas chuckles from behind him. “My back still hurts from when you dropped me.”

“I don’t want to hear anything from anyone else about a hurt back.” Johnny grumbles, glaring at him. Two-Bit throws his head back laughing on the couch, pulling Steve and Soda out of Soda’s room.

Ponyboy just rolls his eyes, scooping Johnny up and helping him onto his shoulder. Johnny fights it at first, cutting it out the second he’s in the air in fear of plummeting to the floor. Johnny grasps onto Ponyboy’s head. “Don’t drop me!”

“I won’t.” Pony laughs, handing the star up to him.

It takes Ponyboy a minute to get to the tree, trying hard not to run into things with Johnny's hands very much over his eyes. It takes the boy a minute to lift his arm up, careful not to lean forward too much. He’s finally able to stick it on there, already begging to be let down.

Darry picks him up by the armpits and plops him on the ground as gracefully as he can. Johnny lets out a sigh of relief, thanking him.

They all stand back to look at the tree, fully lit with glittering tinsel and shiny ornaments. It’s already beginning to get dark outside—though it’s only five. Darry wants to stand and stare at it all night—but he knows these boys need to eat.

“I’ll go start dinner.” He says, wiping his hands on his shirt just to bush them. “You boys are free for the day.”

Ponyboy tugs on his shirt sleeve just before he walks off. “Can we go outside and play in the snow?” He whisper-asks—looking at him pleadingly. Darry—Already knowing this won’t end well, but also knowing how desperately they all wanted to go in the snow…

“Alright.” he sighs. “Just make sure you’re all bundled up, and don’t track snow through the house.” Ponyboy agrees excitedly, already running off.

Sure enough—Dallas, Pony, and Johnny all pass by him a moment later decked out in snow gear. Dallas gives him a thumbs up, as if to say ‘don’t worry, I’ll watch them’.

He’s halfway through mixing up the Mac & Cheese he promised when the three reminding members of that gang saunter into the kitchen. “Can we help?” Soda askes.

Darry smiles, ruffling his hair. “Of course you can.”

It went by a lot quicker with all hands on deck—Darry even managed to catch a photo of them all cooking, and one of the other three in the snow. He kept a close eye on his helpers—Two barely got the ham out in time, Soda put way too much sugar in the cake, Steve spent more time drinking the pasta sauce out of the ladle than he did making the noodles.

But they got it done.

They did it together, too.

“Boys!” Darry calls out, opening the window to stick his head out. Dallas was in the middle of pelting Ponyboy in the face with a snowball—it hit the second Darry finished talking. “Dinners ready.” Darry chuckles.

The three of them come barreling in a second later, smart enough to take off their shoes. Darry takes their jackets, sending them all into a room to change into warm clothes.

He tosses the jackets on the porch, shutting the door extra tight behind him to keep the snow out.

He puts down the—Christmas themed, of course—tablecloth, setting up plates and silverware. He puts the different pans full of food along the counter-top, very impressed with their work.

“Alright guys, one at a time.” He says just as the other three walk out of the rooms—wearing too-big sweaters and sweatpants. They all go one at a time and dump food onto their plate, sitting down at the dining table in their usual spots.

“Jesus, John—“ Dallas chuckles, picking leaves out of his hair. “Your hair is like a breeding ground for all the plants on the ground, man.” He says, ruffling it to see if any more leaves or twigs would fall out. “Never call my hair a ‘breeding ground’ again.” Johnny mutters, annoyed, smacking Dallas’s hand away—a piece of ham hanging from his mouth.

They eat mostly in silence, forks clinking against porcelain as they all dig in. Darry knows he isn’t the best cook on the planet—but watching them all tear it apart like they’re starved definitely makes him feel a bit better about it.

Darry collects all the plates when they’re done, dumping them in the sink—he tells himself he’ll wash them before bed, but he’s almost 100% sure he won’t. “Everyone in the living room,” he says, helping Johnny out of his seat. “I have a present for you all.”

“Is it a puppy?” Ponyboy asks excitedly, rushing to sit down on the couch. “Not necessarily…” Darry smiles—he has to hide his smirk. Realistically he knows they will all hate this gift. But hey, if he had to spend his entire early-adult life raising them, he gets to embarrass them once or twice.

He hands them all a wrapper box with their names on it. “You guys don’t have to look so scared.” He chuckles, watching Soda be the first to slowly peel back the paper.

“You’re joking.” He says, deadpanned. “You did not actually do this.”

“What is it?” Ponyboy asks, leaning over his brothers shoulders. Soda pulls out the contents of the box and holds it up for all of them to see. A chorus of loud groans fill the room, heads falling back against the cushions.

“You got us matching pajamas?” Two-Bit asks, raising a brow. He’s easily the most on board—beside Darry, of course. Mostly because there aren’t many ways to embarrass him past what he’s already done.

“You cannot make me wear this.” Dallas says simply, crossing his arms. For the options he had—Darry could have chosen much more embarrassing ones.

It was a simple white top with their names embroidered on the right of their chest, and a pair of pajama pants to go with. Soda got red plaid, Two-Bit and Darry got green—he made a point to get Dallas and Steve the ones with little reindeers and red bows to really embarrass them—Johnny got gingerbread and snowmen, Pony got little presents and elves.

“Oh, yes you will.” Darry chuckles darkly. “If you’re staying in my house, you’re wearing those.”

“So suddenly we’re not family anymore, huh?” Dallas grunts. “You’re gonna kick me out over pajamas ?”

“Yep.” Darry smirks—realistically, he won’t. But he knows Dallas will do it—he doesn’t care how much the boy complains. Their mother wanted to do this when they were all little—but each and every child shut the idea down and fought tooth and nail to keep her away. Darry very much remembers almost biting his father over them.

Dallas groans loudly, dropping them in the box. “You’re lucky Buck’s is closed for the night.” He says, tucking it under his arm. “How come me and Dallas got the worst ones?“ Steve complains—he doesn’t even seem completely turned off by the idea, but very much so about the fact that he got the girliest ones—the background of the pattern is a barely noticeable pink.

“Because they bring out your eyes.” Two-Bit jokes, narrowly ducking under the box hurled at his head. Darrel just chuckles, standing. “Don’t worry, I have to wear them too.” He says, holding up his own.

“We don’t have to put them on now , do we?” Ponyboy asks, pointedly not looking at his own.

“Depends,” Darry begins, tucking his box under his arm. “Who wants to run an errand with me?”

The room is silent for a long while, all glancing at each other. Johnny sighs and stands. “I’ll go.” He mutters, like he’s taking on for the team. Pony stands right after. “Me too.” He says quickly.

Darry smiles. “Great.” He says, ruffling their hair as they walk past him to the door. “The rest of you better have those on when we get back.” Darry says evilly, walking off and ignoring all the sudden volunteers.

He makes sure Johnny grabs his gift before they go—Darry wraps both boys up in jackets, scarves, and gloves. It’ll on get colder.

He loads the leftovers in the truck, letting Pony and Johnny hold them still in the backseat. “Where we goin’?” Johnny askes, looking up at him confusedly. “We’ve got a few deliveries to make.” Darry says simply, putting the truck in gear and driving off.

First is the Shepards.

He separates a decent amount onto a seperate plates for them, wrapping it up before handing the few plates of food too the two boys. He walks up the rickety porch and rings the bell.

“Whaddaya want.” Curly answers, throwing the door open. His eyes go wide when he sees who it is. “Oh. Shit, my bad.” He says, not looking at him. “No problem, Curly.” Darry smiles, handing him the plate in his hands. “In case y’all are hungry.”

Curly stares down at the plates with wide eyes before finally taking them, setting them on the couch beside him. “Thanks, I guess.” He says, showing his hands in his jean pockets. Ponyboy rolls his eyes, already walking off to the car. Darrel has to grip the back of his jacket to keep him from running off.

“Tell Tim I said thank you.” Darry says, not seeing the older boy anywhere.

“Yeah man, no problem.” Curly nods.

“Me too.” Johnny mutters, peeking his head out from behind the older Curtis. “To you too. Thanks for the gift, it was very nice.” He says in a teasing tone, a devilish smile on his face. Curly’s whole face goes bright red—so red, in fact, that they can see it even in the fleeting lamp light.

“How did you—“ he begins, cutting himself off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny just laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess you don’t want this, then.” He says, waving his own gift in the boy's face. Curly snatches it from his hand, looking down to see his name sharpied on the wrapping paper. “You got me something? You really are a wimp.” Curly sneers, tucking it behind his back anyway—like Johnny would steal it back from him.

Johnny just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. Merry Christmas.” He says, following Pony and Darry to the truck. Curly doesn’t reply, watching them from the doorway. He only leaves once they’ve pulled away, heading back inside. They can hear him call to Angela from outside.

They head to Buck Merrill’s next. Darry really does hate going to that bar—especially with Johnny and Pony in tow—but he knows Buck is a good guy. He gave Dallas a place to live for most of his teenage years—and often would help Johnny out after a beating if the gang wasn’t around.

Buck and Darry also have an agreement—made after the fire, of course—that if Johnny, Pony, or Soda ever come knocking at his door… Darry will be

called immediately .

He knows Buck isn’t having a party tonight. He usually keeps it closed around family holidays—he claims it’s because of the lack of business, but Darry knows deep down he doesn’t like seeing people ignore their families to come drink at his bar.

He gathers the rest of the food and helps Johnny and Pony carry it up to the door. He knocks loud enough to be heard from anywhere in the house. He can hear Buck’s rushed footsteps, the door being thrown open a moment later.

“What—“ he begins angrily, pausing when he recognizes them. “Oh. Shit, what’s happening now?” He asks, his shoulders dropping. He spares a quizzical glance at Johnny—as if to ask ‘did you kill someone? again?’.

“Nothing to be worried about.” Darry smiles, holding a plate out to him. “There was a lot left over from dinner—I had a feeling you weren’t cooking anything.”

Buck inspects the plate, giving him an odd look. “Uh huh. No other reason?”

“Just wanted to be nice,” Darry begins, giving him a warm smile. “You’re not all alone in there are you?”

“Nawh—My brother’s home.” Buck shrugs. He has a younger brother—only a few years younger than him, Darry’s age. Most of the time he’s out of state—Dallas is the only one who’s ever met him in person, Johnny and Two-Bit have been in the bar while he was… but that’s just about it. “Sure he won’t mind some grub.”

“Good. Merry Christmas, Merril.”

Buck makes an odd face—like how dare Darry say that to him, before groaning. “Give me a second, wait here.” He grumbles, heading back into the bar and shutting the door behind him. By the time he’s back, Johnny and Pony have retreated back to the truck for warmth.

Buck comes back out with a pretty expensive looking bottle of Heineken, handing it off before the two younger boys see. “Nobody here’s gonna be able to afford it anyway.” He says simply, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you. I’m sure the guys will finish this by the end of the night.”

“I’m counting on it.” Buck chuckles. “Oh, and tell Dallas that he left his lighter here. Some broads found it on the floor.” He says, taking it out of his pocket and handing it to him. Darry promises he will and says his goodbyes, Buck just grunts in agreement and shuts the door.

“Darry.” Ponyboy comments when he starts up the truck again. “Are we going to have to put those pajamas on when we get home?“

Darry chuckles. “Of course. It would be unfair if you didn’t.” He says, already picturing the scene of all his boys dolled up like a mall-ad family. “I don’t even mind anymore, at least it’ll be warm.” Johnny mutters, wrapping his arms around himself and wincing just enough to be heard.

The doctor had warned them about this time of year for his scars. Apparently, extreme cold can trigger some kind of nerve pain—it also causes the skin to dry up and crack. Luckily it’s not as bad as it was two years ago, but it will no-doubt hurt for at least a few more years. Not to mention that Johnny already got cold easy before the fire—now it’s bad enough to classify him as hypothermic.

“There should be a few extra blankets in the living room if you need them.” Darry comments idly, trying to focus on the icy road. “Not like Dallas will let you be cold for long anyway.”

Johnny and Ponyboy both giggling in the backseat. As years go on Dallas seems to get less and less scary—the fire turned him so soft that he was almost a different person. It took months for him to stop using kid-gloves around Johnny and Pony.

“We’re home.” Darry says, turning the key and cutting off the car. Both boys run inside immediately, teeth chattering loud enough to sound like tap shoes.

Darry comes inside to already see Dallas worrying over Johnny. “Christ Darry, did you even turn the heat on?” He asks grumpily, checking Johnny's arms to make sure the skin wasn’t cracked bad enough to bleed. Of course it wasn’t, but this was the only thing Dally would ever double check.

“I’m alright Dal.” Johnny says in place of Darry’s retort. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Darry suddenly remembers the pajamas. Glancing around the room, all of the boys had listened to him. Even Steve and Dallas—Soda was still keeled over laughing.

Johnny and Ponyboy emerge a few moments later dressed as well—Ponyboy’s got his arms crossed and he is very clearly not happy with this outcome.

“You guys are making my Christmas this year, I swear.” Darry smiles—he’d pinch their cheeks if they’d let him. Eh, he’ll probably do it anyway. Darry gets changed quickly—he’s sure that if he waits any longer they won’t let him get photo evidence.

He runs out with his camera in tow, the boys ass grown when they see it. “We didn’t agree to this!” Steve frowns, watching him set it up on the mantle. “I know, I specifically didn’t tell you so you couldn’t say no.” Darry shrugs, fixing the angle one or twice.

He turns the countdown on and quickly gets behind the group. “Smile!” He says, knowing they won’t. The camera flashes and he’s so excited that he’s already rushing back to it.

To their credit, everyone but Steve, Dallas, and Pony are smiling— Soda’s is more of a smolder, because even in family photos he has to be the best looking. “Look at us! Not a single one of us had our eyes closed!” Two-But chuckles, joining the group around Darry to look at it.

They truly were an adorable family. Darry was already planning on printing this photo and the one Two-Bit had taken a hundred times and placing it on every fridge, work locker, and wallet he could find. “If that ever gets to the public, I’m taking care of all witnesses.” Dallas grumbles. “I’ll be your alibi.” Steve adds, unable to look at it any longer.

“Everybody quit your whining! It's a nice photo!” Darry says defensively, setting the camera aside before anyone could try and delete it. “Yeah, Just pretend its not you in the picture. Thats what I’m gonna do.”

“How's that gonna work?” Steve raises a brow annoyedly—unable to hide his genuine annoyance with the boy for a full holiday. “I could have another brother somewhere—I could be a twin.”

“I’d feel bad for that kid.” Steve chuckles, ignoring the empty box that Ponyboy chucks—and misses—at his head.

“Boys, stop fighting or Santa will give you coal for Christmas.” Two-Bit says teasingly, wagging his finger at them. Steve and Pony both groan.

“I don’t get what's wrong with getting coal for Christmas—I can’t even count how many times I was building a fire and prayed for that stuff.” Johnny mutters, shrugging. He glances up to see the whole gang staring at him with very heartbroken looks on their faces. “Dude, That's like… the saddest thing that's ever come out of your mouth.” Soda says—he almost looks like he's gonna cry–dramatically wrapping his arms around him and sighing.

“No—It's not the time to be sad!” Two-Bit exclaims, crossing his arms with a proud look on his face. “Besides, I am very sure I saw Darrel walk in with some booze in hand. Am I right?” He turns to Darrel. He can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yes, Keith. There is a bottle in the kitchen.”

Everyone but Johnny and Pony rush off to go find it. Darrel can hear the cork pop out from the living room—he's sure this won’t end well. “It’s about time you two get to bed anyway.” Darry sighs, looking at the two younger boys.

“What?” Ponyboy frowns. “I’m almost a grown man and you’re giving me a bedtime?!” He asks, exasperated. “Sixteen is almost grown for you?” Darry retorts, unimpressed, raising a brow. Ponyboy opens his mouth and shuts its again, looking at Johnny for support. “I dunno’ what you’re looking at me for.” Johnny laughs. “When I was sixteen I was actively freeloading off of you guys.”

“You only stopped being sixteen like seven months ago.” Ponyboy mutters, rolling his eyes. “And you weren’t ‘freeloading’ you were recovering from third degree burns.”

“Tomato tah-mah-toe.” Johnny shrugs, already making his way towards Pony’s room. “Now come on, If we don’t go to bed now Santa might not come.” He adds teasingly. “Whose side are you on?” Ponyboy mutters with a betrayed look on his face—he eventually does begin to follow him to his room, trying to hide his own yawn.

“We can get you a cup of warm milk if you want.” Dallas calls from the kitchen, drinking right out of the bottle.

“Oh, Fuck off Dallas!” Ponyboy yells back, turning to glare at him.

“Watch your mouth Pony.” Darry scolds immediately—profanity has never been a big issue for him, but ever since he took over he’d been unable to stop. “You aren’t quite old enough to get away with that.”

“Yeah Yeah.” Pony groans, sticking his head out of his room. “Goodnight friends and family…Steve too, I guess.” He says, shutting the door before Steve can defend himself. Darrel can hear the man yell something in response, muffled by the noise of the rest of the gang laughing.

By the time Darrel makes it into the kitchen, the bottle is already half-way gone. “Jesus, You guys have had enough.” Darry says, aiming to take the bottle and fumbling when Two-Bit snatches it away. “You haven’t had enough if you’re noticing!” He chuckles loudly. “Come on, join us.” He says, waving the bottle around like it's a prize.

Darry rolls his eyes, making another attempt to take it and only getting embarrassed again when he misses.

“Come on big guy, take a sip.” He says again like he's trying to entice him. “You know you want to.” The three others quietly cheer him on, pumping their fists up and down along with their chants. Darry’s never been peer pressured successfully—it works even less when he’s around a group that he mostly thinks of as his younger brothers. But either way he finds himself snatching the bottle and guzzling a decent amount.

It's almost midnight when they decide they’ve had enough. Steve and Soda are the first to go—they both head into Soda’s bedroom, saying their goodnights and such. Dallas goes not long after, aiming to crash on the couch. Darry gives him a goodnight hug and forehead kiss as he goes—to which he gets shoved off by a red-faced blonde.

Two-Bit and Darry retreat to his room only ten minutes later. Darry tells him to get comfortable—he doesn’t know if its because he’s feeling extra loving or because he’s a little tipsy, but he decides he can’t go to bed without giving Johnny and Pony a proper good night.

He’s able to get the bedroom door open without either of them stirring. Despite their earlier protest–Both Johnny and Pony are passed out under the covers. Johnny’s got his head on Pony’s chest and it's a miracle he's not suffocating with the cover’s mostly over his face—upon further inspection the two are completely cuddled up together and snoring just loud enough to hear.

Darry stalks to Ponyboy’s side of the bed and leans down— placing a soft kiss right on his hairline. “Goodnight Pone.” He whispers, though he’s a hundred percent sure the boy won’t hear him.

Sure enough, right as he’s leaning over to do the same to Johnny—Ponyboy stirs. “You smell like booze.” Ponyboy whispers, eyes barely able to stay open for more than a second. “Two spilled some on me.” Darry whispers back—quickly giving Johnny his goodnight and standing straight again.

Ponyboy laughs—his voice is slurred from his own tired state, Darry can’t help but think how adorable it is. “Make sure you gimme a copy of that photo.” Ponyboy whispers, wrapping his arms around his friend and snuggling closer, eyes already shut again. “Will do, Goodnight baby.” Darry whispers with a chuckle—he's able to make it to the door without either of the boy’s re-awakening.

“Did you have fun today?” Two-Bit asks as he climbs into bed a moment later. “Very much so.” Darry smiles, placing a kiss on his cheek and getting comfortable under the covers. “Good,” Two whispers, wrapping his arms around the older. “You deserve a good day every once in a while.”

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 34/34 - epilogue

[Read on AO3]

Greenwich, CT

May 2001

-.-.-

“Smile at the camera, sweetheart!” Mulder calls, holding the camcorder up in front of him and peering through the viewfinder. “You too, beautiful.”

Scully pauses her search for seashells with Madeline, tapping the little girl on the shoulder and showing her where to look. As soon as she spots him, a chubby little finger points in his direction, her face lighting up in a smile, and with his free hand, he waves back.

“Hi Miss Madeline!” he says, zooming in on the two of them as they go back to their search for seashells in the sand. “Are you having fun?” He pans down to the gentle waves as they lap at the shoreline, coming closer and closer and finally tickling at the toes of Maddie and Scully, eliciting a shriek of joy from the now toddling one-year-old.

“Is it cold?” he asks.

“A little cold, still,” Scully answers, leading their daughter by the hand a little further from the ocean. He zooms back out, capturing the full picture of this lovely New England beach as it nears sundown, the warmth starting to fade along with the light.

“How about this one?” a soft, older voice cuts in, walking carefully over the sand toward little Maddie, who holds out her hand in acceptance. Teena Mulder leans down and places a large white seashell in her hand, which little Maddie thoroughly inspects.

“Did Grandma find a big one, baby?” Mulder asks, walking closer to his family to get a better look at the spoils of their seashell hunting trip.

Maddie holds it up for the camera. “Ah!” she answers, tugging at Scully’s hand to bring her closer to her dad.

“Oh, look at that!” he says enthusiastically, widening his eyes comically. She grunts and stretches her arm out as far as it will go—her way of telling him she wants to give him something. He chuckles and holds out his hand, accepting her gift with a wide brimming smile. “Thank you, sweet pea. Should Daddy hold onto that for you?”

Scully’s lips pull back in a smile as she looks up at him. “I think that’s probably a good idea,” she answers for Maddie.

Mulder tucks the shell into his pocket, pressing the record button on the camcorder and checking that there’s still battery left before looping the strap over his shoulder.

“Alright, Daddy’s turn, little stinker,” he says, grabbing Maddie by the hands and lifting her into the air. She squeals in delight, swinging in an arc until he plops her back down in the shallowest bit of water where the sea meets the shore.

“Mulder, you’re gonna get the camera wet!” Scully calls out, her brow slanted in either worry or disapproval.

Maddie stomps around in the water, giggling at the way it splashes up when she does.

“Did you hear that, Maddie?” Mulder asks in mock alarm, addressing his question directly to his daughter, though speaking loud enough for Scully to hear. “Mommy thinks I’m going to drop this expensive camcorder into two inches of water, can you believe it?!”

Madeline gapes up at him, clearly having no clue what he’s talking about, but just happy to be included.

“I did not say you’d drop it,” Scully corrects, pursing her lips and crossing her arms in that way that he’s always thought looked so adorable, especially with how tiny she is.

Mulder walks Maddie back over to the others, silently handing her and the camera off to his mother with a playful glint in his eye.

“You’re worried about getting the camera wet, Scully?” he asks, his voice dangerously low as he approaches her, taking one long, drawn out step at a time.

“Mulder, don’t,” Scully warns, suddenly catching on to this game he’s playing, but she’s too late. She tries to escape, but he grabs her around the middle and lifts her into the air, taking off toward the ocean with laughter on his breath. 

He bridal carries her as he wades out into the water, the salty seawater soaking up to his knees. The cold temperature invigorates him—makes him feel alive. Or maybe it’s the pleading screeches of his wife as she yells at him to take her back in between irrepressible fits of giggles.

She clings onto him for dear life, lifting her feet so they don’t dangle into the brisk ocean as he comes to a sudden stop.

“I think this is far enough,” he says thoughtfully, looking around them with a contemplative gaze.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, her jaw dropping open. She can pretend to be aghast by his actions all she wants—she can’t hide that underlying amusement that pulls at the corners of her lips.

“Sorry, honey,” he says, meeting her eyes with a shrug. And with that, he drops her into the water.

She comes up gasping, her mouth open wide in disbelief that he’d really gone through with it.

“Mulder!” she yells, wiping water from her eyes and smoothing her hair back out of her face. He doubles over laughing, unable to restrain himself. “Help me up,” she demands, reaching her hand out for him to grab on to.

He acquiesces, gripping her slippery fingers with both hands, and pulling, but instead of pulling her up, he finds himself being yanked downward, and it’s not long before he, too, has pants full of sand.

“You happy now?” he asks, resigned to his fate.

“No!” she shrieks, her brows raised to her forehead. Water drips down and gets caught in her eyelash, and she wipes it away, fighting back a smile. “I’m all wet, Mulder!” she complains. “We have to drive back to your mom’s house like this!”

“So what?” he says, pulling her toward him by the waist. He presses a firm kiss to her cold lips, warming them with his own for a moment before pulling back. His fingertips tease at her sides, causing her to squirm away.

He remembers the day he found out Scully was ticklish. One of the greatest days of his life, for sure.

“Mulder…” she complains, though this time with a little less fervor. The waves crash against them incessantly, occasionally splattering one of them with a splash of seawater to the eye.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, this time actually helping her to her feet. “I’ll wrap you in a big fuzzy blanket as soon as we get home, I promise.” He gives her one final peck on the lips once they’re upright again, and leads her by hand back to the shore, where his mother watches on in amusement.

“Was that really the best decision, Fox?” she asks, her scrutinizing eyes traveling over their soaked clothing and back up to their reddened faces.

Best decision? No. That honor goes to the day he’d decided to pursue adoption with Scully. This family—one of their own making—that was the best decision he’d ever made. Nothing else would ever come close.

But having a little fun, dumping her in the water and getting absolutely soaked…? Well, he’d never regret anything that made Scully laugh. From the first moment he heard it in the graveyard in Bellefleur, it’s been his life’s mission to hear it again. In the past year, he’s succeeded more times than he can count.

“No regrets,” he declares proudly, pressing a kiss to the back of Scully’s hand, still intertwined with his own.

Teena shakes her head in fond disdain, setting Madeline down on the sand so that she can focus on walking over the uneven terrain back to the car. Maddie reaches up with both of her hands, and Mulder grabs one while Scully grabs the other. 

“Wet!” she says, her little forehead pinching in concern, the word apparently one of the few that she knows.

Mulder shakes his head over top of her, sprinkling her with water droplets from his hair and causing her to shriek. “No!” she squeals. “No, Da-da!”

Scully laughs, her feet slipping a bit in the sand as she walks.

“Come on, now, you two can’t team up on me!” Mulder protests.

“You’re outnumbered, Mulder,” Scully points out, and he heaves an exaggerated sigh.

By the time they get back to Teena Mulder’s house—only a short drive away—the seats of their car are damp with seawater and Scully has informed him that he’ll be the one cleaning it when they get back to their house in Virginia. He responds with, “Yes, dear,” a phrase that never fails to make her roll her eyes.

Madeline falls asleep on the ride home, clutching the seashell that Grandma Mulder had found in her hand like a stuffed animal. As much as they hate to put her in bed still covered in salt and sand from the ocean, they really don’t want to wake her, so they do the best they can to clean her off before setting her down in the travel crib they brought. It’s their last day anyway. The sheets can be cleaned.

Scully gives him first dibs on the shower, biding her time by packing up the little room they’ve shared at his mother’s house for the past week. He re-emerges feeling like a new man, free from that grimy feeling of being covered in salt.

Her shower takes longer than usual. He starts to miss her, not wanting to go to bed without her, but feeling the undeniable call of the down mattress and pillows. 

He knocks on the door, asking her if she’s almost finished.

She opens it slowly, holding a piece of plastic in her hands and looking astonished.

He glances down at it, two blue lines the same color as the paint in his mother’s coastal-themed guest bathroom beaming up at him.

He’s not sure whether he should laugh or cry at first. She looks up at him, uncertainty darkening her face, and he settles for scooping his wife into his arms, rocking her back and forth in complete disbelief.

After he’s taken a moment to absorb this new information, he pulls back, holding her in place and grinning uncontrollably down at her.

“Scully, do you ever get the feeling that the universe is laughing at us?” he asks, chuckling a little as he takes in the glow that he’s just now noticing around her.

“I don’t know if the universe is capable of laughing, Mulder,” she responds in her shaky voice, ever the skeptic. “But someone definitely is.”

“Well, Dana,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead and splaying his hand over her abdomen. “I was just thinking about how much I missed the newborn stage.”

~~~

end.

~~~

I have so much to say, and I don't know where to start. Apologies in advance for the long author's note.

To all of you who have read and commented here and on AO3 (I'm still a bit in shock over just how many of you there are), thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your response has meant the world to me, and to know you've looked forward to updates just as I have for stories by authors I look up to… Well, it's humbling.

Since I started writing fanfiction a decade ago, I've always wanted to find the patience and inspiration to write a proper slow burn and have people follow along. Now, this turned out even longer than I expected it to--and at times during the three months it took to write, I felt like I had overestimated my patience to keep writing--but I'm really happy with how it turned out. Checking this one off my bucket list!

To @numinousmysteries: Your help with beta reading and offering suggestions is so appreciated. I've never written anything of this magnitude before, and your encouragement was a much-needed reassurance prior to posting this. I think the story is better off having taken into account your advice, so for that, I am so grateful.

To all X-Philes: I am continuously amazed by how alive this fandom is over 30 years later. You have been so welcoming. I only watched the show for the first time in February 2023, so while I'm still fairly new around here, it doesn't really feel like it.

Now, to answer the question some of you have been asking… Will there be more?

At this time, I don't have anything planned and am not sure when I'll be writing again, but I certainly have some ideas. The way the final two chapters came together obviously skips over what could be some important or at least interesting character moments (Charlie comes to mind, as well as the whole Scully clan). If inspiration strikes, of course I'd love to expand this story into it's own series, probably consisting of mostly one-shots.

I also think it would be fun to take prompts on here for scenes you'd like to see in this universe. No promises on how quickly I'll get to them, but why not--if you have something in mind, feel free to send me an ask and I'll try to get to them as the muse hits. If I do, they'll be posted here and on AO3.

This is turning into a "midwest goodbye" of an author's note, so… Okay, that's it. Yeah. Thanks again for reading. Till next time!

<3

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [thank you all for following along and/or letting me clog your notifications for a month!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[anaoyuo]

Play With The Stars || deleted scenes

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Gojo Satoru x f!reader

summary: Literally just Gojo and you being horny on your beach vacation

notes: Another scene from adg that I’ve found. Originally from chapter 17, I ended up cutting it out for multiple reasons. One, the word count was already crazy. Two, the argument here was kinda unnecessary. And three, I thought it was too much back-to-back smut, especially since I knew about the threesome with Geto coming up. Sooo, I rewrote the whole thing, made it more romantic and sweet to fit the atmosphere of the rest of the chapter, and this scene here never saw the light until now. Enjoy

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The cooling ocean breeze swept into the room through the large, open windows, brushing past the curtains that fluttered and danced like the buoyant waves of the sea that was so close by.

You shifted on the couch, the phone in your hand failing to keep you entertained for much longer. With a deep exhale, you leaned your head against Gojo's shoulder, who sat right next to you. He, too, seemed to be absorbed in his phone since he didn't react to your gesture at all. 

"Satoru."

"Yes, babe?"

"I'm bored. What are we gonna do today?"

"You."

Confused at his response, your brows knitted together as you blinked up at him. "Me?"

Gojo hummed. "I'm gonna do you," he said dryly, those beautiful cerulean eyes never once leaving the screen.

"Thought that much was clear already," you muttered, heaving another long sigh into the air.

"Great." Gojo's phone suddenly clattered onto the table as he flashed you a grin, his large palm finding its way to your thigh in record time. "So let's start with that."

He barely wasted a second before slipping his hand between your legs, but you were just as quick to intervene, seizing his arm and halting him. 

"Seriously?!"

Hearing the harsh tone in your voice wiped the smirk clean off his face. He braced himself for what was to come next.

"Why can't I ever have a decent conversation with you? It's so annoying."

While you continued to snap at him, he sat there like a scolded child and listened, his tongue poking his cheek as he patiently waited for you to finish.

Gojo really began to wonder if you were doing this on purpose, constantly stressing him out, always arguing and picking fights, all because you knew the makeup sex was worth it. And he fucking hated that he had to enjoy this drama. 

"Can you for once in your goddamn life think with your brain instead of your dick?"

"What the fuck is your problem? Can you explain to me why I am the asshole again?" Gojo retorted, his own voice rising now—the perfect opportunity for you to play the victim.

"I just don't want to spend any more time on this couch, please." You slumped your shoulders and lowered your head. "I thought you'd have plans. This is your house, after all. You know this place better than I do."

"Alright, fine. Let's go shopping later. The promenade's got some cool stores, good food, too. Can we both shut up and fuck now before we end up killing each other over this?"

You shot him a pointed glare, still not convinced. He understood that he needed a different tactic.

"Dearest goddess of beauty, please, might I humbly request to partake of the pleasure of making love to you, oh you most gorgeous and perfect female being?" he asked again as he reached out to stroke your face with exaggerated tenderness.

You wanted to keep pretending to be mad, but your laughter slipped out uncontrollably, as it always did around him. "Okay. Make love to me then, Satoru," you smiled. 

Gojo shared your smile before he tilted his head and captured your lips with his own. He kissed with hunger, and you reciprocated it with just as much, if not more intensity. 

Your hands were all over him, gripping his taut biceps, clinging to his broad shoulders, holding his neck, running through his fluffy hair, fingers tightening in the strands, tugging at them. He did the same, lost in worshipping your figure, squeezing at your waist, your hips, kneading your breasts. 

Gojo pressed you to himself, bringing you closer to sit you on his lap, your body pliant and willing under his guidance. 

Amidst the sighs and kisses in the room, your phone rang suddenly. You drew away a bit, glancing toward the source of the sound. "Someone's calling me."

He couldn't be more unfazed, really. Gojo's mouth was back on your skin in an instant, trailing along your jawline. "Ignore it," he whispered against you, his voice husky. "We're busy."

"What if it's important?" 

"I'm more important."

He did his best to distract you by sucking sweet bites on the sensitive spot under your ear, the one that always got you weak, but his effort was for nothing. 

"I need to answer this," you insisted and gently pushed yourself away from him to rise to your feet.

Gojo let out a dramatic groan. "Yes, go ahead. Just neglect me. It's not like I have feelings, too," he grumbled as he threw his head back on the couch. 

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics and unplugged your phone from the charger. The display was lit by Nobara's name, your thumb swiping to accept her call quickly.

"Hey," you greeted, bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, where have you been? You haven't shown up at the office for days." Nobara's concern was audible even through the static of the speaker.

"Oh, I'm fine." You walked back to the couch and settled down beside Gojo. "Just not in the city at the moment," you added. 

"Not in the city? What's going on? Are you sure everything's alright?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," you reassured, leaning back against the cushions. 

He watched and listened as you gave your colleague some bad excuses for your recent absence from the office. Though initially amused by hearing you stutter some words together, after a while, his interest waned. Gojo was bored again, and terribly so. 

That was when an idea sparked in his mind. 

"Nobara, it's nothing to worry about. I'll tell you everything when we see each other next week." As you spoke, you sensed Gojo's movements on the couch. Your eyes widened when you saw him pulling out his half-hard cock from his boxer briefs. 

With a stupid smirk and his brows raised high, Gojo gestured for you to jerk him off. The sheer audacity had you shocked and a little affronted, and it must have shown on your face because he snorted and broke into a fit of giggles next to you. 

"Oh, so you won't be back in time." Nobara sighed on the other end of the line.

"Back in time for what?" you asked, trying to redirect your focus to the call, even as he grabbed hold of your wrist. 

At this point, it seemed easier to just go along with what he wanted and appease him. So, you did just that, your fingers closing around its girth as you began to mindlessly stroke him. 

As the call continued, Nobara talked about a techno club she wanted to visit with you, where one of her friends would be playing their set. At the same time, Gojo started twirling the lengths of your hair, then he ran his hand through it. 

You should have known it from the moment he started touching you. It was all so obvious where this was headed; slowly and carefully, he guided you downward until his pink tip brushed against your lips, urging you to take action.  

You glared up at him, venom in your gaze—his absolute favorite expression on your face. 

"I had no idea you had a DJ friend," you replied to Nobara, deliberately ignoring Gojo. However, the constant taps of his cock on your cheek made it clear that he wanted your attention in one way or another.

"Oh, I met him a few years back when I was standing outside a club..."

While Nobara spoke, Gojo pushed your head further down, and you gave up on fighting him. It was a battle that you would have lost anyway. 

He had to stifle a groan, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as your warm mouth took him in, your tongue laving over his dick obsessively, as if it was your natural response to always do your best for him. 

"...if you want, I'll ask him if you can join us," she offered. 

You panicked. You hastily pulled back, trying to recall what Nobara had just said. "Uh, sure. Why not," you stammered out.

The second you finished, Gojo plunged his cock right back into your mouth. He bobbed your head up and down in a rhythm of his own making, testing your limits, pushing you to the edge of gagging multiple times before finally releasing you.

Your breath was shortened as you struggled to regain your composure, but Gojo was just getting started with the fun. He motioned for you to lie down. You shook your head vigorously. 

Oh, how he loved playing this game with you.

The way you fought back only to give in was one of the things that turned him on the most. It felt like a small victory every time he got his way with you. 

Gojo pushed you onto your back, and you offered no resistance. Why would you even?

He flipped your dress up, his eyes locking with yours as he teased your thighs with the tip of his tongue, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh near your throbbing core. That was when you tuned out Nobara completely. All your thoughts now dedicated to what Gojo was about to do to your pussy.

Gojo buried his face between your legs, mouth latching onto your cunt, licking at your clit over the fabric of your panties, and each flick sent electric shocks through your body. Your free hand instinctively gripped his hair, seeking something to anchor yourself to. He didn't stop, didn't seem bothered, so you tightened your hold on his white locks even further, holding on for dear life.

"...he works on Fridays, I think, so let's do next Saturday," Nobara suggested, pulling you back to the call. 

"Yeah," you breathed out, a borderline moan. "Next Saturday's fine."

Gojo smiled against you. He was certain your friend must have picked up on it by now, but if not, he would make sure she knew exactly what was happening. 

Pulling your wet panties to the side, Gojo slid two of his long fingers into you. Your eyes snapped open wide as you gasped, loud, way louder than you had anticipated.

"Is everything alright?" Nobara asked.

Gojo pushed you further; the wet noises increased, his tempo a brutal one, which had you shaking and writhing as you tried to twist away from him but failed as his strong arm held your thigh locked in place, forcing you to endure his sweet torture. 

"Nobara... someone's at the door... I need to go," you somehow managed to blurt out. 

"Okay—"

Without even waiting for her to finish her sentence, you abruptly ended the call and threw your phone aside to fully devote yourself to the pleasure, but that didn't last long as Gojo began to slow his pace. 

"You're so lame. You should've talked to her for a bit longer," he said, looking down at you in a way that almost felt mocking.  

"How about we switch roles the next time Suguru calls?" you shot back in your defense. 

He licked his lips, already finding himself drawn to the idea. "Sure. I might even Facetime him." Gojo then leaned down to steal a chaste kiss from your pretty lips. "Just don't complain when I accidentally switch the camera and film you giving me head, yeah?"

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They are my favorite toxic relationship. I can't wait to bring their dynamic back in fg

Full series: ao3

[miguelswifey04]

beach day with the spidey gang

inspo because i’m at the beach right now and it’s HOT ASL

miguel o’hara would probably be the most stressed trying to have everyone situated but everyone’s doing their own thing—LMAO, LMAO he would be soooo pissed and he would holler at everyone to pay attention

gwen stacy and margo would be the ones to actually get everyone to settle down, while peter b. parker is struggling to put the umbrella INTO the dirt but it flies off—so he has MILES chase after it but he eats “shit” getting sand into his mouth 😭 so hobie catches it saying“light work no reaction.”

pav is busy taking care of the food and drinks while miguel is trying to gather everyone under the umbrella to set up the seats and stuff but hobie ignores miguel’s instructions so that sets him off 🧍🏽‍♀️

at last everyone is settled having set up everything such as the umbrellas, mats, seats, coolers & towels!! miguel finally thinks he can unwind and sit down from getting a beer from the cooler when all of a sudden miles and pav take his seat from underneath and miguel FALLS 💀 YK damn well he’s gonna get up and chase them on all fours and HE DOESNT CARE IF OTHER PEOPLE SEE HIM

miles and pav run away seeing miguel chase them while gwen and hobie record them + peter b. is focused on entertaining mayday who’s trying to chew on a toy shovel 😭

margo is the type of person to just go for a swim and be by herself while the whole group is being chaotic LMAO (she loves them regardless)

miles definitely likes to give gwen piggy bank rides or carry her in bridal style in the water or along the beach :,)

hobie and pav like to go in and out of the water to eat and cool off or to bother miguel who usually the type of person to chill to sit back and observe

HOBIE AND MILES SING THEIR ASSES OFF BLASTING MUSIC AT THE BEACH AND THAT GETS UNDER MIGUEL’S SKIN LOL “CAN YOU LOWER THE VOLUME! DAMN.”

gwen and margo would keep to their selves while they go sunbathe AWAY from the boys + they usually like to look after mayday at the beach to let peter unwind (he needs me time)

miguel cusses and complains how hot the weather is at while he’s dunking himself with cold water….like dude the ocean water is right there just go from a swim 🙄

despite the fact the group can be very chaotic everyone does end up having a good time and spending quality time together <33

i would like to think that miguel would take mayday in his arms and introduce her to the ocean water while PETER takes PICS AND RECORDS :p

definitely going to be group pictures and recordings of miguel getting PISSED—LYLA would share those pictures and videos to the rest of the spider society 😭😭😭

———

a/n: some of the things i’ve mentioned HAPPENED but not the miguel chasing 😪

tags 🏷️: @sabcandoit @kairiscorner

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello! I would like to request a bit nsfw moments with my fav record of ragnarok characters (Poseidon, Beelzebub, Buddha, Thor, Loki, Hades) . How about them going on a beach day with innocent reader but then the reader decided to eat some ice cream and they got excited from it 👀. Meanwhile, readet is still completely oblivious to the fact that their actual seducing them. Thank you ❤️

The grin I had on my face when I read this made me realize how much of a degenerate I am for things like this~ I would also like to say, without spell check, popsicle is a word that I would never spell correctly without it.

-Seeing you in a bikini was a treat itself, especially when you ran towards him after you first changed, oblivious about your breasts nearly spilling out.

-He smiled when you brought him a popsicle back when you went to go and get one, sitting next to him under the cabana he had rented for the two of you to relax and enjoy your treats, after spending the last hour in the water.

-He looked over and bit his popsicle in half, watching you suck on the top of the popsicle, tucking your hair behind you ear with your spare hand, a faint blush on your cheeks as you were a bit warm from the hot sun.

-Poseidon- Was unable to look away from your lips, especially when you started to pull your treat in and out, juice appearing on your lips as you were trying to get it to melt a bit faster. His face turned bright red as you pulled it out, your lips lowering to your hand as some of the juice was starting to melt onto your hand, watching your tongue run across your skin. You glanced over at him, “Your popsicle is melting all over your hand, love.” He was quick to stand and shut the curtains to the cabana, turning on you with a feral look in his eyes, “Better hope you can be quiet, Y/N!” you blinked before you panicked, “Wait why you are horny?!” he gave you no answer, lunging at you.

-Beelzebub- He tried to ignore the pain in his teeth from biting his popsicle, watching your motions of licking up and down the popsicle, wrapping your lips around the tip and sucking it into your mouth slowly. He was quick to stand and shut the cabana before turning on you, quickly approaching and pinning out back onto the lounge chair, making you squeal as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with confusion, “What are you- eek!” your little cry was music to his ears as he was quick to pull your legs apart, pulling you into him so you could feel his hard length behind his shorts, “You’re gonna deal with this, just like that popsicle of yours!” you blinked, not understanding why he was so worked up.

-Buddha- Grinned as he quickly dealt with his popsicle, devouring it quickly before he crawled over on the lounge couch you were sharing, closing the curtains so you were hidden before pulling you into his lips, pecking your cheek softly before moving his lips to your neck. You were licking the tip when he did all this, a bit surprised, “You finished it already?” he chuckled softly, but nodded, “I did, wanted to do it quickly because I found a better treat~” you looked around for this other treat, as he was known for having multiple, “What is it? Is it something spicy?” he leered down at you as you turned back to him, “You could say that~ it starts off sweet, then ends by being spicy.” You squealed as he grabbed your ankles, forcing you to your back before quickly settling between your legs, his head on your belly, a fire in his eyes while you were stammering, “Wait why are you so fired up all of the sudden?!” he grinned, seeing that you didn’t realize it before he chuckled, pulling your thigh up over his shoulder, “Just keep enjoying that treat of yours while I enjoy mine~”

-Thor- Couldn’t help but watch, his eyes wide and throat just a bit tight as he worked on his own treat, not even paying attention that he missed his mouth the first two tries, to finish it off. He was too entranced watching your mouth and head bob up and down, sucking and licking at the popsicle with speed, as you didn’t want it to melt all over you and get you sticky. Thor moved when he finished his own, coming a bit closer after he pulled the curtains shut, fully intent on ruining you, but he wanted to watch a bit more. You flinched as some of the cold juice dripped down onto your bare breast, where the swimsuit wasn’t covering, staining it as you pouted lightly before Thor was quick to have you in his arms, straddling his waist as his mouth was quick to latch onto the juice, sucking hard and you let out a yelp, your back arching as his hands stroked down your back. You gasped as he bucked his hips up, making you feel his hard cock, “What got you so worked up so suddenly?” his eyes met yours before closing, smiling against your breast as he hugged you, seeing you were oblivious to your own allure, “Don’t worry about it, let me enjoy this while you finish your own.”

-Loki- Was quick to leap up and close the curtains to the cabana before returning to you, into your arms, hugging you close as he neglected his own popsicle, “Is it tasty Y/N?” you had the treat in your mouth, as you had been inserting it in and out of your mouth, trying to get it to melt quicker, pulling it out, your lips now a bit swollen as you smiled, “It’s tasty! What about yours.” He nuzzled his nose into your neck, “Absolutely delicious~” you were a bit confused as he was letting it melt all over his hand and you squeaked when the cold juice slipped down and landed on your bare chest and legs, “Oh no~ I’m getting all sticky!” Loki licked his lips, seeing a better treat, “Don’t worry, I got this~” you squeaked as his tongue began to lap at your skin, even areas that didn’t have any juice, making you whine, not understanding why he was so fired up all of the sudden.

-Hades- Swallowed hard, eyes focused on your lapping tongue as you smiled in delight at the delicious and cold treat, a soft hum leaving you before your tongue licked at your finger as some of the juice dripped down onto it. Stood so suddenly that he made you flinch, surprising you as he closed the curtains and turned with a fire in his eyes. You blinked innocently up at him, holding the popsicle between your lips with just your lips. His hands went to his hips, to his trunks, pulling them down just slightly, giving you a show, “I have something you need to fix, my dear.” You looked down and your cheeks turned bright red, seeing him erect as your popsicle fell from your lips, landing between your boobs, making you cry out. Hades had to carry you home that night, as you were unable to walk on your own.

[your-divine-ribs]

Kinktober 💕 Connection

"I'm missing you so much right now, just hearing your voice is driving me insane."

Words: 3.8k // Van McCann // phone sex

Kinktober Masterlist Main Masterlist

You'd underestimated exactly how hard it was being a rockstar's girlfriend. It felt like you always had to share, if it wasn't the other band members it was the record label or manager dragging him away from you, touring the world for weeks at a time.

You told yourself it was to be expected but it was still hard. Even though you appreciated his adoring fans you couldn't deny it hurt a little on those lonely nights when you opened up Instagram to see a pretty girl beaming away with her hand wrapped around his waist in some far flung city. It's happening again now, that sharp sting as jealously's teeth bite down hard, your grip loosening on your phone as you flop down on to your bed, trying to think of anything but the detailed account from the excited fan who'd proclaimed loud and proud on social media that she'd just met the man of her dreams... your boyfriend.

As if on cue your phone bursts to life and you quickly snatch it up, seeing a cute photo of you and Van snuggled up close lighting up the screen. It makes your heart ache that he isn't here with you now, too busy enjoying himself with his fans.

Your immediate reaction is to ignore the call, feeling disgruntled, but then you reason with yourself that you're foolish blaming Van for your jealousy. He's always been friendly and appreciative of fans and takes the time to meet them... and he's never actually done anything to sully your trust in him.

"Hello?" You answer, trying to inject some enthusiasm into your voice. "I can't believe you actually rang tonight, I didn't think you would. Looks like you're having way too much fun by the photos plastered all over Instagram."

Shit... that came out a lot more sarcastic sounding than you'd intended.

You can picture the frown on his face as his tentative voice comes down the line. "Love... are ya alright? What's up? I always call when I say I will don't I? Ya sound well pissed off."

You sigh, turning your head to the side to see a framed photo of the two of you cuddled up together on the beach last month. Lying next to it there's the page Van ripped out his song-writing notebook with heartfelt lyrics he'd penned especially for you. You smile when you sight the little love-heart doodles he'd scrawled across the page. There are little reminders of him everywhere that you look, your lives are so entwined. He loves you and you love him. It seems ridiculous to start a silly fight just because you're missing him. But still you want him to know how you're feeling. You'd both promised not to hide anything from each other.

"I'm not pissed off, I'm just missing you, that's all. I'm sitting here on my own in bed like a sad case and you're having the time of your life out there and..." you pause, searching for the right words.

"And?" He prompts. "I know there's more to it love. Tell me... we promised we'd tell each other everything when we were apart didn't we? And I'm missing you too... so fuckin' much. I swear everything I see reminds me of you. Today we went to this little coffee shop and I saw..."

"I'm worried you're gonna meet someone else!" You suddenly blurt, slapping your free hand over your mouth, just as surprised by your sudden admission as Van seems to be.

"What?" He exclaims, voice high-pitched and tight. "As if I'm gonna go and do that! You have nothing to worry about Y/N, I love you so much and I'd never dream of doing anything like that. You're all I need."

Your heart swells at his words but your anxiety remains. Images of all those pretty girls online flick through your head. Van's got a voracious sexual appetite and he's away for four weeks this time. Four long weeks. What happens if someone turns his head and he gets tempted by a quick fling?

You feel shitty for suggesting that Van's loyalty might waver but you can't hold your thoughts back. "A month's a really long time not to see each other. We're at it every night when you're home. What happens when you get horny? I bet some of those girls throw themselves at you as well..."

"What the fuck Y/N?"

He sounds hurt and you wince, silently cursing your big mouth. The last thing you want to do is hurt him.

"What... you don't think I can abstain for four measly weeks? Don't you trust me at all?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," you say hurriedly, cringing that you've just implied exactly that. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that, I'm just tired and I'm not thinking straight. My mind makes up all this ridiculous shit and it's only 'cause I'm finding it really hard not seeing you. Wish you were here with me right now."

All you want is him in that moment, his skin on your skin, his lips pressed flush to your own, his sweet whispered words in your ear as you both fill the void of being apart from each other for so long. You need his warmth, his touch, his kiss... all of him.

"S'okay love," he says softly, and you're expecting him to continue but the line goes quiet, just a muted scuffling sound reaching your ears. You start to panic that maybe he's going to hang up but he speaks again. "Just got back to the hotel room... thought maybe we needed a bit of alone time together."

"Alone time?" You scoff lightly, switching the phone to your other hand so you can re-arrange the pillows on your bed, scooting downwards so you're lying fully on your back. "There's a little problem with that... say 3,000 miles."

He chuckles quietly and there's more scuffling.

"What're you doing?" You ask, to which he replies, "Just getting comfy... you said you were in bed didn't ya?"

"Uh-huh... we'll I'm not actually in bed... more like on top of it... and don't ask me to FaceTime you... it's like midnight here and you're always so loud..."

"Send me a pic?" He says hopefully, voice full of mischief. You find yourself smiling, rolling your eyes even though he can't see your reaction. This is typical Van, chasing away any negativity without even realising he's doing anything. His daft, easy-going and playfully naughty personality is infectious.

"No way," you giggle shyly. "You should see the state of me right now. I look terrible!"

"Bet ya don't," he replies quickly. "Ya never do love, ya always look beautiful without even trying."

"Charmer," you smirk down the line, smoothing down the baggy t-shirt of his that you're wearing. You love wearing his clothes when he's away, it makes you feel closer to him somehow. You kick out your bare legs in front of you, smiling to yourself. "But I do look a mess tonight... really. Just got one of your old t-shirts on. One of the ones with holes in that you refuse to chuck out!"

He laughs softly. "Oh yeah? And what else? You got anything on underneath?"

You know straight away where this is headed and you feel your cheeks warm. You're normally far too self-conscious to indulge in dirty talk over the phone but something feels different right now. You're not quite sure what it is, maybe you're just missing him that little bit extra tonight. You grasp the hem of the shirt and raise it up so it just skims the tops of your thighs, then you drop your voice to a whisper even though you're alone in your room. "No... I'm naked underneath... just got out the shower before you called."

"Oh yeah?" He breathes, a soft rasp to his voice that sets off a flutter of excitement in your gut. "Wish I could see you now... wish I was there with you."

"Mmm... me too... I miss you so much."

You close your eyes, trying to picture him in your mind's eye. It's hard to imagine him in an unknown hotel room so you imagine that he's here instead, lying next to you in bed, hair splayed out on the pillow whilst he gazes at you with lust-blown eyes full of adoration.

"Miss you too love," he murmurs, low and sweet. "Miss your pretty face... your lips... your hands... miss the way you make me feel. No one else makes me feel the way you do... never have done. Wish you were touching me right now. Just the thought of it's turning me on."

"Van..." you breathe, letting your legs fall open. There's heat simmering between your thighs but you're hesitant to touch yourself, the fingers from your free hand fisting at the bed-sheets instead.

"Yeah babe?" He replies, and you hear a sound down the line, fabric rustling like he's shifting on the bed. Maybe he's just getting comfortable... or maybe it's something else. Your breath hitches in your throat and your mouth feels suddenly dry.

"Wh... what... are you doing? Right now?" Your voice is hesitant, still slightly nervous even though the dull throb between your legs is urging you on.

He hums softly, a small chuckle before he speaks. "Hold on... just gonna put you on speaker... need my hands free for this."

You press the phone even closer to your ear, straining to hear a sound, your breath captured in your throat in anticipation. There's a muted noise, a whisper of his zipper being pulled down, another rustle of fabric, louder this time. His voice sounds a little throaty when he speaks again. "Well... you did ask me earlier what happens when I get horny when I'm away... so I thought I'd let you know."

"Oh my god... are you... are you... touching yourself?"

You whisper the last few words even though no one can hear you in your bedroom, embarrassed muted giggles bursting from you, your whole body feeling hot at the thought of Van lying there with his cock in his hand thinking about you.

"Yeah, yeah I am. Just imagining you're here with me now. Thinking what I wanna do to ya. Fuck... feels nice but I really wish it was you touching me instead. You always make me feel so good."

"We're really doing this huh?" You whisper down the line, your cheeks glowing hotly, little butterflies of excitement now in full flight in your belly.

"Can we love? I know you normally get real shy about it but I'm missing you so much right now, just hearing your voice is driving me insane."

"Mmm... okay," you whisper back quietly, boldness creeping in. "But you're going to have to... guide me. You know how I feel about doing this kinda thing."

"I know love, I know. God you sound so cute when you get all shy and flustered, it really turns me on. Just makes me wanna ruin you."

"Va-an," you whine softly, embarrassment and arousal flooding you all at once as you squirm where you lay. You let your hands trail down your bare thighs, your thoughts full of him. You know exactly what he's going to ask you to do and you're anticipating his dirty words, grasping the hem of the t-shirt and raising it up even higher, exposing your hot skin to the cool air.

"I wish I could taste you right now, bury my face in that pretty little pussy of yours. You always taste so sweet baby. Touch yourself for me... please."

You bite your lip, heat flooding your lower body at his filthy admission. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it, the low raspy tone of his voice making heat pool at the apex of your thighs. You can see the seductive smirk on his lips now in your mind.

"Can't believe we're doing this," you utter, your thighs falling even more slack as you run your fingertips gently up your inner thighs. Your phone's crammed into the crook of your neck to free up your hands and you press your ear against it harder, trying to make out his sounds.

"Talk to me love, tell me what you're doing," he urges. "Wanna know details. How does it feel?"

His voice is strained, shaky exhales reaching you through the speaker. You close your eyes, imagining you can feel the heat of his breath on your neck. It would be so much easier to let go if he was here with you now.

"Mmm... feels nice, kinda tingly," you whisper, an embarrassed giggle slipping out. You ghost a finger tentatively over your clit, your whole body shuddering.

"Good girl," he breathes, his voice dropped down an octave, smooth and sultry in a way that makes you burn. "Wish I was touching you instead. Your skin's so warm and soft. Love the way you feel... love those little noises you make."

"Feels so much better when you do it," you sigh, sweeping slow circles over your clit, your hips tilting forwards as you widen your legs. It feels good but you're not sure if you can reach your peak like this. You've always struggled on your own whereas Van doesn't seem to have the same problem. Judging by the broken gasps and shallow breaths filtering into your ears he's already well on his way.

"I'll be there soon enough to do it for ya," he promises. "Bet you look so good right now... just imagining you lying there dripping all over the sheets... legs spread wide just for me. God I wish I was between 'em right now so so bad."

"Me too," you whine, sliding the heel of your hand over your clit so you can reach further down, your index finger tentatively dipping inside. You knew you'd be wet, Van's filthy words always made you gush, but you're shocked how easily your finger slips inside, your tight walls clenching around the digit.

"I'm wet... god I'm so wet," you announce, voice all breathy and broken, your chest heaving as you hear Van let out a gravelly groan full of need. Spikes of heat radiate through your core as you start to finger fuck yourself slowly, spurred on by his choked moans and jagged gasps.

"Babe you're killing me. Put your phone on speaker... wanna hear how wet you are. Let me hear you fucking yourself... please..."

"Really?" You wince in embarrassment, cheeks flaming at his filthy plea.  You don't hesitate though, his whined "please baby" practically making you come undone there and then. You're turned on beyond belief at hearing him so needy for you, quickly tapping the screen and laying the phone on your abdomen so you can resume your attentions.

"Can you hear how wet am I?" You whisper, pumping your finger at a quickening pace, the lewd sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the air. He groans all rough and lusty, muttered curses mixed with his own noises, the quiet sounds of slick skin slapping as he works himself over. It heightens the moment, makes everything feel more intense, like if you closed your eyes you could fully imagine he was lying beside you right now. Or hovering over you, his cheeks flushed rosy pink and his blue eyes hooded and dark as he bore down on you.

"How many fingers?" He grits out. He sounds totally wrecked.

"Only one..."

You drive your finger deeper, twisting your hand so you can rub at your clit with your thumb. Your other hand snakes under the shirt to find a nipple, tugging at the hardened bud. Your whole body's awash with sensation, your peak which seemed unattainable now glimmering on the horizon.

"Add another babe... do it for me," Van pleads, panting with exertion. "Stretch out that perfect little pussy just for me."

"Okay... shit..." you whimper, sinking another finger alongside the first, plunging them knuckle deep, your hips pulling upwards to chase the sensation.

"Bet you're so tight," he groans, the slick sounds emanating from the phone speaker getting faster now, frantic as his high approaches. "So fucking tight... ya fit me like a glove... so perfect. Wish it was my cock stretching you out right now. I'd fuck you so deep... so fucking hard."

He growls the last three words and the coil that's been winding up tight in your core suddenly explodes.

"Fuck... Van...." you mewl, almost a sob. You withdraw your fingers quickly, spreading your juices over your clit, rubbing it in tight, slippery circles. Your legs are trembling and you know you're teetering on the precipice.

"Fucking hell babe... 'm gonna blow. Say it again... say my name. Wanna hear you say my name when you come."

The noises coming from both of you are absolutely obscene, broken groans and needy whimpers interspersed with the wettest, filthiest sounds. You dimly wonder whether one of your housemates might overhear behind your closed bedroom door but you can't bring yourself to care enough to quieten down. You're hurtling towards an orgasm so powerful that your whole body's spasming, your heart beating out of your chest.

"Van... oh Van... feels so fucking good... ohhh..." you moan, screwing your eyes tight shut, trying your hardest to picture Van falling apart. It's your favourite sight of all, his pretty blue eyes glazed over with lust, brows pulled up into a crease, jaw fallen slack. You can see it all so clearly, his hips bucking up off the mattress as he fucks himself desperately into his hand, the mental image tipping you over the edge.

"Baby... baby... baby... I love you so much... fuck..." he chokes out, a strangled groan tearing up from his throat as he follows on mere seconds after.

Hot waves of pleasure flood you as you twitch against your hand, your body finally going slack. You press your head back against the pillow, blinking up at the ceiling, a small breathy laugh of disbelief slipping from your lips as you reach for your phone. You've never let yourself go quite like that during smutty long distance calls before, shyness and self-consciousness getting the better of you. Usually you're half-heartedly moaning and sighing in tune to Van's heavy breathing, putting on a front that you're just as turned on as he is. This was something else entirely and your heart's still racing with your newfound discovery that temporarily made the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean between you seem minuscule. Your doubts and worries have dissipated to be replaced with a warm comforting glow.

"Y/N you're amazing," Van's blissed out sounding voice comes down the line, a low drawl with a hint of a sleepy satisfied edge that tugs your lips into a grin. "Was that okay for you... I mean did you enjoy it? I know you usually get a bit weirded out about phone sex. That felt a little different to normal."

"It... it was... I actually properly let myself go for once," you mumble coyly. "Shit, think I was too loud though. Gonna die of embarrassment if Kayla and Laura overheard me. You know what they're like. They won't let me live it down."

Van chuckles. "Don't worry, they'll probably just tune it out. Sure they're used to it by now, the racket you make when I'm there for real."

"I don't make a racket!" You laugh, reaching out to grab the framed photo off the side, letting your eyes linger fondly over the image of your boyfriend, tracing the contours of his handsome face with the tip of your thumb. "You're the noisy one. Grunting and groaning like you're about to bloody die! The neighbours three streets away could probably hear you, let alone my mates sitting in the living room downstairs!"

"I'm not loud... I'm just... expressive," he says, and you can hear the grin in his words at your playful banter. "And besides, you love it, don't lie. You can't get enough of it!"

You shift where you lay, reaching for the covers to pull up over your bare legs, snuggling into your pillow as you switch the phone over to your other ear.

"I do love it," you admit, your voice dropping down low again. "It's hot... really hot. Didn't realise you got off on me calling out your name though. Gonna have to remember that one for when you're home."

"It's just good to hear you're actually thinking about me in the heat of the moment."

This surprises you. "What the hell... you're joking aren't you? Why would I be thinking about anyone else? You're my boyfriend, of course I'm gonna be thinking about you."

"You're not the only one who gets insecure when I'm away ya know," Van murmurs, and you feel a frown instantly form, your post-orgasm sleepy haze falling quickly away. You pull yourself into a sitting position, pressing the phone tight to your ear.

"Hold on... you mean to tell me you worry about me with other guys when you're touring?"

There's a pause, a muffled noise like Van's clearing his throat before he speaks again. "It's just like you said to me, I trust you completely but I just hate us being apart. Makes me think all sorts of stupid shit on lonely nights like this when I'm stuck in random hotel rooms. I hate leaving you alone. I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean it to sound bad."

"No, no, it doesn't, it's okay... I just never thought..." you trail off, still slightly stunned that Van could ever feel insecure enough about the deep connection you two share to imagine you straying. "What are we like eh?"

"Yeah," he huffs softly, warmly. "We make a right pair don't we?"

"Maybe we need to worry less about the bad stuff and concentrate on the good stuff."

"Sounds good to me... same time tomorrow night then?" His voice is mischievous and you feel a flicker of excitement pass through you.

"It's a date!" You grin, your mind wandering, fragments of ideas forming as to how you can build on your newfound confidence to make your next transatlantic hook up even more exciting. Your thoughts go to the pretty pink lace lingerie set in your drawer that you'd picked up on a recent shopping trip. You were going to save it for Van's return but it seems foolish to wait now.

"And... ummm... maybe we can... ermmm... FaceTime tomorrow night after all. I might have a little surprise for you..."

You can clearly hear Van suck in a breath, his mind likely running wild with all sorts of salacious thoughts. "Oh yeah? I'm counting down the minutes already. God I love you so much Y/N."

"I love you too Van... so much."

Your smile stretches wide, every little doubt and insecurity melted away as you lay back down on the bed to say goodnight.

[hinagiiku]

when you go to a ocean with them 🐙☆

/w ✦ . * ･ ｡ﾟgojo , toji , sukuna

word count : 750+ words

warnings : / fluff, pet names (?) , mention of sex but doesn’t happen, fluff ᰔ gojo gets attacked

☆彡彡 g o j o s a t o r u ミミ☆

gojo would take a LOT of photos. “hey look this squid looks like megumi because he’s so gloomy! i’m gonna send it to him”. the squid would most DEFINITELY attack him as he’s taking the photo. you would laugh so hard he starts “crying” after he sends it, megumi would send him a audio recording of him laughing

he wouldn’t understand why megumi was laughing until he found out it was a live photo and it showed him getting attacked.

i feel like he would also point out if your hair got messy just to tease. “looks there’s sand in your hair!” he put it in there. "why is your hair so tangled?". he did it “honey is that gum in your hair.. 🥰” he DEFINITELY did it

overall he just wants you to chase him around asking him to fix it

gojo would bring food from ALL AROUND THE WORLD but he says it’s worth it for you ♡ all your favorites, and his. you brought him some kikifuku because he loveess it! and of course pictures, pictures, pictures .

when everyone left you and satoru had the beach to yourselfs. you watched the sunset together before realizing,

“wait, didn't we just miss the bus..?”

he got a uber dw! he held your hand the entire time and you fell asleep on his shoulder.

once you guys got home, he carried you to the house ☹️🩷🩷💔 (SOO SWEET)

cuteykisses. but after he had to wake you up to brush your teeth.

you could barely brush your teeth because satoru was putting toothpaste on you

“toru stop!”

“that’s bigge cheeses ghost! not me!!”

giggles the whole time

finally, you two go to bed

“nighty night toru!”

☆彡彡 t o j i f u s h i g u r oミミ☆

tojis the type of person to try and grab a dolphin.. he would act like he's just a loving boyfriend on a trip, but really, he’s planing to make his own aquatic animal selling business. he would drag one out but eventually gets caught. “toji! Your going to get us in trouble!” “but this will get me out the box!” “this will get rid of your damn cardboard box put it DOWN.”

you end up making him put back the dolphin

for lunch, you would have to bring the food. toji says it’s because “i have no time to pack food. i am a sorcerer hunter 😡. ” butttt

you really know it’s because he’s too broke to afford something that’s not under 5 dollars

you didn’t mind … ok maybe you did

but to make up for it, he brought you flowers that he found in a sorcerers garden. they were so pretty and smelt nice, you forgave him immediately.

all he wanted to do was fuck .. but you sweared to him it was a date.

kisses kisses kisses

he will kiss you a lot .

and he will try to impress you. he will swim as fast as he can and make the dolphins come to him.

you and toji will watch the sunset alll snuggled up, but after the sun sets, the worms get a little too comfy with you🔥🔥

so you two leave, but you have to drive because toji doesn’t have a drivers license. he held your hand the entire time 🤯🤯🤯🩷🩷🩷🩷

you convinced him to spend the night (YAYYY INSIDE)

you guys brush your teeth together, then go to bed.

love toj. 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷✅✅✅✅✅✅✅🩷🩷🩷💯💯

☆彡彡 s u k u n a ミミ☆

sukuna would go into the water and try to make the sea animals his peasants..

when he enters the water he starts bossing them around

“HEY BRING ME BACK TO THE SHORE.”

“TRY AND IMPRESS ME YOU EIGHT LEGGED CREATURE!”

“that’s a octopus babe…”

still, the octopus didn’t listen to him.

you would laugh so hard when his face gets red but it makes him glare at you. him staring at you angrily makes you laugh even more, to the point you slip on the sand of the ocean.

“karma is real.”

as the sun sets, he wouldn’t see the point of watching it. but for you he will sit and watch ✅✅

you would talk about your day and what you liked the most at the ocean

after cooling down, you wanted to go swim again before you leave.

you swam with the jellyfish, and you giggled a lot

sukuna’s face glowed more when you giggled

after your done, he carried you to the car and wiped the water off of you.

PRECESS TREATMENTTTT 🥰😍

on the drive home, you fell asleep

you wouldn’t even wake up because he would brush your teeth for you. but you owe him in the morning.

i feel like i barely wrote for him sorey guys.. ☹️💔

[kittyball23]

True Crime (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Bruce hears something unexpected on the True Crime podcast he listens to

__________________________________________

Beach days were always the best.

It gave his wife Brandy the ample time she needed for a little R n R. It gave their 13 kids the fun they craved, hitting the waves and splashing about in the warm Vacay Island waters. And it gave Bruce the opportunity to kick back, tan, and listen in on the next episode of his True Crime podcast.

His kids were well-behaved for the most part (save for Bruce Jr. and his biting problem, and perhaps Freddy with his desire to stuff his body into whatever little cramped spaces there were). But, with a quick reminder to mind their manners and beware of any rough waves, he knew that they were well off.

As he settled down on the towel, he could hear the faint sounds of his children laughing and splashing, their mother floating on a surfboard nearby and watching over them. Bruce then removed his vest, rubbed tanning oil on his body, donned sunglasses, popped on his earbuds and began to play the podcast. The narrator's mysterious voice began to speak, introducing the story.

“In tonight's episode of True Crime, discover a true story about betrayal, deception, and greed, and the defeat of two nefarious villains who were finally dethroned from their treacherously influential reign…”

Bruce was already intrigued. Ooo, this is gonna be a GOOD one. He could tell. He tucked his arms behind his head and got comfortable.

“When one is a troll, there is no better way to live your life to the fullest than with hugging, dancing, and of course, singing. But for one troll, these harmless activities become the paramount of his nightmare for the next two months.”

Bruce scrunched his nose, skeptical. Singing and dancing that led to, as the narrator described, a ‘nightmare’ situation? He had to hear the rest of this.

“You never expect this sort of thing to happen to you, you know?” a new voice said, which Bruce could presume was the victim of the unfortunate scenario. “I sure didn't. They seemed like a nice pair of siblings. I never suspected anything malicious. They saw my performance, enjoyed it, and asked for some tips to boost their own careers. We had some drinks and… and the next thing I remember is waking up in a diamond bottle.”

Yikes, Bruce thought, pitying the victim. He sounded like a nice guy, too, with the calm, serene tone his voice had. Trapped in such a cramped space for so long sounded awful.

“And you won't believe who those said siblings were,” the narrator continued. He was very right in that, too. Because as soon as the podcast began to play a sample of the hit single ‘Watch Me Work,’ Bruce’s jaw practically dropped on the floor.

No way…

“Yes way. You heard correctly. Criminals in this case are none other than superstar sensations Velvet and Veneer, from the bedazzling city of Mount Rageous. But following them now, is a not-so-bedazzling record. (And we don't mean the musical kind.)”

A new female voice began to list off charges. “Troll-napping, Troll torture, not to mention tax evasion. You won't believe how many yachts, bling, and exotic PETS they illegally bought!”

Even if Bruce could believe it, he was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the initial news. Velvet and Veneer? The well-known household names that his kids - and himself for that matter - were fans of? Well, not anymore! Hearing such things that they did made him sick. Man… it’s gonna be hard separating the art from the artist.

“And today, just two months after the duo was turned in by their assistant, Crimp, they find that their names live on forever not in fame, but in INfamy,” the narrator said.

“Oh, I feel awful,” the distinct voice of Veneer said next. “I wanted nothing more than to be famous, and… Vel made me believe that it didn’t matter HOW we did it, as long as we DID it. Even… even if it meant KILLING a troll. It was real rough - I mean, sucking up his talent was easy enough, but we were literally sucking the LIFE out of him. His skin was turning pale - and, like, not in a stunning Victorian way, either - and that magenta hair of his was turning whiter and whiter by the minute…”

Magenta? Bruce wondered. He’d known a troll once with magenta hair. His own younger brother. Could it be…? No, it couldn’t… I mean, there’s PLENTY of Trolls that have magenta hair, don’t they?

“I didn’t say anything to Velvet though because, truly, I was too afraid to stand up to her. She’s my sister! My biggest inspiration… I didn’t wanna discourage her. But now, I see that what we did was wrong. Very, VERY wrong.”

Good, Bruce thought.

“But despite the change of heart, this Mount Rageon still has to serve at least another six months in juvenile imprisonment, alongside his sister,” the narrator said. “It comes as much relief to the now-free victim.”

“Jail can’t be fun,” the same serene voice from before admitted, “but I’m glad they’re serving their time. Everyone makes mistakes, and just like it’s important to learn from them, it’s also important to pay the repercussions for your actions.”

Well said, Bruce had to admit. He also had to admit something else.

That sounds a LOT like something Floyd would say…

And if his suspicions were not enough…

“While recovery has been successful for the troll and he has plans to return to singing, he still feels as though something is missing from his life…” the narrator continued.

“I was solo-ing around for quite a bit of time before I ran into Velvet and Veneer,” the Troll said. “But, really… I would LOVE if I could perform in the band I was in years ago… but, we kind of had a fight, and ever since that fight, we haven’t seen each other. If we could reunite - oh - that’d be a dream come true. It’s been too long.”

Bruce swallowed. Twenty years is a long time…

The next part was the real kicker, though.

“Until that day, 36-year-old Floyd still holds onto the hope that he will see his bandmembers - also known as the brothers who made up the band BroZone - someday,” the narrator said.

“John Dory, Clay, Branch, Spruce… if ANY of you are listening, I want you to know that I miss you. And I want us to be a family again…” the Troll - FLOYD - said.

Bruce’s thumb went to hit the pause button. He had to stop. This was a lot to process, all at once. He was flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Shocked. He broke down everything he had heard piece by piece, trying to make sense of it.

Velvet and Veneer were baddies.

They had taken Floyd.

His brother Floyd.

They’d used his talent.

They’d almost killed him.

He would’ve never had the option of seeing his brother again.

But now, he did.

“Daddy! Daddy!” one of his kids - Windy - was suddenly calling to him. “Bruce Jr. threw sand in my eye!”

“I said I was sorry!” Bruce Jr. protested.

“Only after Mom told you to!” LaBreezy pointed out.

“Did not!” Bruce Jr. countered.

“Did too!” Cove jumped into his sister’s defense.

“Well, Daddy, aren’t you gonna punish him??” Windy demanded to know. The way he saw it, it wouldn’t be fair to let him slide!

But the way Bruce saw it… well, he wasn’t seeing anything. His brain was still overloaded with what he’d learned.

Brandy had followed the kids, curiously noting her husband’s surprised expression. “Honey?” she questioned. “Are you all right?”

Bruce looked at her resolutely.

“I… I have to find my brother…”

[coeurdalene]

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 

And the clock continues to tick. 

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark. 

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.