#you get to stick with me!!! for as long as i front!

[ink-stainedkiss]

Boxer Katsuki Bakugo Headcannons ✧˖°

Boxer!Katsuki who finds it endearing that you research his opponents before his matches. While he doesn’t expect you, nor need you to, it shows how much you care about and support his career. In the car, if you five him a fact about the person he’s fighting, he’ll nod and accept the information. And sure, his manager and coach have already told him everything he needs to know, but he would never tell you that.

Boxer!Katsuki who always gets you into his games for free. No discussion. You walk in with the undefeated Dynamight, nobody is questioning you. The staff practically acts like you’re on the same level as Katsuki, but that’s because they know if they were to treat you rudely, Katsuki wouldn’t be too happy.

Boxer!Katsuki who lets you relax in his locker room. He loves practicing his moves while you watch, because you aren’t very subtle when you stare at his chest. Katsuki doesn’t complain though and he prides himself on how much you love his figure. He’ll add cocky comments now and then, telling you to quit gawking, but the threats are never truthful.

You sat on a foldable chair next to the wall of lockers as your body friend struck a large punching bag over and over. Sweat beaded down his forehead, making his blonde hair stick to the skin. Grunts and pants pushed their way out of his mouth and occasionally he would let out short growls. Even if you were ‘mindlessly scrolling on your phone’ you knew that Katsuki was sexy as hell. A smirk appeared on your face at the thought. Unknowingly, your boyfriend had caught you looking like a pervert at him and he slowed the swinging bag, raising a brow at your lost-in-thought face.

“Like what you see?” He teased from afar, noticing how you were torn from your thoughts and a small blush appeared on your face. You scoffed, going back to your phone that had turned off from lack of use,”I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He chuckled, obviously not believing you for a second,”You sure? ‘Cause it looks like you’re drooling over me.”

You looked up, glaring at the man, which he only found cute,”You’re clearly seeing things, maybe you want me to look at you.” Katsuki realized you wouldn’t accept your defeat and moved off of the platform, smirking as you didn’t look up from your screen. He removed one of his gloves and lifted your chin,”I’m just messing with you.” Before you could comment and deny, he locked his lips with yours, smiling just a bit as you melted against his mouth.

Boxer!Katsuki who doesn’t care if someone walks in during your guy’s make out sesh. You’ll stand next to him, blushing like crazy, and Katsuki won’t even bat an eye. He has his hand resting on your waist, listening to whatever the person had to say. He really doesn’t care about Pda and if he wants a kiss, he’s gonna get a kiss. In the beginning of your relationship, you often worried how the media would react to it, but after a certain game, Katsuki kissed you right in front of the cameras. He made it clear he didn’t give a shit what people thought about the two of you.

Boxer!Katsuki who finds it cute that you worry so much about him. He’s been boxing for years now and no one frets over his being as much as you do. When his manager tells him he has five minutes before entering the ring, he gives you a long kiss, then always expects you to tell him to be safe. If his opponent is known for being rough in the ring, then you are extra stressed out. You understand that there are paramedics for a reason and injuries are bound to happen, but you can’t stand to see Katsuki in pain.

Boxer!Katsuki who almost winds up late to the match because he forgets the time and can’t seem to leave without one more kiss. Though his manager gets annoyed, he could never ask you to leave, because if Katsuki heard of this, he would immediately drop him and find someone new to be his manager. Which wouldn’t be hard since people are already obsessed over his records and fame.

Boxer!Katsuki who searches for you in the crowd as he’s being introduced. Without failing, he’ll scan past the screaming and crazed fans and see you in the reserved area. Sometimes, you love having a little surprise for him as he walks out. Since he’s portrayed as a big bad boxer, you like making him chuckle by making large cardboard cutouts of his face and waving them around proudly.

Boxer!Katsuki who fights like an underdog coming to their senses and finally realizing their strength. And it’s all for you. He hits hard and fast, making sure when the ref breaks them up, he sneaks a glance at you and your astonished face.

Boxer!Katsuki who if he does end up with a small injury after the fight, like a nose bleed or his face burning up, never goes to the provided nurses, instead he lets you take care of him. Before you met Katsuki you had taken some medical classes for small things and injuries, so he sees you as a perfect nurse for him.

You had been sitting in the locker room for a while now, resting in the nicer area with a small tv and a large couch. When the door opened, you quickly looked over, gasping softly as you took notice of your boyfriend. He was wearing a bedazzled robe with his title on the back and still in his gloves but you were only focusing on the scarlet liquid dripping from his nose. Instantly you rise from the couch, grabbing his hand and yanking him to the wash room,”I didn’t see your nose start bleeding out there.”

He had a lazy smile as you walked around the bathroom, taking immediate action for something so small,”It started in the hallway and I knew you would help me.” You huffed, knowing he could easily clean it himself, but he needed you to do it. Although, you would be lying if you said you didn’t love seeing him watch you with such adoring eyes.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed and you retried a small cotton pad and alcohol. You got to work, using the dry gauze to soak up any of the fresh blood,”You did good out there.” The boxer chuckled under his breath, wrapping an arm around your waist to drag you closer,”Just good?” You tossed the cotton into a small bin beside the two of you, smirking at his words,”Well, I can’t boost your ego that much.”

The blonde’s grin grew and leaned in for a kiss, but you put a finger up, pushing him away,”You still have blood all over you.” He frowned, suddenly not liking his bloodied nose. Fortunately for Katsuki, it didn’t take long for you to wipe away the dried substance that had gotten as far as his collarbone.

Once you were done, you put away the supplies and finally you cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a slow kiss. Alas, it didn’t last long as you felt his face was hot to the touch.

Boxer!Katsuki who rested his head in your lap, a cold rag across his forehead, and talked on about the fight from his perspective. You watched him dreamily, humming in response to his words, and you played with his messy golden locks. All you could really think about was how the media would react if they found out their scary champion, who had just K.O’d his opponent an hour earlier, enjoyed being pampered by his loving girlfriend.

[themuseofaphrodite]

know that you and i shouldn’t feel like a crime ✧ OP81

summary: after viewing a series of viral tiktoks, you decide to partake in the “hear me out” cake trend with your very wary boyfriend.

trigger warnings: suggestive & mature content, swearing

word count: 1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One of your most surprising qualities was that you were a TikTok fiend, especially since you were usually down to earth and didn’t use your phone much in public — but for good reason. Your “For You” page was filled with some of the weirdest, wackiest things: dangerous extreme sport challenges, odd filters used on pets for a quick laugh… the list could go on. Each video was a perfect way to destroy your reputation as the effortlessly suave McLaren princess.

You slouched on the creaky recliner next to Oscar Piastri, your boyfriend of almost three years, and sighed loudly, garnering his attention immediately. He was perfectly attuned to your every movement and breath, which was why you liked him so much. Nothing was worse than a nonchalant man, and Oscar was anything but that.

“Hm, darling? Everything OK?” Oscar looked up at you from where he was sitting, pausing the television with a careless flick of his hand. “It’s getting late, maybe you’re tired? You did have a long day.”

You shrugged one shoulder, feigning coolness. “No, I’m fine, I’m not tired. I just have an idea.”

Oscar raised one eyebrow, already on alert. That last sentence always warned him that something was afoot, and nine times out of ten, it was never anything good. “Oh, no. What now?”

“There’s a trend going around” — this made Oscar visibly tense, a vein in his neck going taut as he waited for you to continue. He disliked the viral pranks and never laughed at any of them, to your dismay — “and I was hoping you’d be willing to participate in one of them with me?” You batted your eyelashes, giving him puppy dog eyes, a trick you knew he couldn’t resist.

“If my mates find out about this,” he warned you, waving a finger menacingly at you like a stereotypical villain. “No posting this like you did last time.” You stifled a laugh at the thought of the last prank you engaged in, and the way it had broken the Internet when you posted it on social media. Oscar had not forgiven you, and it had been almost a year.

You shook your head solemnly, extending your pinky finger out to him so he would interlock his own in an unspoken vow. “I promise you I won’t post it.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips, obviously remembering the media disaster that had unfolded last time. McLaren had not been happy with him in the slightest, to say the least. He was still making it up to them even now. “What’s the trend?”

You edged yourself closer to him, tilting your chin conspiratorially and speaking in a low whisper. “Hear me out.”

Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed, clueless. He scrolled through TikTok very rarely, mainly preferring to stick to television, and sometimes Instagram reels, so he had no idea what you were talking about. “Pardon?”

“So, basically,” you explained, your voice bright with mischief, “you have to think of a few characters, or people, that you think are attractive, although others might disagree with you. For example, hear me out,” you started, a moment’s pause between your response. “Bumblebee from Transformers.”

Oscar’s jaw dropped as the name clicked. “The robot? You want to tell me that you find a machine attractive?”

“He’s protective and sweet, and has really good music taste,” you defended, pouting.

“Goddamn, Y/N, starting off strong.” Oscar hummed under his breath, thinking. “Hear me out, Megan Fox but in Jennifer’s Body.”

You groaned loudly, annoyed. “That’s not a ‘hear me out’. Everyone agrees that Megan Fox in that film was beautiful. It has to be something unhinged, like, hear me out” — you clucked your tongue, pondering over the various choices floating around in your mind — “the Goldfish cracker on the front of the bag.”

Oscar made a distinct choking noise, his face flushing red. “An animal? God, Y/N. I should report you to the police so they can put you behind bars.”

You swatted him on the shoulder, barely missing him since his reflexes were superhuman. “Try again, Osc. Really shock me with this next one, please.”

“Hear me out…Belle from Beauty and the Beast.” Oscar waited for your approval, and you sighed, throwing your hands up in the air in surrender. “What? How was that not good? She’s a cartoon!”

“Everyone loves Belle! She’s fierce, intelligent, and stunning. All qualities that are conventionally attractive!” You shook your head. “Come on. Hear me out, a string bass.”

Oscar’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What the — Please tell me you’re joking, love. There’s no way you could find an instrument attractive.”

“A bass is tall, deep-pitched, and mysterious. Just what I like in a man.” You beamed up at him. “OK, Oscar. Don’t disappoint me.”

He side-eyed you, tapping his fingers on his lap as he thought. “I have one.” You watched him with bated breath, hoping that he would finally catch on. “Hear me out, Sydney Sweeney, in general.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I give up, Oscar. I should’ve known that this wouldn’t have worked. Lando would be so much better to do this with… Let me ask him if he’s free.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, pulling you onto his lap before you could escape, and giving you a quick peck to your lips. “Sorry, darling. Better luck next time?”

You huffed. “Whatever, Oscar. I forgot you were an inadequate, basic white boy.”

Oscar nudged his nose against your jaw, whispering in a husky, deep voice. “Hear me out, my girlfriend, Y/N L/N. She might be batshit crazy sometimes, but she’s absolutely breathtaking. When she’s underneath me, begging for my cock like a good girl? It’s a fucking work of art.”

You suppressed a shiver, looping your arm and burying yourself against him, arousal dancing under your skin. “Fuck, OK. You win.”

He kissed you again, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh, I know. I always do. Future world champion, remember?”

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered, but your curses were swallowed up by a new wave of kisses Oscar pressed against your lips.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[deanwinchestersbabygirll]

The Christmas Cabin

warnings// SMUT, SMUT and oh how could I forget SMUT!!! Angst with a happy ending

Lil Summary// Dean, Sam, Y/N, Jody, Donna, Bobby, Charlie, Claire, Alex and Garth all go to a cabin for Christmas after Charlie begging for weeks, Y/N are dating but r in the middle of a fight because of a hunt done wrong they left Y/N with a broken leg, wanting them to get over it Charlie works to get the couple to work things out.

dean x reader

word count// 3515

(GIF from Pinterest)

You couldn't even cut the tension in the impala with ruby's knife, there was no space to move as you had your cast clad leg propped up on Charlie's lap, Sam tried to make you get in the front so you'd have more room but with Dean giving you the cold shoulder that wasn't gonna happen. You save his life from a damn vampire but somehow you're in the wrong. Damn Winchester stubbornness!

 "How far away is this place Charlie?" Dean asked  his eyes focusing on the snowy road ahead "it's like a half hour away... I think- I haven't been here since me and my ex girlfriend rented the place for a weekend. But it's definitely not far I know that!" Charlie rambled out making your heart sink

It had been a long, LONG six hour drive, your leg was killing you being stuck in that position for so long. You closed you screwed your eyes shut trying not to focus on the pain, "you doing okay Y/N?" Sam questioned turning to look at you noticing the uncomfortable look on your face "yeah I'm okay, just ready to get out and move around a bit" you told him trying to play down the actual pain your in to not draw any more attention from a certain person. Sam nodded his head "yeah I get it, broken legs suck, at least it's only a little while longer" Sam assured you

Dean scoffed making everyone turn to look at him, you face turning red as anger ran through your veins "what are you all pishy about?" Charlie questioned "nothing. Nothing at all" Dean gruffed out his hands tightening around the steering wheel so hard they were turning white "well, you know I broke my leg on the vamp hunt down in Denver? Well it happened because dumbass here was basically serving himself in a damn silver platter and so-"

"And so Y/N STUPIDLY decided to push me out of the way when one of the bastards ran up and almost put her ass trough a brick wall from the top of the stairs- she's lucky all that happened was a broken leg and not a broken neck!" Dean interrupted his voice full of anger "Dean!" Sam scolded his brother, Dean rolled his eyes and put his foot down on the pedal "whatever" he mumbled. It's not like Dean didn't have a point, you did almost get yourself killed- not like he wouldn't have done the same thing for you. Did he really expect you to just stand there and watch him die in front of you and you do nothing? Not a damn chance I’m hell!

———————

Finally after what felt like an eternity Dean was pulling outside a cozy looking cabin “it’s just as beautiful as I remember!” Charlie squealed out in excitement “yeah it looks amazing Charlie, good picking” Sam said getting out of the impala, you held your leg up slightly so Charlie could get out of the car, allowing you to have more room to get your self out “here let me help” Sam told you giving you out his hand as he rolled his eyes at his big headed brother who pulled the bags from the trunk with a sour look on his face “thanks Sammy” you told him quietly trying not to wince when the blood ran down your leg, Charlie handed you your crutches when you finally got your footing 

“You sure you’re okay?” She asked softly rubbing her hand up your arm “yeah just still getting used to these things” you loosed your head to the metal sticks under your arms “wouldn’t have to em used to em if you didn’t try and act the big bad hunter” Dena grumbled roughly as he stormed passed you carrying your bags, you swallowed the thick lump in your throat trying to calm down- this was gonna be along weekend. 

“Ignore him he’s just being an ass” Charlie said glaring at the older Winchester as he walked through the door “how many rooms are in there again?” Charlie thought for a second before answering, “five rooms, Bobbys with Garth, Jody with Donna, Claire with Alex, I was gonna do Sam and cas but since cas doesn’t sleep I’m with Sam and your with…. Oh- oh okay so we can fix this if you guys aren’t speaking Sam and Dean can room and me and you can room? That sound okay?” Charlie asked quickly problem solving 

“Sounds perfect to me” you smiled at her “are you too coming? You gotta see this place Y/N it’s incredible!” Sam called out the door , you and Charlie giggled at his excitement before making your own way into the cabin. You looked around and you were amazed, a a big brown couch that could fit at least 15 people on it at one pointed at a bricked fireplace with a tv in the corner “wow, Charlie this place is beautiful” you said in awe 

“I told you guys you would love it” she exclaimed clapping her hands “yeah, real freaking nice” Dean grumbled out in an annoyed tone, Charlie’s smile faltered making you clench your teeth, Sicily hobbling your way into the kitchen where Dean stood with a beer, stopping in front of his hard stare you pointed your finger at his chest “alright Winchester, just cause your pissed at me doesn’t mean you get to take it out on everyone around you! You have a problem with me, then fine! Whatever! But you’re not going to spend this whole freaking weekend being an ass to every one else!” You scolded him, leaving him stunned in the kitchen 

Once Dean regained his composure he moved to follow you to continue the argument, Sam’s hand on his shoulder stopping  him “don’t make it any worse Dean”  Dean shrugged his hand off his shoulder and stormed into the bedroom you two were supposed to share slamming the door in his wake “we gotta fix this” Charlie said quietly to Sam who nodded “definitely. Any ideas?” Charlie just smirked up at the older Winchester “right, dumb question, tell me what you need me to do” 

———————————————————

You winched when you heard the door slam, you wanted to run in there and make up with him- I mean it’s Christmas you didn’t want to fight with your boyfriend during the holidays, but it would be a cold day in hell before you apologised first, Dean was just gonna have to see he was in the wrong and being a dick!

Charlie and Sam started to set some mistletoe under places they knew you to would definitely be in, one under the room you were to share, one in the kitchen, particularly above the cooker considering you two were the cooks for this weekend, planned to give Jody a break, and one in the hall just incase and this was just phase one of their plan 

Sam had just placed the last on e in the hall when the front door opened revealing Bobby, Jody, Claire and Alex “merry Christmas!” Jody said sitting her bags down on the ground, you winched getting up to greet them “merry Christmas guys” “yeah merry Christmas guys” Sam came inn pulling Bobby into a hug “merry Christmas ya idjit, where’s Dean?” Sam scratched behind his neck awkwardly “well deans too busy being a a stubborn ass so he’s on his room sulking” you answered for him, Bobby sighed before pulling you into a careful hug “he’s the biggest idjit going, he’ll come around you know Dean” you nodded “I hope so, it’s been three days since he really spoke to me that wasn’t sarcasm or a snide comment,  it’s killing me Bobby” you confessed to the older hunter “I’ll have a word with him, make him pull his head out his damn ass”, “Thanks Bobby” you smiled up at him, the patted your shoulder lovingly before moving to take his bags upstairs 

“How’s it going with you girls” you diverted the conversation to the two teenage girls “well the six hour drive sucked with Bobby and Jody’s crappy flirting but at least it’s over for a few days now, I there any room in the impala for two more people, please say yes” Claire begged not wanting to sit in a car with Bobby and Jody that long ever again, “sorry girls but with my dumb leg taking up so much room Charlie barley even has room” you told them motioning to your broken leg 

“Yeah Jody told blue you got hurt on a hunt, she didn’t give any details though, what happened?” Alex questioned “vampire, threw me down the stairs  trying to put me through the damn wall” you said with a laugh at the end “Jesus-” “hey!” “Sorry Jody” Claire said quickly “that’s insane how the hell did you only break your leg” Claire exclaimed shocked “i honestly have no idea but Dean’s pretty pissed, the bastard was gonna kill him so I had to intervene, can either of you look me in the eye and tell me he wouldn’t have done the same” both girls shook their heads “definitely not” 

“ exactly, if i could get that through his thick skull then he’d have to stop being such a jerk this weekend” you mumbled the last part trying to hid the hurt.

Everyone started to settle in, Dean was still in his room so you all decided on a pizza for dinner, Sam and Bobby driving in for it. You, Charlie, Jody and the girls decided to watch home alone on the tv, you could hardly focus on true movie playing, you didn’t like Dean being locked in there so long himself “I’ll be back” you said getting up slowly hopping to the wooden door, you sucked in a deep breath before knocking “I’m not hungry Sam” Dean called out “it’s not Sam” the silence behind the door made you rethink your decision, turning to go back to the living room while you still had your dignity, the sound of the door opening caught your attention “what do you want Y/N?” 

It’s not often Dean called you by your name and it set shivers down your spine when he did “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come watch a movie with us, I know your still pissed at me I just don’t want you sitting in here alone” you told him sheepishly, neither of you heard the small footsteps of a certain red head who was already putting her plan into action “hey love birds, look up” both you and Dean’s eyes shot up to the ceiling, quickly spotting the mistletoe above the door. “Charlie I-” you tried to say but your voice hitched in your throat at the sound of the door closing, did he seriously just reject you, his girlfriend, like some stranger “oh I- I didn’t mean- I don’t think he would- I thought it would you guys make up I’m so sorry” Charlie rambled out, guilt coursed through her bones- did she seriously just make things worse? 

Your eyebrows creased in anger before banging your hand against his door “open the damn door you son of a bitch!” You demanded, Charlie already scurried off back to the living room not wanting to witness what was about to happen “what!” Dean yelled almost swinging the door off its hinges “are you freaking kidding me? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? My boyfriend literally rejected kissing me under stupid mistletoe in front of my best friend?” You whisper yelled at him, Dean rolled his eyes crossing his arms over his broad chest “I didn’t reject you-” 

“Oh really? Then what was that? The new way to kiss your girlfriend under mistletoe? Shutting the damn door in my face? You wouldn’t have done that if-” you were cut off by deans hands on either side of your face, his lips mold against your own, you wrap your arms around his neck, the sound of your crutches falling to the ground falling on deaf ears as the kiss started to get more heated

Dean ran has hands down your back to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze causing a moan to fall from your lips. Dean hoisted you up around his waist, you wrapped your legs around his hips putting your injured one over your other so not to hurt it. 

Running your hands through deans short strands you feel him groan against you, taking advantage of his open mouth you slide your tongue inside his mouth, Dean quickly dominated the kiss leaving you a moaning mess “so are you gonna fuck me or you gonna shut the door in my face again?” You sassed taking deep breathes while Dean trailed his kisses down your neck “oh don’t worry sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck your so hard you won’t be able to leave the bed all damn weekend” Dean said harshly sucking a mark under your jaw

You threw your head, your breath caught in your throat and eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. “Brace yourself beautiful” Dean wanted before throwing you down in the middle of the bed carefully, you giggled when bounced on the mattress “you know I hate that your hurt but god do I love that you have to wear skirts with it, you have no idea what you do to me in skirts” Dean confessed rubbing his rough hands up your thighs, edging their way towards your pink lace panties, his fingers hooking around them, slowly pulling them down “well you could have been having your fun with it if you didn’t go all asshole on me” you told him as you lifted your ass off the bed allowing him to pull them down your legs freeing your soaking pussy to the cold air in the room, you suck in a small breath in anticipation 

“You forgot something De” you motioned to your skirt, Dean shook his head right away “nope, skirt stays on sweetheart, now how about you be a good girl and spread em ” Dean said licking his lips 

You did as you were told , spreading your legs wide, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry eyes “your so fucking we’re” dean groaned “only for you” you whined arching your back off the mattress begging for him to touch you

Dean smirked, kneeling down to the floor, hands on your hips pulling you to the end of the bed leaving him facing your sweet pussy. He wasted no time in placing a small  kiss on your clit to soft feel of his lips on your most sensitive part enough to send you into a whining mess “please Dean, I need you so fucking bad” you cried out

Dean chuckled darkly “oh don’t worry sweetheart, you want more, I’m gonna give you more” Dean leaned forward licking a stripe up your pussy stopping to suck your clit into his mouth “oh god, Yes Dean!” You moaned his name loudly, reaching your hand down to hold his head tightly to your soaking pussy. Dean groaned against me your sensitive nub, sending vibrations through your body “more! please baby” you begged your stomach convulsing feeling so close yet not close enough to cum 

“You got it baby” Dean mumbled against you his mouth continuing to work you closer as he sucked your clit harshly making you let out a small squeal of his name, Dean chuckled as he inserted two fingers inside your dripping hole making you clench around him tightly as he pumped them hard against your G spot “I can already feel how damn tight you are sweetheart, can’t wait to pound this sweet pussy myself” Dean told you making your heart pound against your chest, no matter how many times you and Dean had sex he always managed to make your heart flutter at the thought of him fucking you 

“Then do it big boy, I want to cum all over your big, thick cock” you flirted pulling your shirt over your shaking body to reveal your breasts. “Oh you asking for it now hot stuff” Dean smirked pulling his fingers out, pulling away from your pussy making you whine at the loss of contact “don’t cry sweetheart, I’ll be right with you” Dean joked as he started to undress himself

Once he was naked, revealing his hard member your mouth watered at the sight “well get up here hot stuff” you said motioning for him to come to you, Dean chuckled climbing on top of you, careful not to hit your leg. Dean pulled your lips into a wet teeth clashing kiss, his hands instantly grabbing your perky breast into his calloused hands making your back arch off the mattress “fuck me De, please” 

Dean nodded his head instantly, he nudged his leaking cock to your entrance, inserting himself inside you inch, by inch “oh god! You feel so good, filling me up so good baby” you moaned dragging your nails down his back, Dean chuckled darkly “I’m just getting started” he told you, spreading your legs further pushing your knees up to your chest before he starts thrusting inside of you at fast pace making your eyes roll to the back of your head “harder baby please!” You screamed as his cock pounded your G spot repeatedly, Dean laughed loudly but did as you asked and sped up his thrusts milking the moans deep from your chest 

Dean groaned as your pussy clasped around his cock like a vice, your nails leaving deep red lines down his back as you moaned his name like a chorus “I’m gonna come sweetheart!” Dean said through his own groans “me too baby” you cried pulling his back into a  kiss, this one full more of love than lust as you poured al your feelings into it as he made love to you.

You screamed his name as you came on his cock triggering his own release as he spurted cum over your walls, Dean thrusted inside you a few more times before pulling out making you whine “shh it’s okay sweetheart” Dean comforted rolling to his side pulling you into his embrace, you laid your head against his warm chest listening to his heart beat, you closed your eyes at the warm feeling of his lips on the top of your head “sweetheart… I’m sorry about our dumb fight, I was just so worried when I saw you get hurt… I don’t know what I’d do without you baby… I- I love you sweetheart, more than anything” Dean confessed 

your eyes watered at his words, lifting your head so you could see his eyes “I love you too Dean” you said pulling him into a warm kiss “I’m sorry too- not because I saved you, I’ll never apologise for saving any of my loved ones ever, I am however sorry for worrying you” Dean let out a small laugh kissing your forehead once more 

You lay there a few more minutes just basking in the after glow of make up sex “were gonna have to go back out there, they’re probably waiting for us, plus Donna and Garth should be here soon” you smiled up at him “yeah… besides we’ve got all weekend to make up for lost time” 

“Three days?” You questioned 

“Three days is a lot sweetheart” 

You rolled your eyes laughing “alright ya horn dog get dressed and we can watch some movies with everyone, Dean chuckled getting out of bed to get ready handing you your own clothes 

———————-

Finally once you guys were more presentable Dean picked you up bridal style carrying you towards the living room to the  girls, Sam and Bobby now watching the grinch eating pizza “ I see you too made up” Jody smiled “yeah, I can’t stay mad at this face” you teased your hand squishing his cheeks together to make a funny face, “yeah, yeah. Guess it’s nothing to do with what I did to you in be-” “ah! Kids in the room” you said covering his mouth with your hand quickly 

Dena rolled his eyes playfully licking your hand making you squeal. Dean laughed sitting on the couch keeping you tightly to his lap, “well I last heard Garth and Donna were an hour away so they should be getting here now soon-” Bobby was cut off by the door opening “goodness gracious that was a long drive” Donna said coming inside, Garth coming in right behind her “hey everyone! How’s it going” every one rushed to say their hellos, you and Dean calling from the couch but staying unmoved 

As everyone was chatting amongst themselves you and Dean stayed cuddled up watching the rest of the grinch “hey sweetheart?” You turned to look at him raising your brows “yeah?” Dean gave you a peck on the lips “merry Christmas baby” you smiled pulling him into a deeper kiss “merry Christmas my very handsome boyfriend” 

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

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

I'm gonna post a Sam one tomorrow!

ALL MY OWN WORK I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT TO COPY OR PUBLISH ON OTHER SITES, I.E, WATTPAD, ETC, WITHOUT MESSAGING TO ASK FIRST FIRST. REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING.

[revletos]

As someone who was in scouts and went camping in -40 degree weather in gonna add a personal note:

Sticking your hands into your armpits or similar areas: Doing this risks moving heat from your core to your hands. You want as much heat in your core, all your important organs are there. This should mostly be done if you either a) have gotten your body back into a space where you have access to heat at least to the point of not fighting against freezing or b) your hands are so cold that it is dangerous in which case only for a little to prevent emergencies

Aside from that one, all of OPs advice is really good, I’ve done most of those strategies myself in survival situations

Instant heat packs: this guys are LIFESAVERS. Stick them in your mittens and in your boots. Replace as needed. If you’re struggling for an indefinite amount of time this could help instead of the above you can get like bulk packs on Amazon or any survival type store. Some are reusable, but I’ve never used those ones so I can’t comment on it

If you have extra clothes, put them in your sleeping bag or wherever you sleep. If you need to change, your body heat will have kept them warm for you. That way you don’t risk losing too much body heat if you need to change

Several layers of socks. And as op said make sure they are dry and the base layer changed often

Winter hiking gear is your best bet. You probably (hopefully) won’t need the waterproof shell but as a sport designed with spending long time outside in mind, they know what they’re talking about.

If you have access to electricity, a space heater is a lifesaver. I lost power a few times over the past few years mid Canadian winter and huddling on a pillow in front of a space heater helped me a lot

This is also off the top of my head so I might’ve missed a bit but

question i suspect you may know the answer to. I'm in Quebec right now, it's well below freezing and I'm having to stay in an uninsulated attic without a sleeping bag or warm enough blankets. I can't sleep because of the cold. Any tips on not freezing to death? I can't feel my face anymore.

-sleep on top of something. Cardboard, Styrofoam, balled-up paper, a mattress, a blanket, dry towels, whatever. If you're stuck with just the floor or ground then it will suck the heat out of you.

-keep the top of your head covered. You lose an insane amount of hear through your head.

-Wrar all of the clothes that you have. All of them. Only remove layers if you start sweating.

-drink warm or lukewarm water.

-mittens are warmer than gloves. If you have neither, put socks on your hands.

-change your socks before going to bed. Do NOT wear socks you've worn all day, even if they still feel dry.

-Cover yourself in blankets, clothes, towels, WHATEVER, but DO NOT COVER YOUR MOUTH AND NOSE. Condensation will get stuck under there with you and make you damp and cold.

-Stick your hands under your armpits or between your legs near your groin. These are the warmest parts of your body.

-if you wake up freezing, pace in circles to warm up. Don't exercise to the point of sweating, just to warm up a bit.

-air is the best insulator. The more air something has in it, the better it is at trapping your body heat. I was serious about crumpling up newspaper

-Stay as far from the windows as you can, and as close to the centre of the house as possible. Ideally away from any stone fixtures.

-If there is a fireplace, light it ONLY IF YOU ARE CERTAIN THE CHIMNEY IS CLEAR. Carbon dioxide poisoning is a risk. If it is clear, use paper and small slivers of wood to get it started, then larger burnables. Fire needs to grow before it can eat bigger foods. If you have no matches, but the electricity is on try a stove burner, or a hot light bulb.

-If you break a light bulb and turn the lamp on, you will get a flame for a few seconds, but only if you have no other options because this is dangerous.

-if you are with people or a pet, this is a great opportunity to cuddle.

-STAY DRY.

-EAT. Making and msintaining body heat burns energy.

-If you suddenly feel like you're boiling, KEEP YOUR CLOTHES ON. Paradoxical undressing is a symptom of hypothermia. You ARE NOT HOT, your body is lying

-Suddenly not shivering when you've done nothing differently is an early hypothermia warning sign. CALL SOMEONE.

Leaving this open cause this is all I have off the top of my head. Good luck out there

[oceantornadoo]

merry xmas! some platonic family fluff with johnny for y’all

ch3 the wrong john | masterlist | next

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

—

When you wake, John is gone.

Predictable, really. Isn’t that what you wanted? A simple fuck, something to hold you over before sticking around this unknown city for however long Johnny tolerated you. John’s dirty talk and possessive demeanor had woken something inside you and now it was gone, lost to hotel sheets and your alcohol-drenched brain. For some odd, unimportant reason, you felt a sense of disappointment that he didn’t stay. You scanned your bedtable for a note or something and came up empty. A feeling of abandonment sank low in your stomach and you tried to tune it out by focusing on the fun you’d had with John. One of your hands slithered down your naked stomach, eyes closing as you tried to recreate a scene from a few hours ago when John woke you up with his tongue. “Open those legs f’ me, that’s a good girl.” You squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to imagine John’s deep baritone. “C’mon, one more. Jus’ f’ me, yeah?” You found yourself nodding along to that phantom voice, fingers circling your sore clit harder and harder, orgasm starting to crest and-

Ding!

Your phone, abandoned in your bag somewhere, was hit with a barrage of texts. You checked the clock and shit, it was already 9:30am. So much for primping before visiting Johnny. With legs like jelly, you slowly walked over and dug through your purse to find your half-dead phone.

Idiot half: We still on for 1000?

Idiot half: Was going to suggest breakfast but training is going over time, fucking rookies. Think the team’s free for lunch if you want.

Idiot half: Let me know when you’re on the way.

Your heart ached with the sincerity Johnny showed over text. He was all jokes in public, but when it was just you two, you could feel your twin’s want for your affection. You two were more similar than you gave credit to. Plugging in your phone, you texted him back a “might be a little late!”, then jumped into the shower and started your day.

45 minutes later, your cab pulled up in front of a stoic-looking military base. “‘Fraid I can’t get ya any closer, miss. This one’s real locked down.” You thanked the driver anyways, paying him then stepping out. Before you could even wonder how to actually get in (should you just walk to the drive up? That seemed undignified), there was a figure with a ridiculous mohawk striding past the front guards, dressed in fully fatigues. 

“M'eudail!” The stupid urge to run towards Johnny bubbled up inside you, a remnant of your shared childhood. Instead, you quickened your walking pace until you met him at a guarded entrance, blinking twice at how it looked more like a prison than a place of work. Johnny disregarded the guards and attacked you with a hug, his familiar scent of pine and musk invading your senses. Tears were forming in your eyes for some unknown reason, surely not connected to a reunion with your twin.

“Missed ye, hen.” You nodded against him where your cheek was tucked into the curve of his neck. He’d certainly gotten beefier since the last time you saw him, his shoulder muscles digging into your arms around his upper half. “Missed you too, Johnny.” You pulled back a little and Johnny noticed the tears before you could wipe them away. His thumbs were callused but gentle, swiping at your skin until it was dry. “Knew I was y’r favorite.” You scoffed, not meeting his eyes. “Shut up, Johnny. It’s allergies.” He tugged you back into his arms, his stupid twin telepathy reading you too well. “Aye, I ken. Y’know I love you too.” Johnny held you until your tears dried, being a complete gentleman and not acknowledging how puffy your eyes had become when you pulled back. 

“Thought I was here to meet your boyfriend, huh? Or is he conveniently ‘off base’?” You used finger quotes to emphasize your rag. Johnny rolled his eyes, tucking you under his arm and marching you into a scary-looking building. It was so utilitarian it made your eyes burn, all slick concrete and bulletproof windows. Not exactly warm and fuzzy.

“Yer jus’ jealous because yer single, hen. I see right through ye.” He marched you both straight past the guards, then produced a visitor pass out of one of his many pockets and put it around your neck. “Pretty necklace, just for ye.” You rolled your eyes, then elbowed him in the side. No matter what, Johnny could always make you act like a moody teenager. 

You bickered back and forth as Johnny showed you around. “An’ here’s the mess.” (“Bet they cook better than you, Johnny.”) “Common room.” (“Do you guys play shooter games or is that too close to home?”) “Finally, ‘eres where we’re goin’. Trainin’ room.”

It was more than a room, it was a building. It seemed at least two basketball gyms wide, filled with training equipment, a track, and tools that seemed more fit to be in a torture chamber. At one corner of the room, there was a massive hunk of a man yelling at scrawny soldiers you figured were recruits. He was built like a tree, legs and arms thick as trunks while his face was covered with a plain black balaclava. He looked like an intruder you’d had nightmares about.

“An’ ‘eres the L.T. Or Ghost if ye think he’s scary lookin’. The boyfriend, but that’s confidential.” Johnny winked as your mouth dropped. This was the “cuddly fucker” your brother was in love with? He seemed more fit to be the Winter Soldier.

Ghost looked up at the sight of you two approaching. He barked something to the recruits and they scattered, sprinting towards the weightlifting equipment like their lives depended on it. With the way Ghost looked, it might be true.

“Alright, love?” Who was he talking to? You glanced around and oh, Johnny was nodding. You couldn’t have even imagined Ghost would call your brother love in a soft-sounding tone. “‘Ere she is, L.T.. My baby sister.” You rolled your eyes unconsciously. He was older by three minutes.

“Nice to, um, meet you. Johnny didn’t mention it was Halloween year-round here.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. The joke just burst out of your mouth, not even checking in with your brain first. All you could do was watch for his reaction in the stunned silence.

“Johnny, ya didn’t say she was funnier tha’ you. Welcome t’ base, bird.” He pulled you in for a one-armed hug that was over before it started, ruffling your hair before pushing you back out. You glanced back at Johnny and he gave you a wink, pride evident in his face. It warmed your belly and spread to your heart, relaxing your shoulders and spine. Everything was fine. In fact, you probably didn’t even need a drink last night. That thought turned to John real fast, and you shut it down before it started something.

Johnny was clearly the talker of the two, ushering you both out of the training room to meet “Gaz and Cap.” It conjured thoughts of an old-time captain, a man with white hair and a big belly. Wait, maybe that was Santa? Your lack of sleep was really impacting your critical thinking skills.

Excitement and nerves were written clear as day on Johnny’s face as you three neared an official-looking door. He stopped outside of it, Simon at his shoulder blocking the name plate you guessed held their captain’s name. They glanced at each other and Simon squeezed his bicep, words of encouragement flowing unspoken between them. For a second, the smallest millisecond, you felt that familiar yearning for an easy bond like theirs. Something private and sacred.

Johnny nodded to no one in particular, then knocked twice on the door. A muffled “come in” followed swiftly, and he opened the door partially. There was a man sitting in a chair near the door with a baseball hat blocking most of his face. “Bonnie, ‘eres Gaz.” You waved shyly, intimidated by the blinding half-smile he sent your way when he tilted his face up. Your mouth opened, about to ask if he was a Lieutenant too, when Johnny opened the door all the way and pushed you towards the man sitting behind the desk.

“An’ ‘eres the Captain, Cap’n Price.” Your mouth, clearly having disconnected from the rest of your brain, stayed open at the sight before you. At the sight you’d seen 12 hours before in a dark bar, 6 hours before tangled in your sheets, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear. He seemed to remember that fact as well, blazing eyes locking onto yours like there was no one else in the room.

“But you can call me John, sweetheart.”

-

if y’all want updates a bit earlier, subscribe to my ao3 for notifs on this story :)

taglist: @lveegsoi @galactict3a @nova-willow-541 @sirbonesly @starlightkitten19

[vampiricgf]

— Aime la Mémoire

Dectorating the home, meet cute, proposal || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @lysa1201

leon kennedy x gn reader

synopsis: while decorating your tree this year, Leons got something besides the ornaments on his mind with memories of your relationship bubbling to the surface

word count: 4.1k

warnings: sfw, no reader description but they have hair long enough to stick out of a hat, mentions of past alcoholism, one off mention of sex but no descriptive content, nightmares, injury (no specifics), blood mention, flashback, meet cute, marriage proposal, Christmas themed

a/n: merry Christmas to everyone celebrating! I had so much fun participating in the secret santa event and thank you so much to @leonsecretsanta for putting this together for everyone <3 ^⁠_⁠^

“Oh look, this is the one you picked up for me in France!”

You beamed at him, cupping a little ornament of a glass ballerina in your hands the way they make those stylized cutesy animals hold things in movies. It was so objectively adorable it made his teeth ache from the sweetness. You routinely had that effect on him, so much so that if he were a more clueless man he probably would’ve made several panicked dental appointments in the beginning of your relationship. But of all things Leon isn’t clueless, he’s been acutely aware for a very long time regarding how you make him feel. 

The ring box in his pocket feels like a lead ball. Or one of those tungsten cubes he’s seen pictures of online. Since you decided, hands on hips as you gazed at the empty space in front of the bay window of the house, today was the day to drag all the old boxes of Christmas decorations and the faux tree from the attic, he’d been sweating. Before, up in the dusty attic air with motes dancing through the slices of dim, yellowish light he could blame it on the exertion from lifting and pushing those brick heavy boxes. Now, however, he had no convenient explanation for why sweat was slicking his palms, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back and arms. 

“You with me?” 

He blinked at you a few times. “Oh- yeah, yeah, right here sweetheart. Do you want the hooks?” 

He held out the box of ornament hooks, the hard clamshell packaging squeaking against his moist skin. It made him grimace, just barely, but it was enough of a reaction to make you frown, setting down the ornaments and rising from your multicolored tissue paper faux skirt on the hardwood floor. 

“Lugging all this downstairs was a lot, are you sure you don’t need to rest for a little bit?” You came towards the couch but before you could start the nursemaid routine he grabbed your wrist, pulling you lightly until you crashed down on his lap. Getting situated was a little awkward, your giggles between huffed breaths making his heart run like a jackhammer against his ribs as you settled into straddling his lap. His hands easily, reflexively, found their home on your hips, kneading tiny circles into the fuzzy material of your pajama pants.

“Next thing I know you’re gonna tell me you’re putting me in a nursing home.” 

You rolled your eyes scoffing, placing your hands against his jaw to cradle his face as you rested your forehead against his. He hoped the stubble he neglected to shave this morning didn’t scratch against your hands too much, prayed he didn’t have too much coffee on his breath. Since you came into the picture he hadn’t worried nearly as often about the scent of liquor on his breath. 

It was a few days before Christmas, almost a decade ago now. He’d been drug out by colleagues yet again for some forced socialization and while he was grateful, of course, that they wanted him to enjoy himself if he was being entirely honest he would’ve much rather been nursing a drink a solitude than sitting in a bar with people he’d prefer to keep firmly separated into the “professional” category. 

Christmas lighting always felt so… garish. Something that didn’t belong to him, didn’t belong in his life. There was never going to be some Hallmark, made for a TV moment where his heart swells five times in size with some shit like “the joy and magic of the season”. The best anyone like him could hope for is that there’d be a discount on booze for the holidays. 

Once a few of those wet behind the ears agents had to call cabs to get home he decided it was time for some air. Again, it was a kind gesture and they’d have no way to know about his history with alcohol but goddamn was it a terrible idea to drag an off and on recovering alcoholic to a bar during the biggest drinking season of the year. Like some twisted joke. As the sticky, pockmarked door swung open to the night, a wall of arctic air hit him full force in the face, the kind that makes your lungs seize up for a second before they remember how to breathe in subzero oxygen. His boots, scuffed from snow and the residue of road salt, crunched against fresh powder and ice as he made his way to the sidewalk haloed in dim, rotten orange streetlights. 

Bethesda is hardly a podunk town but thankfully it was fairly quiet in the streets despite the holiday season. He hadn’t driven, and honestly didn't want to bother with it since the hole in the wall they’d chosen actually wasn’t that far from his own place. They didn’t need to know just how frequently over the years his ass had been glued to one of those patchwork upholstery stools. A familiar itch was going haywire in the back of his throat, his hands trembling in his pockets but not the sort of shaking that can be blamed on the temperatures. Truthfully he hadn’t had a drop of liquor in his system for over a year now, but didn’t have the heart nor the masochism to tell his coworkers just how awkward being in that kind of setting would be for him. 

It just wasn’t the sort of thing you spoke about to people you spent every waking minute keeping at arm's length. 

While the building he lived in was hardly run down, it was definitely not… well kept. Which was fine, he didn’t need to live somewhere pretty or fancy. He’d survived with less, it was nice to just be comfortable and not in the piss freezing cold. As he trudged up the stairs, the flight that always cracked a little too much for comfort, he nearly collided full force with someone struggling to push a box at an upward angle. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” The voice, your voice, had been panicked and apologetic. It was a mild annoyance, but he’d live. Keeping one arm braced against the box you half turned, flashing him a guilty smile. Your hair was sticking out a little wildly from the knitted hat you had on, your eyes watery from the cold. Cute.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked, eyeing the box that was definitely larger than you distrustfully. With how slick the outside steps were you were lucky you hadn’t taken a nasty tumble down them yet. 

“Oh my god, thank you, yes.” You spoke in a rush, like you were out of breath and he quickly gestured for you to step aside. 

Honestly he forgot sometimes that for an ordinary person lifting anything over fifty pounds was a struggle. Now was not one of those times, not with the incredulous look you were giving him as he used his knees to give him the momentum to lift the cumbersome box, arms wrapped securely around it. 

“How in the hell can you even lift that?” Your voice was cute too, giving him a little surge of bravado as he shrugged, hefting the box to get a better grip as you led the way to your unit. 

“Forget that, what do you have in here, bricks?” He knew the joke was lame as soon as it came out but still, you gave him a little courtesy giggle and his grip nearly faltered, causing the box to slip and make a little tinkling noise from within. Clearly something glass or ceramic was inside. 

“Worse, ornaments.” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “I don’t know why I insist to myself that I have to decorate, I mean, I live alone. But you know, holiday spirit and whatnot.” You shrugged, coming to a stop in front of one of the old, heavy wood doors. 304. Just a flight above him. 

“Have you, uh, have you been here long? I mean, I live downstairs and I haven’t seen you around before.” Like he pays much attention to his neighbors anyway, but still, he definitely would’ve noticed you coming and going. 

“Oh no, I moved in like a month ago. New job, you know how it is.” You smiled again as you pushed open the door, gesturing for him to follow. 

God you had a nice smile, one of those warm ones that people always mention in books but that rarely exist in the real world. Following you in he tried his best to not gawk or seem like a creep looking around a little too hard, but naturally his eyes were drawn around the unit. You decorated nice for having moved in not long ago. From the little foyer he could see a cozy looking living room with throw blankets and books. The kitchen, although dim, was clearly done in the same vein; you liked comfort, obviously. It smelled nice too, something a little sugary and a little warm. 

“Thank you so much for doing that.” You say as he sets the box down on your countertop. “Can I make you tea or anything? To say thank you.” 

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. But I’m Leon, by the way.” 

You tell him your name, neither of you yet aware that name would remain at the top of his list in the coming years. 

“Well, thank you, again. I probably would’ve ended up sliding down the stairs and falling right on my ass without your help.” You laugh as you walk back to the door with him, smiling again before saying goodnight. 

His eyes linger on the worn, rust flecked numbered plaque affixed to the door after you close it. 

He came back to your door in less than a week. Record timing, not that he really kept count of all the times he’s embarrassed himself for a woman. Even so, you didn’t say anything other than welcoming him inside again. He learned quickly, after frequent visits, that you liked providing. There was never a time when you weren’t handing him a mug of some hot liquid, offering a snack, or making a meal and telling him to stay since he was already there. You also had a behemoth of a cat skulking around your place, nearly giving him a heart attack one night when it lept on the counter mid sentence as you two chatted about nothing in particular. Thank god he didn’t do something stupid like pull his firearm in the middle of your apartment, the one time his reflex didn’t kick in all these years.

Turns out the beast's name was Blueberry, or just Blue for short. He and Blue maintained a tenuous agreement for your sake in the beginning. Not that he was an unfriendly cat, just a bit of an odd one. Quiet, prone to scuttling around like a criminal. As long as he didn’t do anything like piss in his shoes, Leon was fine with a stalemate agreement. 

It was a little over half a year of knowing you when Leon eventually spilled his guts. Honestly it’s still shocking he managed to hold out on you that long. Not that you ever needled him for details, you seemed to understand there were certain things about him and his life that were strange but you never pressed the issue. That night, some mid June evening when the weather was sweltering and cicadas droned endlessly in the background, he’d pounded on your door unceremoniously and some godforsaken hour of the night. Was it selfish? Yes. Was it idiotic? Also yes. 

But god there was nothing in that moment he craved more than that specific brand of tenderness he’d come to associate with you. 

After dragging his sorry ass inside, blubbering like a baby, he’d metaphorically up chucked his whole sad, sorry story to you in the middle of your living room as you rubbed his back. It was reckless, beyond stupid but what else was he supposed to do when he had relapsed yet again? Just another year of failure and disappointment. Of horror and all encompassing pain. And he couldn’t put it on Chris or Claire, not again. Not after everything. One thing you learn when struggling with any kind of addiction is that there is a limit to people's patience. And that you, as the addict, will exhaust it very, very quickly. 

His eyes had burned, a combination of being absolutely loaded on liquor and from managing to cry his body weight in tears and snot (no easy feat for a man like him). But you hadn’t done anything he feared: not looked at him in disgust or judgement, hadn’t told him to leave. You silently went about making coffee to sober him up, getting blankets from the hall closet, and then told him to stay put as you rummaged around a still packed box shoved in the bottom of the closet before returning with clothing in your arms. 

“Sorry, they’re an ex’s clothes actually but hopefully they fit. You should shower once you're a little less… unsteady, get changed. You can stay here tonight, I promise Blue won’t terrorize you on the couch.” You spoke softly, setting the bundle down on the couch beside him and taking the empty mug from his hands.

“You’re not- you aren’t even gonna ask any questions?” 

“I don’t think you’re really in any shape to be answering if I did. And besides, it’ll all still be there in the morning, so we can talk about it then. If you want.” You added the addendum quickly, and his heart nearly broke apart in his chest like a cinder block hit with a chisel. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you did demand more answers from him, fuck he just told you the worst nightmares of the world exist and have existed for a long, long time. Told you about his own gory encounters, though in not so many words. But still, any other person would either interrogate him or throw him out on his ass to sober up on his own, write him off as a crazed drunk. 

But not you. You gave him coffee, clothes, you’re standing there telling him to stay and sleep it off. 

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with this. With me.” His voice had cracked but he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not after the emotional whiplash he’d just gone through. This could’ve been something good for once, but of course he has to bungle it like everything else. His life is one big never ending cosmic joke and simultaneous tragedy.

“Stop it. Everyone’s got some shit they’re dragging around Leon, not just you. I’m telling you to stay not because I feel sorry for you or whatever, I want you to stay because we’re friends. We’re friends and I care about you.” Your voice was firm, the firmest he’d heard all this time and immediately he straightened up, a reflex from always being attuned to authority. 

He doesn’t remember if he even thanked you for that, not that it matters. You’re not the type to hold tiny slights or impoliteness against anyone. But he does remember the conversation afterwards. Every painful detail. 

Sure, you hadn’t pressured him and he was thankful for that but he knew it wasn’t right to leave as if everything were normal. That would’ve been worse than just telling you the truth, and he didn’t want to shoot himself in both feet when one was already bad enough. So, over breakfast that he felt guilty you made for him he told you the entire sob story, from beginning to end. You were owed that much, at least. 

“So the real reason I don’t see you for gaps at a time is because you’re off somewhere getting shot at, attacked, and torn up because the government knows about literal flesh eating monsters but those monsters got out and now just anyone can make them if they’re insane enough? And it’s your problem to deal with it when they do? Christ alive.” Your voice had been equal parts awed, disgusted, and afraid. That was worse than anything so far, you feeling afraid made him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Yeah, that's basically it.” He spoke into the glass of juice in his hand, hyperfocused on the film gathered along the sides of the glass, too ashamed to even look at you. 

“Jesus Leon, did you really think I’d be mad at you? Even after hearing all that?” You grabbed for his hand, startling him enough to look at you sharply. “Listen, it’s okay. I mean it’s not, but this,” you gestured back and forth with the hand not holding his, “ between us is fine so please stop acting like you’re waiting for me to scream in your face.” 

He's pretty sure he ended up accidentally doing his best impression of a fish after you spoke, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Were you altruistic or just idiotic? How could you sit there like any of what he told you was normal? 

From then on you remained a mystery he couldn’t even begin to unravel. You never asked him point blank about any of it again, not even when he would be over and you’d catch sight of bruising, fresh scarring. Not even on one particularly brutal night when he’d popped stitches after Blue had decided to take a flying leap onto his chest from the highest point on the stairs which coincidentally, were directly above the couch he’d been laying on. 

You kept that faintly bloodstained couch for years afterwards, stubbornly insisting it was nothing a little peroxide and borax couldn’t handle (it in fact couldn’t, but you said it was just an excuse to keep the blankets on the couch now rather than in the ottoman). 

He loved that you were everything he wasn’t. Kind, patient, somehow always able to see something good even in the middle of some of the most god awful shit imaginable, and you were stubborn as hell which was oddly endearing. More and more he came to you, craved that patience and compassion almost as badly as he craved drinks sometimes but another positive effect of your presence was that slowly, inch by inch, those cravings lessened and the hand that had squeezed him so tightly since his life went to shit relaxed its grip. 

He could almost fool himself, on nights when he felt so relaxed the edges of his vision would blur until the lights around your place resembled some fuzzy, abstract source, that he had managed to carve out an idyllic life for himself. Could pretend for a while that he was somebody that deserved the loving, beautiful partner, the comfort of a cat on his lap, warmth and happiness in a home. 

As years passed he slowly had the realization that he wasn’t fooling himself, actually. The two of you had become interlocked pieces, you were such an important part of who he was that it was unimaginable that you weren’t always in his life. He would even end up placing you in memories sometimes, swearing up and down that you were present even though there was no way you could have been. It’s just a testament to how perfectly you melded into his life and he into yours. 

Your first kiss had been in the middle of that kitchen, in your old apartment. The kiss itself hadn’t been shocking honestly, it was the ease with which he’d done it that surprised the hell out of him. You were talking about work after he’d once more helped you set up the seasonal decorations you insisted on every single year, he was helping you cook dinner while fending off the cat to keep him from chowing down on human food, when he’d just dipped down and kissed you. As if it were something you two did a million times; casual, easy. 

It didn’t even register until he realized you had stopped talking, weren’t moving in front of the stove despite the bubbling pot on the burner, framed in the soft white lights he’d hung around the ceiling of the back hallway off from the kitchen. Your hand lingered on your mouth, index balanced delicately against the bottom lip as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Of course he rushed to fumble out an apology but you shook your head, getting on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his cheek. He’d flushed hot all over in response, suddenly extremely fidgety at having the affection returned. 

“Good thing we’re already making dinner, normally I’d tell someone if they wanted to kiss me they should at least take me out first.” 

Some might point to that and say it was the official start of your relationship, but Leon knew it wasn’t so easy to articulate a “beginning”, so to speak. The same might be said about the first time you technically slept together: you and him in the bedroom but it had hardly been anything romantic or sexual, no you kept watch over him as he thrashed and cried out in his sleep. He’d already fallen off the couch and you dragged him to the bedroom, insisting there was no way he’d be able to fall out of a bed and could at least get some better sleep in a more comfortable place. He didn’t know until much later that you’d been beside yourself all night, watching him like a hawk but unable to rouse him from his manufactured hell. 

You could even say the real beginning was him managing to walk home at just the right time to bump into you on the stairs, lugging around a box of decorations. 

The same box that he just brought down from the attic of the home he signed on two years ago, the house he’d specifically selected because it could accommodate another person. Because it could accommodate you. That was always the first thing in his mind when he’d looked at a few places, and took a few of the house tours. He knew it had to be spacious enough that there’d be no way you could hem and haw about moving in. 

Your relationship wasn’t so much a straight line as it was a chaotic, messy zigzag but it was the only one he could ever imagine for himself. He wasn’t a man of much faith or particularly taken to belief, but sometimes, on nights when he gets in late and sees you passed out on the couch waiting for him or like this morning when you were all smiles and laughter setting up that gaudy fake tree he can almost believe that maybe it was some divine intervention, some act of god that night. 

Crystal blue eyes open into yours, crows feet and smile lines patterning the skin, and his calloused hand slides around to the back of your neck, holding you firm in your position on his lap. 

“I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know how I even lived without you.” 

You smile softly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Where's all this coming from?”

He offers his own smile in return, the stubble he had worried over now forgotten as your hands move from his jaw down his chest, tucking your head against the side of his neck as he stroked your hair. 

“Call it the holiday spirit, or whatever.” You snort, press another kiss to his jugular before rising back up to look at him. 

“Mhm, if you say so.” You reach over to run a hand through Blue’s fur, a little more silver flecked now as the years have passed, as the cat sleeps soundly next to you two on the couch. “I think we should take a break, the tree isn’t going anywhere. But I do think we should have hot chocolate, didn’t you grab some at the store?” 

He watches as you get up, moving into the kitchen and tidying as you put mugs on the granite countertop, humming some nonsense holiday song while you look for the milk in the fridge.

The ring box feels less heavy, his skin less clammy. Why was he nervous to begin with? 

It’ll always be you two and one curmudgeonly cat, framed in the hazy glow of Christmas lights. Only next year, that ring will glitter on your finger as you laugh at some cheesy romance movie together, as you rummage around in these same boxes for the ornaments he brings back like they’re your most treasured possessions.

He’s always coming back to you. Home to you, ornament from some far off place in hand and a syrupy sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Because if his partner wants an ornament, they’re getting the ornament. Even if this one so happens to go on the finger, not a tree.

[alswosofavs]

walking in a winter wonderland

AR23

Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: You and less go to winter wonderland

You smiled up at the taller blonde stood beside you.

"What's the grin for baby?" she smiled back at you.

"I love you Less, you know that right?" in captured by the blue orbs staring down at you. You had decided to take Less to winter wonderland this year and for the first time in what felt like forever England had an actual decent snowfall. So here you two stood staring into each other eyes outside waiting in the line to enter.

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much" She giggled and then leant down to kiss you. Even though you and the striker had been together for over a year now you still got the same butterflies in your stomach whenever her lips touched yours. You weaved your hand into hers and pulled away smiling.

"What do you want to do first?" You crossed your fingers and hoped she would steer clear from the rides.  For god knows what reason the blonde seemed to love the terrifying horrific rides they had at fun fairs and popups. The god awful slingshot was her favorite and you swore on your life she would never get you on it. However, you struggle to say no to her. Your girlfriend knowing exactly which tone to use and what way to look at you to make you melt and agree to anything she said. You knew you would find your way onto that monstrosity at some point this evening but hoped to prolong the torture as long as possible.

"I was thinking we could get some marshmallows?" You finally let out a deep breath you hadn't even noticed you were holding and smiled.

"Of course, anything for my star girl" star girl was a nickname you starting using for Alessia back after the 2022 euros. You remember so clearly watching her in the final match and tearing up seeing her with her medal. From that day on the name had stuck.

"Anything?" Less smirked. Normally if the blonde smirked you'd get excited but on this occasion you knew this wasn't just an average smirk this was the look of someone who was going to get you to agree to the hellish ride before even entering Hyde park.

"Babe no." You said firmly.

"I thought you said you loved me?" she pouted. Her first tactic of the night. You knew more would come and honestly wanted to see how far you could push the striker before you doubled down.

"I do but you won't go ice skating with me!" Your one and only attempt to get what you wanted from the night ended up in an eye roll from the blonde.

"So you want me to break my leg for Christmas? Baby you know how clumsy I am!"

"I'll catch you, I'm awesome at ice skating!" you exclaimed proudly hoping the idea of her in your arms would help sway the blondes decision.

"Well I will admit I like the idea of that" she smiled, your tactics working and distracting her from the idea of the ride.

You made it to the front of the line and scanned your tickets and enter. She took your hand and pulled you over to the familiar place where you could toast marshmallows.

"I'll get them" Less smiled and quickly went to get the sticks and the marshmallows. When she returned she handed you a stick and a marshmallow. "Don't get too excited" She laughed remembering your black marshmallow from the last time you two decided to toast them. Ignoring her you stuck the marshmallow into the flamed leaving it there for a second too long until it caught fire. You pulled it out and blew on it until the fire went out and you were left with yet again another burnt marshmallow.

"Whoops" You laughed looking at the inedible thing in your hand.

"Here have mine" She smiled and pushed her stick into your face. You opened your mouth and grabbed the marshmallow off of it.

"God that tastes good thank you" You smiled and leant to kiss her, she could taste the sugar on your tongue.

You both finished up your marshmallows and thankfully you managed to make it through the rest without incinerating them.

"Where to next angel?" Less smiled at you. The blonde wrapped her hand in yours.

"Please please please can we go ice skating? Please Less I know your scared but I promise that I'm here it'll be okay I promise" You looked up to her and widened your eyes stealing her tactics hoping she would break.

"Alright fine. But you're speaking to Renee when I'm in a boot and can't play" She joked. You leant down and kissed her.

"YES THANK YOU" You shouted pulling her over to the ice skating rink.

After you two paid and you got your skates you were on the ice. Alessia clung to the railing barely moving whilst you glided next to her laughing at her.

"Come on Lessi take my hand" you laughed as you reached out your hand to try and urge her off "I promise it's better on this ice!" technically not a lie.

"I really suck at this" she sighed but took your hand nonetheless. You eased her away from the edge and for a good few seconds she stood pretty sturdy without much help needed from you. Suddenly she started wobbling so you took your arm and threaded it around her waist to keep her upright.

"You were right it is easier up here" she started to get more confident and let you let go of her waist so you could skate more freely, choosing to skate around her in little circles. You finished facing her and took her hands and started to skate backwards guiding her and speeding her pace up.

"Trust me" You smiled at her, looking over your shoulder every so often to make sure the route was clear.

"Its not that I don't but we're going very fast," she smiled.

After gaining more confidence she finally let go. As soon as she did though she went toppling to the ground.

"I knew that would happen" she said making no attempt to pull herself up instead she sat on the ice with her arms up. Reluctantly you grabbed her arm and pulled her up and helped her get steady.

“Come on stargirl lets get you onto solid ground” You laughed and led her to the end.

“Where to now stargirl?” You smiled. You knew it was time.

“Well after that horrific fail,” she winked, “can we PLEASE go on the slingshot?” She had that look on her face. The one that made you crumble in a second. 

“Lesssss” you whined.

“Pretty please? I'll wash the dishes for a week” and that was it. The striker knew the one thing you hated more than that ride was doing the dishes.

“Make it two and you have a deal.” You felt quite smug 

“Really babe? Fine” she kissed you gently and then you two walked over to the dreaded ride.

Finally you reach the front of the line. The feeling of regret pooled in your gut. As you sat in the chair you grabbed less’ hand hard.

“Baby I know you're scared but you're hurting me” She tried to shake away from your grasp and failed.

“ If you can force me on here you can deal with some squeezing” You said bitterly but did release just a little bit, not actually wanting to hurt the blonde.

“Take off in 3,” you felt your grip tighten again “two” lessi squeezed your hand, a small subtle movement to show she was there, “one” you inhaled sharply as the ball you two were sat in got catapulted into the air. You swore you just about passed out but you could feel the blonde next to you keeping you centred.

“ALESSIA MIA THERESA RUSSO I FUCKING HATE YOU” you screamed. The striker just giggled and squeezed your hand.

“I love you baby” You sighed knowing how much this meant to her.

Once the spins and bouncing had subsided you were finally lowered and released onto flat ground. It took a little while to gain your footing again still shaking from the ride as you clung onto the taller girls hand.

“You're so cute when you're scared angel” she laughed 

“Can we head back now?” you said with a yawn tired from the long day.

“Of course” She took your hand and you two walked off to the busy tube together.

“I had the best day with you stargirl” 

“I had an even better day with you love”

================================================

Hey guys!! this is my first fic I'm a bit nervous releasing it as I've not really written anything before! Enjoy

[ihfmseatsoch]

Hii, I don't know if you do requests but could we get Jimmy x sibling reader who, as teenagers/young adults do, decide to sexually experiment... but with each other? Preferably not full on non-con but as dubious or wild as you want. 🙏 Danke.

eeep i love this req... this is the quickest ive ever written a fic because i usually procrastinate so much 😭 brother jimmy just does smth to me.. i hope this is decent :p

—

older brother!Jimmy Zare x younger sibling!reader

gender neutral reader, genitals aren't clearly defined

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: dead dove, yours and jimmy's ages aren't explicitly specified but youre referred to as teenagers, incest, creampie, mention of parental abuse, codependency, you lose your virginity to each other, (how sweet ^_^) jimmy's a perv and an asshole ofc

Jimmy was annoying, as older brothers tend to be. You two would always bicker about things that didn't even matter in the long run. Ever since you were kids, he'd pick on you, stick gum in your hair, wrestle you to the ground and punch you in the back of the head; Normal sibling behavior.

Well, at least to you two, it was just how family treated each other. You shared the same abusive shithead of a father, after all. That's the one thing you had in common always brought you together in the end.

When Jimmy and your dad got in a fight and he'd stomp his way into his room, slamming the door behind him so hard you feared the hinges would break clean off, you'd always come and check on him. See if there were any fresh wounds you needed to tend to. He was still your brother after all, no matter how much he could infuriate you.

He'd rather eat dirt and glass mixed together and wash it down with a glass of gasoline than admit that he needed you. Needed your late night talks, bitching to eachother about life. Needed those moments where you'd pass a cigarette back and forth on the front porch at sunset, listening to the neighbors old dog yap at a squirrel across the chain link fence that caged him in his yard.

He needed you to keep him in check whenever he would slip into a depressive episode. Give him the whole, "Yeah, life sucks, but you don't need to kill yourself about it" pep talk.

In fact, the only reason you've stuck around is for Jimmy. If he wasn't born, you would've stolen your dad's truck, wallet, and drove seven states away. But the universe gave you an unstable older brother, and you'd rather not come home to see him dead. You kept him alive, and he was your responsibility.

Codependency combined with teenage hormones isn't a good mix, because that means you'll do anything for him, even at the expense of your dignity. You aren't stupid, you know he's bullshitting you when he walks into your room while you're half naked, claiming it was accidental, and that he was just looking for something which wasn't in your room to begin with. You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your body when you're wearing a tight fitting shirt, and then promptly excuses himself to his room. The walls between your room and his are thin, so you don't miss the sound of his groans and heavy breathing either.

What kind of little sibling would you be if you didn't help him out a little? Gotta give him some sort of practice for the future, don't you? Your poor big brother, all pent up and aching, puberty not helping to alleviate his constant horniness. And in all honesty, you haven't been able to get yourself off properly in a good while.

So one night, you go into his room without a word, his hand already reaching for his bedside drawer, which you already know contains porno mags he shoplifted from the gas station down the street. With an eye roll and that all too familiar glare of annoyance, he speaks, "Don't you ever fuckin' knock? Jesus..."

You pay no mind to his attitude. You're not here to pick a fight. In fact, he'll be grateful for your presence soon enough. "Am I not allowed to hang out with my brother?" You can't hold back your grin at your own teasing, which aggravates him further. "Not if you don't need anything. Get out."

Ignoring him once again, you approach him and sit right beside him on the bed. "Chill. I just wanted to ask you something." His eyes drift down your body, like they've done so many times before. You're intentionally wearing the shirt he likes. The one that gets him hot and bothered. Secretly, you're thrilled he noticed.

Jimmy stays silent, awaiting the question that's so imperative that you postponed his jerk off session.

"Have you ever fucked anyone before?"

You can hardly believe the words coming from your own mouth, and neither can he, his eyes widening with an indescribable emotion. Disgust? Discomfort? Bafflement? All three?

"What the fuck?" He scoffs, scooting away from you, but you don't allow him to escape that easily. You immediately get right back to your original distance.

"Have you?" You ask again, persistent as ever. He groans, covering his face in embarrassment.

"You're fucked up, you know that? Why the hell do you wanna know?"

"Because I'm tired of hearing you jerk off all the time. You obviously don't have anyone to fuck, or you wouldn't need those magazines to get off." You call him out, and it's clear your words ring truth, because he becomes increasingly flustered.

"Okay, what's your fuckin' point? You come in here to call me a virgin loser or somethin'?" He huffs, nudging you away as you draw yourself in closer. You grab his wrist to stop him from putting any sort of space between the two of you.

"Not this time, no. I actually wanna help you out." Your offer hangs in the air for a moment. He's speechless for the first time in his life.

"I've seen how you look at me. Don't try to deny anything. You're a teenage boy, I get it. It's fine." You break the tense silence between you by rambling. You actually feel a bit nervous now. What if he kicks you out of his room? What if you permanently made everything weird between the two of you?

"...And how are you gonna 'help' me, huh?" He still has that irritated edge to his tone, yet he's clearly intrigued. You decide to ease him up a bit. Test the waters, so to speak. Your hand finds it's way to his inner thigh, the outline of his cock already visible through his sweatpants.

"How do you want me to help you?"

—

And that's how you found yourself with his cock in your mouth, giving him his first blowjob. He's bigger than you expected, but as a devoted sibling, you force yourself to take it. You've gotta get some practice too, learn how to suppress your gag reflex. What better way to do that than suck your big brother off?

"Fuck— shit, you fuckin'... You're such a fucking whore. You like choking on your brother's dick, huh? You're a sick little bitch, you know that?" He grunts, degrading you for your actions like he didn't beat his dick fantasizing about this exact scenario several times. You simply hum in response. It's all you can do with your mouth full. You wouldn't consider yourself sick; just a thoughtful younger sibling.

It doesn't take long for Jimmy to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your mouth off his cock, breathing stuttering as he attempts to calm himself down. He was getting close already. That alone makes you feel an immense sense of pride.

Jimmy grabs you and flips you over to your stomach with surprising ease, eliciting a yelp from you at his sudden manhandling. Greedy hands pull your shorts down to reveal your ass, a husky groan leaving his throat at the sight. "Jesus, ain't I a lucky bastard... havin' a little slut for a sibling. A slut with the hottest body I've ever fuckin' seen, no less."

He really has won the sibling lottery hasn't he?

You wince as he slips the head of his cock into your hole, losing your virginity along with him. You never expected your first time to be like this, not that you were expecting something all that special, either. Actually, you anticipated mediocre sex with some acceptably attractive guy named Kyle or Liam. This is marginally better, because at least Jimmy has a big dick.

And he's cute, but you wouldn't tell him that.

Jimmy lets out a deep, gutteral noise as he stretches your virgin hole around him, the feeling of your warm, gummy insides even better than he imagined. "Sh– Shit, you're tight. Gonna cut off my fuckin' circulation." He says with a strained groan, gripping your hips for support as he hovers over your body. He eventually inches his way in, balls deep inside of you, and god, can you feel it. All of him, all the way to your stomach. Sibling bonding has never felt this good.

"Ghh– fuck, you're big, Jim." You cover your mouth to suppress your own noises out of the fear that your father would hear you two. Although, it's probably a futile effort. Jimmy's bedframe is the squeakiest thing on the Earth after a lifetime of sleeping on it. All you can do is pray your dear ol' dad is passed out drunk on the couch again.

"Mhm." He agrees with your statement, his cockiness making you want to take it back, but before you can think of a retort, he thrusts, slow and experimental, causing you to lose your train of thought. A moan involuntarily leaves your lips. Jesus, how is he getting his cock to rub you in all the right places?

His gentle pace doesn't last very long, because soon enough, he's rutting into you in a way you can only describe as animalistic, the sound of his balls slapping against you filling the room, along with the string of grunts, growls, and curse words muttered under his breath. You bite down on his blanket, the material thick enough to keep you quiet as whimpering moans escape your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your hole clenching around him whenever he hits a particularly pleasurable spot.

"God, if you keep squeezing me like that..." He trails off, sentence devolving into uneven breaths.

"Mmh– Yeah? I feel that good, huh?" You grin, eyes half lidded and already drunk off his dick, proud of yourself for making your big brother almost cum so quickly. Twice. Jimmy scoffs, rolling his eyes at your arrogance.

"Don't let it get to your head." He mutters. You still manage to annoy him when he's fucking you senseless.

You absolutely do let it get to your head when he cums, and an uncharacteristic whimper rips from deep inside his chest as he spills a massive, thick load inside your hole. You feel every ounce of the warm fluid filling you to the brim. Your own orgasm hits you, the hot wave of pleasure that washes over you like nothing you've ever experienced.

Jimmy collapses on top of you, sweaty chest pressed against your back. He's pretty lanky, so thankfully it's not enough weight to crush your lungs. After a minute of catching his breath, he sits up, and you follow suit. While he's slipping his boxers and old tank top with several ugly holes in the fabric back on, he says, "I'm gonna go smoke. You comin' with me?"

You would laugh at the absurdity of his offer if he didn't just exhaust you by pounding your guts. So after you clean yourself up and get dressed you follow him outside, where the sun is setting and the neighbors dog is just as irritating as ever.

[jintaka-hane]

Hiiii. Smooching my blorbos on new years eve? Yes please! So ummm is it OK if it's Mihawk x reader x Shanks? I can’t choose between them. 🥺

This is such a fun idea Jintaka!! 😘

[Kiss your blorbo at the New Year’s Eve event]

MIHAWK AND SHANKS

Summary: Your boyfriends have never cared if you burn the food. Word count: 600 Warning: xf!reader; MDNI, +18 All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

"Why did I get myself into this?" you wonder, desperately trying to salvage the charred high-quality cordon bleu you have bought for the occasion.

This isn't just any night. It's New Year's Eve, and you're spending it with your two boyfriends. So, in an attempt to surprise them, you've decided to get into the kitchen and prepare a delicious and sumptuous dinner to close out the year. But it’s not going quite as planned.

While you wrestle with a sauce that also seems determined to stick to the bottom of the pan, the two men wait patiently in the living room. One takes small sips from his wine glass, while the other is already on his fifth or sixth pint of beer. The clatter from the kitchen gives them a clear idea of the chaos unfolding inside, and when they hear pots and pans crash followed by a stream of curses, they exchange a conspiratorial glance.

You wipe the sweat from your brow, leaning over the counter to scrub at the pepper sauce stubbornly stuck to the wall, and just as you're about to curse again, you feel strong, familiar hands firmly grab your waist and pull you back.

"Come here, love," whispers a velvety voice in your ear as your lover presses your back flush against his chest.

"Mihawk, let me go!" you protest, "I said I’d make dinner, and I still have a lot to do!" Squirming, you try to pull away, even though you know it’s pointless. Once he’s got you like this, you’ll only be let go when he decides.

Shanks strolls into the kitchen and stands in front of you, trying not to laugh as he surveys the chaotic mess.

"You know, sweetheart," he grins, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes you need to know when to stop..."

"I haven't even started the dessert!" you huff in frustration as Mihawk keeps holding you firmly. Shanks laughs loudly, and you pout, looking at him through your long lashes. "Aren't you hungry?"

Shanks' expression darkens in an instant. He leans closer to you, and your breath catches as you feel Mihawk's grip tighten around your waist.

"Oh, yes, we're definitely hungry..." the redhead says, tracing your lips slowly with his thumb, forcing you to part them.

"In fact, love..." Mihawk's deep voice whispers from behind. "We're starting to get a little impatient." Holding you firmly with one hand, he moves the other to your neck, stroking it before gripping your chin and turning your face toward the man in front of you. "Shanks, care to take a bite?"

Shanks gives you a wolfish grin before pressing his lips against yours, stealing your breath as he kisses ravenously. Your arms struggle futilely under Mihawk's grip to embrace your red-haired boyfriend, but he doesn't allow it. As you eagerly returns the kiss, you notice Mihawk's hand sliding over your waist, tracing it before reaching into your pants. He then makes its way under your underwear, his fingers spreading your folds with expertise, feeling the wetness of your arousal.

“Shanks, the food is ready,” he says in his sulky voice.

You moan in frustration as Shanks abruptly pulls away from the kiss. The man lifts his gaze over you, looking at his lover behind you with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Alright, take her to bed.”

In a single movement, Mihawk spins you in his arms, and lifts you bridal-style. As he moves down the hallway with you, his lips seek yours, giving you a passionate kiss while Shanks guides you both forward.

You laugh softly on his lips, and in the brief moment of breath your lover gives you, you catch a glimpse of the time on the huge wall clock. 

00:01.

Merry Christmas Robin!

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3

[caeliuluru]

reciprocity, the heart

Summary: You get married to your lover, Xavier, an alpha. The both of you bask in the afterglow of your wedding night. Tags: alpha xavier/omega MC, top xavier/bottom MC, female MC, aftercare, FLUFF, but implied (although very obviously referenced) bedroom activities, implied subspace on MC's part

⊹˚₊‧──────────‧─────────‧─────────‧──────────‧₊˚⊹

Pure bliss is all you can feel in the afterglow— your heartbeat in sync with Xavier’s, breaths intermingling in the space of your bedroom. Your hands run down the long, red marks you’ve left on your husband’s back as a result of your lovemaking, while he plants gentle kisses along the fresh bond mark on the side of your neck. 

“Alpha… Xavier…” you whine softly. You’re still coming down from the very high cloud he’s sent you to, mind all hazy and too pleasured to think straight. 

He smiles against your skin, satisfied. “Still sensitive, love?” Another nuzzle across the space between your neck and shoulder. He moves his hands across your sides, soothing you as his knot deflates. The air thrums with the affection between you both. He’s pleased, the smell of lavender and cedarwood in the air. The two of you spend a few more moments in comfortable silence before he decides to move again. 

“I’ll pull out now, okay?” You nod, and you smile at him, dazed, but very much relieved. 

A soft moan leaves your lips as he parts from you, shared release sticking to both your bodies and dripping to the towel you left on the bed. Your hand shifts to squeeze his, trying to ground yourself. God knows what time it is— after all the guests had left and had given their well-wishes, the two of you rushed to the hotel room, with matching rings on your fingers. The nearby late-night cafes near your suite had quieted down, and the few city lights from the window and your nightlamp cast their gentle light across your face.

You’re beautiful, he thinks. He lifts your hand to plant a kiss on your palm. It’s a stroke of luck written in the stars— to see every expression and version of you. He promised to find you in every lifetime, and he’s still in disbelief— you’re right here in front of him. Whether you’re breathless and blissed out, or composed and focused, you’re beautiful. Xavier doesn’t think he deserves the way you look at him— like he’s hung the moon and stars just for you. He would, had he the power to. For now, he can promise this: he’ll protect you, take care of you, and hold you close for as long as he can. The mark and the ring is a promise to make you happy for the rest of your time together. This time, he’s staying by your side.

His eyes sparkle with so much love that you’re taken aback for a moment. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. So instead of asking, you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, and he chuckles, kissing back.

I don’t deserve this. And yet, you chose him.

“My pretty,” a kiss to your forehead. “Gorgeous,” another to your cheekbone. “Girl.” Right cheek. “My love.” A sweet kiss on your lips. “My star,” Another right on the tip of your nose. “My wife, so good for me.”

“Xavier…” you pull your lover in for a hug, wanting to remain near him. You sigh as you breathe in his scent. If this is what it’s like to be bonded— claimed for life— then you don’t want to let go.

He brings his hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek, and smiles. Because just as much as he loves to bring you to heaven, he’ll be your ground, take you down safely.

“I’ll get you water, okay? Then after that, I’ll draw us a bath, and get you clean. How does that sound?” The words settle into your mind, sinking, before you finally comprehend them and nod. He kisses your palm again before he gets up slowly and leaves for the kitchen.

A few minutes pass. As the fog begins to clear, the stickiness between your legs becomes much more apparent to you.

Ah… what a mess.

And Xavier… he’d come back, wouldn’t he? The air feels too cold, all of a sudden, and you feel a dull ache in your limbs. You stretch your arms a little, adjusting our position on the bed so you can sit up. But you know you couldn’t stand if you tried. Where is he? You want to hold him, and be held in return while your brain is still on its way down from the high you’ve experienced. The left side of your neck stings a little, and you hiss when you touch it briefly.

Right on time, your husband comes into your shared bedroom with a jug of cold water. A look of worry crosses his face, and he immediately moves closer to check on you.

“Are you… hurt? Was I too rough?”

You shake your head and cough before you start speaking. You really could use the water that Xavier brought. “It’s nothing… the mark just hurts a little, but I’m okay. My fault for touching it when it’s fresh.” Knowing how he gets, you give him a reassuring smile.

The frown remains.

“Xavi, I’m okay, I promise.”

To calm him down, you rub your nose lightly against his and release some of your scent pheromones. The familiar blend of vanilla and lavender is a a warm blanket over his worry, wrapping around it and letting him know you really are alright.

“I’ll get you some ointment later,” he quietly says. Sometimes you think he worries too much about you, but nonetheless, you appreciate his care. It’s cute, and very much Xavier, how he still looks out for you in times like these. Xavier then lifts the jug to your lips, and you take the cue, drinking from it. “Careful now, don’t drink too fast.” He lets go of the jug once you grip it yourself. As you drink, he gazes at you fondly, hand lifting to smooth your hair a little. You don’t need to look in the mirror to see that you’re wrecked, love bites all over you, but unbeknownst to you, you’re a picture of satisfaction. Xavier glances at the mirror, then back at you. So, so pretty. My mate. All mine. Does she know I’m all hers?

From the corner of his eye, he spots the mark he asked you to leave on him. It’s not going to last, an Omega doesn’t have the same canines an Alpha does. But it doesn’t matter. He wants you to know he’s all yours just as much as you’re his.

When you’re finished, you set the almost-empty jug on the side table. “Ready?” Xavier reaches out a hand to you and asks. Confused, your eyebrows knit together, wondering if he really did expect you to be able to walk after he essentially pummeled you into the bed.

“I mean, I can try walking— wait!”

Suddenly, his hand loops around your legs and torso, lifting you in a bridal carry, and the two of you laugh as he brings you to the bathroom.

“Idiot.” Your eyes crinkle as you tease him. “Making me think that I’d have to walk when you know I can’t.” Xavier smiles cheekily and sets you down on the edge of the bathtub before grabbing a washcloth, bringing it under the sink. “I’d never do anything of the sort. Now that I’m your husband, you should always presume kindness on my part,” he quips.

“Do you want me to clean you up or would you rather do it yourself?” Always mindful, always caring of your boundaries, even if he wants nothing more than to be close to you.

“I don’t mind. C’mere.”

He then brings the washcloth to your center, cleaning up the worst of the mess. He runs the rag gently, eyes growing just a shade darker as he cleans the evidence of your… previous activities. Cute.

“You’re trying not to laugh.”

“Am not.” You stifle another giggle.

“Mhm. Just as much as hotpot is served cold and you stop staying up late .”

The corners of your lips turn up in a grin Xavier knows all too well. “And the reason why I’m up late tonight is right in front of me!” At that, you squish his face, gently shaking his head. Even if his face is puffed up because of you, his blue eyes gleam with a joy that’s reserved for when he sees you happy.

After you let go of him, he swipes your inner thighs a few more times, then quickly turns to get the bath ready.

You watch him, pouring the bubble bath mix into the water. My alpha, you think. Xavier is all strong and aloof on the outside, when he’s out on missions with you. People at the Association marvel at his mysterious aura and skill in killing Wanderers. Whether or not he clocks in at HQ, you hear people talk about him, about how the Association’s poster boy is so handsome, but barely mingles, asking questions like “How hard does he train?” and “Does he have a partner?” They don’t even know about the off-the-clock trips he takes to the No-Hunt Zone. And now, said most feared hunter is married and mated to you, preparing a bubble bath, making sure the water isn’t too cold nor hot. He reminds you to take breaks, and invites you to read comic books and stargaze when you can’t sleep. Of course, you can’t forget about how he brings you pleasure and pain in equal measure, right where you want it, and takes you back to Earth after. The dim light of the bathroom and the sound of running water add to the lull of the scene. A warm, fuzzy feeling rises in your chest, and you gaze fondly at him. My mate. Does he know how lovely he is?

Absentmindedly, you reach out to trace the scratches on his back, as if to remind yourself that the man you’ve been thinking about is very much real and in front of you.

“Ow,” he shifts slightly. Oops. As an apology, you kiss the red marks softly. “Sorry…”

“It didn’t hurt that much.” “Still. I was just… lost in thought, or something.” He closes the tap, and the two of you get in the bathtub. You adjust to make room for him, backside facing his chest. In the water, his hands automatically wrap around your waist, and he kisses your bond mark again. The two of you ease back into the comfortable lull a shared night bath provides. It’s warm and quiet, the water on your skin refreshing. You sigh. All is right in the world.

“Are you okay?” Xavier pipes up.

“Mhm. Good. Very good, in fact.” You lean back on his shoulder as you soak, trying not to fall asleep as Xavier nuzzles into your neck.

After a while, he squeezes your hands to rouse you from your semi-nap. He adjusts and sits up, grabbing the shower head and shampoo to wash your hair. His hands are firm, yet they rub your scalp in a way that makes you shut your eyes in calm bliss. When he finishes, you turn around to take the showerhead from him.

“Could I… wash your hair too?”

Your partner’s eyes crinkle as he lets out an airy laugh, because of course you’d ask, never content with being the only one doted on in the relationship; it’s fair that you show him how much you love him as well. He hums as you lather the shampoo in his scalp, fingers applying just the right amount of pressure, and right here, he thinks, is home. Anywhere you are is where he’s happy, content — whether the two of you are in the regular life-or-death situations you subject yourselves to as Hunters or are out relishing time as normal people, passing by the park on the way home from a busy day, having dinner together— and now you’re bound together for the rest of your life.

“I love you,” he says softly, and leans his head back.

“Sappy.” You chuckle, and kiss the matching mark on his neck,

“Isn’t it normal for a husband to tell his wife that he loves her?” Oh. There it is, the pout and the puppy dog eyes you know so well.

You wash off the last of the suds from his silvery hair and acquiesce to your adorable husband. “Okay, okay. I love you too.”

The water’s gone cold already, and Xavier kisses your temple before he leaves the tub. You soak for a few more moments before he returns, dressed, carrying with him one of his shirts, your underwear, and pajamas. He carefully dries you off, making sure the towel is especially gentle around your bond mark, and dresses you before carrying you back to the bed. The towel you’ve used and the top bedsheet are in a pile somewhere in one of the suite’s closets, and his suit and your gown are folded somewhere on top of the luggage. He sets you gently on the plush bed, before pulling the covers over you and himself. On instinct, you snuggle into him, cozy.

“Xavier, thank you.”

He responds by pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “I should be thanking you.”

“If we keep this up, we’ll never stop.”

“Isn’t that why we got married?” He hums thoughtfully, this time another song, one he had played for you on the piano years ago, as he strokes your hair.

You pull yourself up, nuzzling and sniffing at his neck sleepily.

“I still smell like you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “Mhm, I just… want you near.”

Any more closer and Xavier is positive that you’ll merge yourself into him, but he remains silent, as maybe the idea doesn’t sound bad at all.

By a stroke of luck, the stars aligned to bring them together, him and his starlight. Your breathing slows as you begin to fall asleep.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile. “I love you too, Xavier.”

The two of you drift into the land of dreams.

⊹˚₊‧──────────‧─────────‧─────────‧──────────‧₊˚⊹

A/N: this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever published. man. anyway stay hydrated friends. merry christmas :3

[onehundredelevven]

You received a Christmas Fic I !

Pre-Christmas with Sukuna.

word count: 1,010

cw: Just Sukuna being Sukuna, cringe ig, but sweet and fun nonetheless

note: this is kinda rushed, but I hope y'all like it !

December was in full swing, and your apartment was a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Boxes of decorations were scattered across the floor, half-empty rolls of wrapping paper had taken over the couch, and you were wearing an oversized sweater with a cartoonish reindeer on the front.

Sukuna, meanwhile, sat at the dining table, looking like he wanted to murder the nearest inflatable snowman.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as you balanced precariously on a stool to hang a string of lights.

“What does it look like?” you replied, sticking your tongue out in concentration as you secured the lights. “I’m spreading holiday cheer, duh.”

“You mean you’re spreading a disaster,” he muttered, taking a sip from his coffee.

You turned to glare at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Grinch. Didn’t realize you were allergic to fun.”

“I’m not allergic to fun,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that trademark smirk. “I just don’t see the point of all this… nonsense.” He gestured vaguely at the mess you’d made of the apartment.

“Nonsense?” You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest like he’d just insulted your entire family lineage. “How dare you disrespect the sacred art of Christmas decorating!”

“It’s not sacred. It’s tacky,” he shot back, though his eyes lingered on the string of multicolored lights you’d managed to drape across the room.

“Oh, come on, Sukuna,” you said, hopping off the stool and plopping down beside him. “Don’t you feel the Christmas spirit? The magic? The joy?”

“I feel like I’m stuck in a Hallmark movie,” he deadpanned.

You gasped again. “You take that back!”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theatrics. “What are you going to do? Throw tinsel at me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you muttered, grabbing a nearby strand of tinsel threateningly.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth—almost like he was trying not to smile.

☆☆☆

It didn’t take long for your chaotic energy to rope him into the madness.

“Here, hold this,” you said, shoving a box of ornaments into his arms.

“No,” he said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“Yes,” you insisted, grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to the tree. “You’re helping whether you like it or not.”

“Why would I waste my time hanging plastic baubles on a dying plant?”

“Because you love me,” you said sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.

He snorted. “Debatable.”

“Wow.” You pouted, crossing your arms. “Fine. Be a Grinch. I’ll just do it all myself.”

You turned away dramatically, but before you could pick up an ornament, Sukuna grabbed your wrist.

“Give me that,” he said gruffly, taking the ornament from your hand.

You grinned triumphantly as he begrudgingly hung it on the tree.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

“Don’t push it,” he warned, though he didn’t pull away when you leaned against him.

☆☆☆

By the time you finished decorating, the living room looked like Christmas had exploded. The tree was covered in lights, ornaments, and a questionable amount of fake snow. You’d even managed to hang a wreath on the front door, though Sukuna had grumbled the entire time about how “pointless” it was.

“You know,” you said, collapsing onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, “I think this might be my best work yet.”

Sukuna stood with his arms crossed, surveying the room like a disgruntled art critic.

“It’s… less terrible than I expected,” he admitted reluctantly.

You gasped. “Was that a compliment? From the great Ryomen Sukuna himself?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, sitting down beside you.

☆☆☆

The evening took a quieter turn as you both settled in with mugs of hot chocolate (well, you had hot chocolate; Sukuna had spiked his with something stronger). The lights on the tree cast a warm glow over the room, and for once, Sukuna wasn’t scowling.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” you asked, nudging him with your shoulder.

“It’s tolerable,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“You’re such a softie,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Watch it,” he warned, though he didn’t push you away.

For a moment, the chaos of the day melted away, leaving only the quiet hum of holiday music and the gentle crackle of a candle burning on the coffee table.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, sitting up and looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“What now?” he asked, already bracing himself for whatever ridiculous idea you’d come up with next.

You held up a sprig of mistletoe, grinning like a child who’d just pulled off a prank.

“Really?” he said, giving you a flat look.

“It’s tradition,” you said innocently, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

Sukuna sighed, setting his mug down on the table. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered before leaning in to kiss you.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, a rare moment of tenderness from someone as rough around the edges as Sukuna. When he pulled away, his usual smirk was back in place.

“Merry pre-Christmas, brat,” he said, ruffling your hair.

“Merry pre-Christmas, Grinch,” you replied, snuggling back into his side.

And for once, Sukuna didn’t complain.

[nonexistence1199]

Bungou Stray Dogs headcanons!

Author's note: Late christmas gift for y'all;) My apology for making you wait, my family visited me last night sooooo... yeah, that's it...

Hope you enjoy!

Characters: Dazai, Fyodor, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe

Dazai Osamu

The most chaotic (also the sweetest) holiday you've ever get, that's for sure

This bastard will make you join the ADA's Christmas party, but if you're not comfortable, then he'll just sneak out with you to go to whatever place you want

Confessing his feelings under the christmas tree, awwww <3

Have a feeling that he won't invite anyone to commit double suicide with him in this day

"Better not let God get angry with me. It would be a shame if He didn't let me die later just because of some bad Christmas prank, don't you agree Belladonna?"

Cuddles cuddles cuddles🥰

Go annoy Chuuya in front of you

"You see? He'll need to improve his height and his awful taste in fashion if he wants to go on a date with someone as gorgeous as yo-"

"SHUT UP MACKEREL!!"

You would likely receive something like a hand-written poem along with a little gift depends on your hobbies

"Ermmmm..... I-I hope you like it, Belladonna.."

"Mhm, of course, love"

Chill guy on the outside, fluster as hell on the inside

He'll stick around you until the next morning (obviously, because he's Dazai)

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Okay so let's pretend that he had a lover....

Go to church with your hand in his

Rarely show his emotions, but who cares?

The type of person to internally scream when he caught a glimpse of your smile

"God she's such a fragile little thing... makes me want to keep her innocence all to myself"

Prays to God that you'll stay with him whatever it takes

Listening to Tchaikovsky at home (I love Tchaikovky's music sm😇)

He'll make sure to kick Nikolai out of his way, just to have more private time with you

You guys would play a duet with each other, in the candle-lit living room (in case you know how to play piano or whatever instruments that get along with cello)

Easily figure out what you like and gifted it to you (he's too smart to miss out your sparkling eyes when you see something you love lol)

Maybe he'll even skip work to spend time with you

"Is it okay, Fedya...?"

"Don't worry, мой дорогой. There is no harm in getting off from work for a while to give you the attention you deserves, don't you think?"

Nakahara Chuuya

Top quality five-star restaurant, not too crowded but not too secluded

Your role in this expensive date? Point out whatever you want, and you'll have it in a second.

Bonus point if his darling is also alcoholic (But he won't let you drink too much. He wouldn't want you damaging your own health, afterall)

"Your total payment was 12,365.04000 yen, sir."

"What? That's not enough. Anything else you wanna buy, darling?"

Hold the door open for you, carry all your shopping bags, wrapping his arm around your waist and held you close because he's such a gentleman oh my god🤭🤭

Turn his cautious mode on when he see a certain bandaged brunette

"Stay away from me and my precious darling, or else I'll explode your damn apartment"

Kick Dazai's ass if he dares to approach you

"Are you fine, darling? Did he do anything to you? Tell me, and I'll kill him right away-"

"No, don't worry Chuu, he didn't do anything"

For a quick sum up: A fancy date with Mr. Fancy hat

Edgar Allan Poe

Travelling in his special novel for Christmas? He would have prepared it for a long time now. Afterall, he's literally simping his lover

Celebrate Christmas in his home, cuddles and he'll whisper all the lovely words in your ear

"I love you, love"

"Aww, me too"

"Will you stay with me? For the rest of my life?"

"I will"

Nothing is better than his flustered face after hearing your response<33

I have a feeling that he would give you some kind of handmade gifts (of course, he do it himself)

He would prefer staying at home with you, but if you want, he'd gladly take you to the place to want to go

Dancing in the living room

Super clingy guy who would cling to you (may even get jelous when Karl stays in your lap for too long...)

Edogawa Ranpo

Prepare to see your wallet getting lighter and lighter in Christmas day...

Drag you to his favorite candy shop (don't worry, you may get bankrupt the next day)

"Only one more candy bag, pretty pleaseeeeeeeee?"

"Pfft, no"

Eating snacks while while watching some movies with you

Childlike behaviors

He would even share his snacks with you... suprise😉?

Shamelessly cling onto you and would whine like a child if you leave him for a second

"Am I your human pillow or what?"

"Yes you are, dummy"

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚 (𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙫𝙚𝙧.) 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 — 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣'𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.2k

𝙖/𝙣: merry christmas, my sanshines! here's my christmas present to you all <3

𝙩/𝙬: accidental restraints, rough and soft tickling

𝒍𝒆𝒆: minho

𝙡𝙚𝙧: chan

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

The only thought in Chan’s Santa hat clad head was what was for dinner. He knew a frenzied Minho was probably cooking up a storm at home and he couldn’t wait for the fresh aroma of whatever the younger made. 

The sad ache of not being able to decorate the dorm due to schedules had long faded, and Chan knew far better than anyone else that a Christmas with the members was better than any tree or pretty string lights. 

He arrived at home, white puffs of air leaving his freezing lips as he anticipated the warmth of the dorm after the long day. The others had long gone to a party, and Minho had gleefully counted himself out. Chan had stayed behind mainly to take care of the cat butler at home. 

“Minho-yah! I’m home!” Chan kicked his shoes off, half expecting Min’s scolding face to show up in front of him, chiding him for not keeping them neatly on the shelf. However, no cat butler. 

Channie’s breath left him as he took in the brightly decorated dorm living room. Tears filled his eyes. “Minho…oh, kitten,” He whispered, a hand to his mouth as the lights twinkled invitingly. 

He wondered around the apartment in search of Minho. Why is it so quiet? Chan heard a muffled shriek and a thud from the bedroom, and he stifled a laugh as he walked towards it. 

“Minho, yah, what are you—” Chan cut off his own sentence with a wide eyed stare as he took in the chaos that was the bedroom floor. 

Clearly, Minho had been trying to hang up some string lights by the time Chan had gotten home, along with some pretty ribbon bows along the walls. Let’s say that plan didn’t turn out so well. 

The lights were tangled around poor Minho’s arms, pinning one up and the other snug to his side, while the ribbons were tangled in the lights, a bow sitting snug on top of his head. 

One of the ribbons snaked around his lips and muffled every sound Minho made. “Hnnngh…” He whined pitifully as Chan burst into laughter, clutching the door frame as he watched the poor cat wiggling around on the floor, looking like a frustrated mess with disheveled hair. 

“Oh, Minho…what have you gotten yourself into?” Chan cooed, kneeling down beside the teary eyed boy and pulling the ribbon out of his mouth. 

“Hyuuung!” He wailed as Chan let out another peal of delighted laughter, the leader adjusting the bow on top of Minho’s head and kissing the crown of his head. “I was just trying to decorate!”

“Oh, I know…I know, and you did so well, kitten,” Channie chuckled warmly, pulling Minho into a more comfortable position, the younger’s arm sticking up awkwardly as he pouted. 

“Don’t you dare say a single word.” Minho groaned and Chan grinned back in all his dimpled glory. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” He nodded, though it didn’t seem very convincing. 

“Well? Help me out of this!” Minho demanded, tugging at the string lights and trying to escape them without snapping the cords. 

“Hmmm…I have a more interesting idea…” Channie’s grin turned evil so quickly Minho’s fear spiked unnaturally. 

“What…What do you mean?” Minho stammered, trying to scoot away and finding it hard due to his pinned arms and tied legs. 

“Well, I just think I should get my Christmas present early. I mean, you’re dressed the part,” Chan gestured to the small bow resting on Minho’s fluffy hair. 

The younger glared at him. “Christopher Bang if you get even five feet within my personal bubble I swear I’ll—AAH!!” Minho screamed as Chan grabbed his outstretched arm, pinning it down before the leader teasingly wiggled his free hand over Minho’s exposed armpit. 

I really should not have worn a tank top. 

Minho yelped and tried to wiggle away frantically, his other arm frustratingly pinned to his side, his legs kicking desperately as nervous giggles poured from his lips, and the sight of Chan wiggling his fingers in that horribly ticklish way only made it so much worse. 

“Oh you’re not going anywhere,” Chan laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he gripped tighter, his other hand finally descending onto Minho’s hypersensitive underarm. 

Minho let out an undignified shriek, strained laughter pouring from him as Channie’s fingers attached, scratching in a rhythm that nearly sent poor Minho into a hysterical frenzy. 

“STOHOHOHOP!! Youhuhure so dehehehehead!!” He cried out, grunting in frustration as he tried to squirm out of the string lights. 

“If I’m gonna be dead, might as well go all out while I can,” Chan grinned, straddling Min’s thighs and moving to his sides, using both hands to squeeze at the soft skin of the left side. 

Minho’s socked feet kicked frantically as he jerked to the right, his laughter freeing itself as his eyes squeezed shut, and he arched his back in desperation as Chan moved to his lower belly, pushing in with his thumbs. 

“Awhhh, is the kitten too ticklish? Can he not handle it?” Chan pouted, the mock sympathy making Minho cackle, stomping his feet as he twisted side to side. “Too bad the little kitten is stuck with me~”

“NOHOHO TEHEHEHEHEASING!! Leheheehehet me gohoho—OHHAAAHAHAHAA!!” Minho shrieked, shrill and high pitched as Chan switched spots quickly, his thumbs now kneading circles into the hollows of his hips. “Look at these wiggly hips!~”

“NOHOHOHO—Nohohot the hihips!! NAHAHAHAAT THE HIPS EEHHAHAHAHAHA!!” Minho laughed, his voice turning squeaky with embarrassment and laughter. 

“Oh, yes the hips. It’s one of my favorite spots on you,” Chan replied nonchalantly, pressing in deeper and making it so much worse, earning a high pitched squeal from the kitten beneath him. The leader switched directions, turning so that he was now facing Minho’s legs. 

“Hyung—Hyung please!! NOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE!!” Minho howled, Chan happily going to town on his knees. 

Minho hadn’t even been aware of how sensitive his knees were, and now that Channie’s hands were freely squeezing and working into the parts beneath, he wondered  how Jisung survived all of the sessions on his knees, now feeling the torture. 

“GAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! STOP!! Hyung—Chaahahahahannie hyung Ihihihim sohohhohorry!! JUHUHUST STOP TIHIHIHICKLING ME!!” 

The younger’s voice quieted as Chan removed the restrictive lighting from his arms and wrists, just to grow horrified as Chan scooted further down, grabbing at Minho’s ankle and removing his fluffy socks. 

“Noho…NO!! No, hyung, please…not my feet!!” Minho begged, squeezing his eyes shut. He pleaded all he could, his face flushed in laughter and he was completely at Channie’s mercy. 

Minho screamed, throwing his body up against Chan’s back as fingers scratched up and down his feet. It was unbearable, sensation shooting up his legs and setting every nerve on fire. 

“IHIHIHITS TOOHOHHOHOO MUHUHUUHUHUCH!!” He howled as Chan was unrelenting, even as Minho slapped at his back and grasped at his waist desperately. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Chan held the top of Minho’s foot, using the nails of his other hand to scritch scratch in tiny, quick movements along the tender arch of Minho’s foot. 

“AAAAHH!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Tears spilled down Minho’s cheeks as he howled for mercy, screaming Chan’s name and pounding at his back hysterically and nearly killing the leader’s spine. 

Finally, a grinning Chan let up, turning to scoop an exhausted Minho into his arms. “Who’s the ticklish kitty, hm? My little Christmas present,” He mused, nuzzling into Minho’s wet cheek and adjusting the bow on top of the cat’s head. Minho melted into his embrace, eyes dropping as he let Channie hold him. 

Chan smiled down at him. “Love you, Minho-yah,” He chuckled. “Merry Christmas.” He relished in the small moment he had with Minho, where the younger wasn’t fighting back against his affection. 

Minho’s cheeks flushed in shyness. “Merry Christmas, hyung. I love you too.”

[goldfades]

i need you to write something else for melo 😩😩 he’s too fine

this was just a random idea that just came to me so enjoy lamelo being dramatic per usual

lamelo’s sprawled out on your bed, long limbs taking up too much space like he owns the place. he’s scrolling on his phone, but you can feel his eyes on you every time you move—sharp, curious, like he’s waiting for something. you’re standing at your dresser, your back to him, the little mirror propped up in front of you as you go through your routine.

"what’s that for?"

his voice cuts through the quiet, lazy and amused. you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning like he just said something groundbreaking. you roll your eyes instead, squeezing a dollop of cleanser onto your fingers.

"it’s face wash, lamelo. what do you think it’s for?"

"i mean, i know that," he says, dragging the last word out like you’re the one being ridiculous. "but what’s it do? like, specifically."

you glance at him over your shoulder, and yep, there’s that grin. all teeth and mischief, like he’s poking at you just because he can. "it cleans your face."

"but how, though?" he asks, like he’s genuinely perplexed. "like, does it get in your pores or something? or—"

"oh my god," you cut him off, turning back to the mirror before you start laughing, "why are you asking so many questions? do you want to do it for me or something?"

"nah," he says, but he’s already sitting up, leaning forward like he’s trying to get a better look. "just curious. what’s next? that little bottle? what’s in that one?"

you exhale a laugh, shaking your head as you rub the cleanser into your skin. "this is toner. you don’t need to know what’s in it."

"but what if i wanna know?" he says, teasing, leaning back on his hands like he’s settling in for a whole lesson. "what if i wanna have nice skin, too?"

you pause, hands stilling against your face, and look at him. lamelo is dead serious—or as serious as he can look, which isn’t very with his lopsided smile and the way his hair’s falling into his eyes.

and that’s how you end up making him sit on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed and skeptical, while you hand him a pink headband.

"put it on," you say, holding out the soft, pink headband that you’ve worn a million times.

lamelo looks at it like it’s a foreign object, brows furrowing. "you for real right now?"

"dead serious," you say, not even hiding the smirk tugging at your lips. "you wanna know all about skincare? you gotta commit."

he stares at you for a long second, probably debating if this is worth it. but then, with a dramatic sigh like he’s sacrificing his pride or whatever, he grabs the headband and stretches it over his head.

it’s a little tight, and his curls stick out in every direction, but it’s on. he looks ridiculous. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

"stop looking at me like that," he mutters, fidgeting with the band, trying to adjust it.

"like what?" you ask, all wide-eyed innocence.

"like you wanna take a picture or some shit," he grumbles, but the corner of his mouth is twitching, and you know he’s trying not to smile.

"don’t tempt me," you say, turning back to your dresser and grabbing your cleanser. you squeeze some into your hand, then hold the bottle out to him.

"okay, first step," you say, "you’re gonna wash your face."

he takes the bottle like it’s fragile, turning it over in his hands to read the label. "you got me using, like, top-shelf stuff, huh? this some fancy brand?"

"just put it on your hands," you say, snatching it back and setting it down. "it’s not that deep."

he does as he’s told, squeezing way too much onto his palms, and you groan. "that’s way too much! do you think your face is the size of a basketball?"

"hey, i don’t know how this works!" he says, laughing now, trying to rub it into his hands. soap bubbles are already spilling over his fingers.

"oh my god," you mutter, grabbing a towel and shaking your head. "you’re hopeless. here, let me—"

before you can finish, he’s already slapping the foam onto his face, making these exaggerated, circular motions like he’s scrubbing the kitchen sink. you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach.

"you look like you’re washing a car," you manage to say between gasps, and he grins through the foam, white suds all over his cheeks.

"hey, i’m getting into it," he says, like he’s proud of himself. "you gotta put some effort in, right?"

"there’s effort," you say, wiping at your eyes, "and then there’s... whatever this is."

he sticks his tongue out at you, smearing more cleanser across his forehead. it’s absurd, honestly—lamelo ball, nba star, sitting in your room with a pink headband on, looking like a kid finger-painting on his own face. but it’s also kind of... sweet? in a chaotic, messy kind of way.

"okay, okay," you say, grabbing his wrists to stop him. "you’re gonna give yourself a rash. just—rinse it off."

he leans over the small sink in the corner of your room, splashing water everywhere as he washes the soap away. when he looks up, his face is dripping, his curls damp at the edges.

"how do i look?" he asks, grinning like a fool.

you tilt your head, pretending to assess him. "clean. that’s a good start."

he chuckles, grabbing a towel to pat his face dry, and you hand him the next product.

"this one’s toner," you explain, holding up a cotton pad. "you just swipe it across your skin."

"what’s it do?" he asks, dutifully copying your motions.

"balances your skin," you say, vaguely. "shrinks your pores."

"shrinks my pores?" he echoes, like that’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. "damn, i didn’t even know my pores needed shrinking."

you laugh, shaking your head as you reach for the next step in your arsenal. you’re only halfway through the routine, but lamelo’s already invested—asking a million questions, trying not to mess it up too bad, glancing at you for approval after every step.

and as much as he’s testing your patience, there’s something about the way he’s taking it seriously—like he actually cares about doing it right—that makes you smile.

maybe this was a good idea after all.

you’re both back on the bed now, and lamelo’s lying flat on his back, staring up at you like he’s questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"this is unnecessary," he whines, arms folded dramatically behind his head. "my brows are fine. perfect, even."

you’re straddling his hips, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him, holding a pair of tweezers in one hand and a look of determination in the other. "your brows are a mess. you’ve got like... a whole constellation happening up here."

he scoffs, tilting his head back against the pillow. "ain’t nobody ever complained before. why you coming for me like this?"

"because I care," you say, smirking as you lean forward. "now hold still or I’m gonna mess it up, and then you really will have something to complain about."

he groans, dramatically throwing one arm over his eyes. "this is torture. actual torture. I’m calling the league on you."

"call adam silver," you say, laughing. "I’m sure he’ll take you very seriously when you tell him your girlfriend plucked your eyebrows."

he peeks at you from under his arm, his lips twitching with a smile he’s trying to hide. "you better be gentle," he mutters. "i’m trusting you with my face."

"you’ll survive," you say, pinching his chin lightly to tilt his head toward you. you squint at his brows, lining up the tweezers. "okay, first one..."

the second you pluck a hair, he yelps like you’ve just stabbed him. "ow! nah, that hurt!"

"it did not hurt," you say, rolling your eyes.

"it did!" he insists, throwing his head back dramatically. "why you gotta be so rough?"

"i barely touched you," you argue, but you’re grinning because he’s being so over-the-top about it. "stop being a baby."

"i’m not a baby," he grumbles, but he’s pouting now, lips sticking out like a kid who’s been told no.

"okay, fine," you say, leaning closer again. "i’ll be gentler. but you have to stay still."

he gives you a side-eye like he doesn’t trust you, but he nods. "fine. one more chance."

you pluck another hair, slower this time, and he winces, sucking in a dramatic gasp. "nah, you lying. that’s worse!"

you can’t help it—you start laughing so hard you almost drop the tweezers. "you’re such a drama queen, oh my god."

"this ain’t funny!" he says, but he’s grinning now, too, trying to keep his cool. "you out here abusing me in my prime."

"abusing you?" you repeat, still laughing. "do you want your brows to look good or not?"

"they already look good," he says, like that’s the final word on the subject.

you lean back, resting your hands on his chest as you give him a once-over. "you’re lucky you’re cute," you say, shaking your head. "otherwise, i’d give up on you completely."

his grin softens into something warmer, and he reaches up to grab your wrist, tugging you down a little closer. "cute, huh?" he murmurs, voice lower now.

"don’t let it go to your head," you say, but your face heats up anyway because he’s looking at you like that, all soft and playful.

"too late," he says, and before you can roll your eyes, he’s tilting his head up to kiss you, quick and sweet, his lips brushing against yours like he’s sealing the moment.

you try to act annoyed, but the smile breaking across your face gives you away. "you’re still getting these brows done," you say, pointing the tweezers at him.

"yeah, yeah," he says, lying back down with a sigh. "just don’t kill me, okay?"

"no promises," you tease, leaning forward again.

[disastrouscanasta]

@evidenceof happy christmas yna!!!! i was your secret santa this year, and it was an absolute BLAST! you were the best giftee, very thorough in your answers to my asks, and if i didn't need to maintain anonymity for so long, i would have picked your brain on soooo many of your wonderful thoughts. YOU UNDERSTAND ALL THE PAIRINGS SO WELL, and literally every prompt and idea you gave me was SO amazing, and incredible to explore. thank you for being so lovely <3 for you, i have a fic that i've worked on over the past few weeks, inspired by your prompts!

A Busy Blur | runner/leckie | 2k | post-war, developing relationship, a touch of epistolary & long-distance love

**

“You’ll write to me, won’t you Cobber?” Runner said, a playful lilt in his voice. Leckie could have sworn he caught a flash of something more vulnerable, more honest, from around the bags under his eyes, under the furrow of Runner’s brow. 

“If you learn how to read, sure.” Leckie said.

And Runner laughed, mouth splitting open in a bright smile that drew Leckie’s attention away from the bruises and the sling his friend’s arm was suspended in.

**

The first letter was simple.

Leckie,

I bet you’re home safe, now. And if you’re not, well, that’s your fault for being the only idiot sonofabitch to get hurt on the train ride from the harbour, instead of being killed by artillery. Somehow, that sounds about right.

Hope the mailing address is right,

Conley.

Leckie smiled wide when he read it, forgetting that he was sitting across from his stone-faced father at the table, half-eaten eggs forgotten in front of him when he had Runner’s letter in his hands.

“Did you get a cheque?” His father asked, speaking up for the first time since he’d come into the dining room and filled the seat at the far side of the table, away from his son.

“No,” Leckie answered simply. If his mother was there, she might have pried, probably asked about a girl, she’d have put just an inch more effort than his dad ever had.

His father made a short grunting sound before turning back to his paper.

(He read the Philadelphia Inquirer. Leckie himself worked for the Philadelphia Record. Figures.)

**

Leckie kept a notebook on him at all times, but he used it most at sports games, taking notes on the plays and activity of the baseball season. The notepad was filled with shorthand accounts of who was doing best, who was doing the worst, teams and rosters and everything he could come up with.

Some days (most,) he wasn’t granted the privilege of good seats, or even tickets to whatever sport was being played. But he had to write the damn article, anyway. So he sat by the radio, listening to the play-by-play accounts as they happened, with their paper’s roster open on the table in front of him.

His notebook looked something like this:

23/04/‘46

NY Giants vs. P. P.

JUDD, Oscar - pitching.

^ 3 SO

NORTHEY, Ron - batting

^ Home run, flyball to deep RF

SEMINICK, Andy - batting

^ Single, F. MCCORMICK SCORES

Playtime : 2hrs 14mins

PS: tell Runner about the weather

**

He’d been surprised at how easy it was to slip back into camaraderie with Runner.

But then again it had been easy on the boat, too, when—

Well, that was in the past. And even if there had been a few road bumps, they had never stopped being friends.

The war being over, reassuringly, didn’t stop that.

**

Runner,

He wrote at the start of his response, and paused. 

Runner’s letter sat next to him on his desk, under the warm light of the lamp. It had been dark for hours, and Leckie just couldn’t bring himself to put anything on the page until nearly midnight.

That letter had started with Leckie, and wasn’t that awfully formal? They’d gotten to know each other more intimately than most people would ever manage and— Leckie. It was impersonal. He’d expected something more ridiculous, Peaches, Cobber, something like that.

Leckie was sticking with Runner, for his own purposes.

(It had taken everything in him not to write Dear Vera. Less out of intent, and more out of habit. He’d never sent her any of his letters, and by the time he got him, she was already married. She looked happy, at least.)

Runner,

Got home in one piece. Based on your letter, and the fact that that chicken-scratch is unmistakably yours, I’ll guess that you’re alright stateside.

Since we haven’t got a war to talk about, I’m telling you a bit about work (a bit of complaining, so that you know it’s really me.)

The Philly Phillips won, 5-2. The paper made me sit by the radio box and take notes like some kind of spook, you’d think I work for the Russians, if you saw me hunched over my notebook like that. Last week, they got me a ticket to the actual game. We lost, with three points down. I think I’m cursed, if my presence makes the team lose.

Whatever. It’s still better than scraping out a latrine, with you sorry folks for company.

Leckie.

He posted it in the morning, and tucked Runner's letter away in his drawer.

**

Hoosier promised to write, so did Chuckler, and that Phillips kid, but ultimately, every time he got handed a personal letter by the postman, it was always, always, from Runner.

It felt ridiculous. He’d gone a whole war with those fellas, and they didn’t say so much as hello? But hey, what was he supposed to do?

(Their mailing addresses were tucked away in the same drawer that he kept any letters he got from Runner. They had his, he had theirs, and maybe his was part of some ongoing game of Chicken that he was playing with Hoosier. Either way, Runner didn’t care.)

Cobber,

The newest letter said, because Runner had quit with the Leckie pretence and cut to the chase with the stupid nicknames. Leckie couldn’t help but feel relief. Too many people had called him by his surname in the Marines. And back home, too many people called him Bob. Runner managed to find that surprising middle ground, by letting Leckie be someone else completely, just for a moment.

I’ve got a reason to write this, for once. Today, is Memorial Day. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is the government telling me to take the day off and get wasted, flashing that little veteran’s tag to get a discount at my local drink house.

Now, you’ll get this on, what? Beginning of June? Take some time for yourself, have a drink. (I’m not paying, though. That’s up to you, and your fancy paper job.)

Runner

If there was one thing that Leckie could be assured about, it’s that Runner’s letters would make him smile. He started reading them in his bedroom, instead of cracking the letter open in the dining room, where his parents had to see.

Everyone seemed to expect him to have left the war overseas. And it might have been over, but he couldn’t help but yearn for something that he’d had then. Not war, but something that had been so closely linked with the brutality of it all, that he didn’t think he’d be able to articulate it to anyone.

Maybe, he pondered, Runner understood him. Runner had understood him better than a lot of people had. On the boat ride home from that Australian hospital—

Runner just got it.

**

Runner,

He started, a couple weeks later.

You should get this by July 4th, and I wish you a good Independence Day. Go to a barbecue, wear your dress blues, go to a banquet. 

I hope it’s better for you than it will be for me. My parents are leaving me all alone to spend time with my brother and his wife, a couple towns over. I’m expecting to spend the night tucked up in my bedroom, shouting bah, humbug! everytime I hear fireworks. I hope the reference doesn’t go over your head— I can explain it in my next letter.

Leckie

**

The Fourth of July was more miserable than he’d expected. The commotion stirred up more in Leckie’s chest than he wanted to admit. The fireworks were too loud, and July was too hot. He laid on his childhood bed in nothing but his boxers, staring up at the ceiling, working through his third glass of beer.

At some point, he got up, pulled a paper from his desk and started writing.

Runner,

These damn holidays might be more exciting if you got closer.

There’s a good bar near my work, they do swing dancing on Thursday nights: I’m sure it’s your venue. You’re the best dancer I know!

I hope you can hear the sarcasm.

I won’t pick Hoosier over you, this time.

Leckie.

In the morning, after a cup of coffee and an aspirin for his headache, he read it through (as well as a typed page-and-a-half of hazy memories from Mbanika, which he crumpled into a ball and tossed under his bed.) and tucked it carefully into the drawer with Runner’s letters.

He didn’t really want to think too hard about all that.

**

Peaches,

I got the reference, thanks. I like to think you have those big mutton chops that I remember from those old pictures. You’re called Peaches, but you’re not all that sweet, are you?

That’s not a real question. I know the answer.

Hope your Independence Day was as boring as mine. I forgot how loud those things were.

Runner

**

Leckie couldn’t stop writing them. Stupid, ridiculous messages that really meant nothing.

He put them in his drawer, tucked away just in case he ever needed it. Leckie didn’t think it was vain, but some of them were well written. He didn’t feel that too often, so he kept them.

**

I saw a guy with your haircut, made me look twice just to be sure. I should have known it wasn’t you; he was taller.

That one was scribbled in his work notebook, while he was at the game (Phillips vs. Chicago Cubs), and the audience clapped and jeered around him.

You’re a marine, but how well can you swim? I’ve never asked.

Leckie wrote that question on a napkin in a diner. His pen ripped through it at the end.

**

I miss the boys. I miss you.

He didn’t write that one, but he heard it reverberating in his head when he flicked the lamp off. It was burned into the backs of his eyelids, anyway.

I miss you.

He was surprised that he meant it.

**

Professor,

That was how Runner opened his next message. It made Leckie smile. (Of course it did. They all did.)

Why DO we celebrate Labour Day? I saw them putting streamers and banners and what-not up in the streets today. New York City is a funny beast— you should come by, watch the parade.

Hope you get a day off work, and some time to yourself. (I’m still not paying for your drinks)

Runner

Leckie stared at that message for longer than he had any right to. By the time he sent his reply, Labour Day had passed, and he could only wonder what Runner had meant by any of it.

**

Runner,

I’ve got to come up with something more exciting for you. It’s difficult when I can’t see all the ridiculous shit you’re getting yourself into. And you don’t have the inclination to write it to me, I bet.

I’d call you a coward, but you’d call me one right back. Have you ever realised that we bicker like school children?

Leckie

**

To the man who mocks me,

Yeah, well, it’s hard to come up with nicknames for you too. That one just now was shit.

You want to know what I’ve been up to? Really? Well, I’ve got a job at the steelworks, which is great and all. Except I ran into a piece of machinery the other day, busted my lip wide open. There was a hell of a lot of blood. I think the 16-year-old kid who works next to me fainted. How’s that?

We’re both cowards, so what? We served our damn country.

Buster (I sure buster’ed my lip open. Get it?)

**

Bruiser,

All I have to say is that: you’re an idiot!

Yours,

The brilliant professor who’s kept himself out of danger

**

Leckie thought about Runner too much, he realised.

Some part of him was always waiting for the next letter, waiting to write, to come up with something short and stupid to say to the man, just so that he could imagine Runner’s familiar laugh.

Shit. Leckie thought, as he folded up another half-drafted, but unsendable letter.

**

Professor,

Tell me a story, if you’re so wise.

Your bruised-lipped-friend,

Runner

**

Runner,

If you really want to know, I’ve been more of an idiot to you.

My mother asked me this morning if I was getting married soon. I told her no.

She said that she thought I had been in contact with “that lovely girl from across the street,” and the woman she meant was the dearest Vera that everyone was so tired of hearing about. I had to break my mother’s heart and tell her that Vera moved away months ago, and that she was already married— to an army man, no less.

The old woman was more distraught about it than I was. Turns out she thought that Vera and you were one in the same. I’m surprised she never sent you an engagement present.

Leckie.

**

Leckie,

Hell, why didn’t you say so? I would have acted soppier.

In that case, you should come to New York this November and visit your sweetheart, how’s that?

Runner

**

Leckie blinked at that, then he stared for a long time, hoping to make sense of it all.

**

Runner,

November’s no good, I’m all booked up. How’s early December?

Leckie

**

To a difficult guest,

I guess I can fit you into my busy schedule.

I’ll see you in three weeks, then?

Runner.

**

Leckie booked a train ticket before he could convince himself otherwise.

Then, he stuffed a handful of his little messages into an envelope, scribbled Runner’s address, and mailed it all without a second thought.

Five days letter, he got an envelope back, inside, with no signature, was something simple, etched in Runner’s charming chicken-scratch:

We should have done all this in February. I would have wished you a happy Valentine’s.

[our-trans-punk-experience]

I've been getting into punk clothing lately and reading some of your page got me wondering, what makes a jacket a battle jacket?

I've got a denim jacket I stole borrowed from my mum and embroidered a little heart on the left breast pocket (like where your actual heart is).

Is it a battle jacket already? Do I need to add more stuff? Are enamel pins (specifically a Porco Rosso pin and some pins for WW2 planes) punk? Should I sew a trans flag onto the entire back? (trick question, the answer is yes)

Also do you have any recommendations for symbols to put on? I'm aware of the circle-A but that's more specifically anarchist.

Sorry if this is too long and/or rambley.

Happy holidays!

happy holidays!

so first note is a battle jacket is about intention and purpose, so it is one if you want one, but what my personal line is could be summed up as "punk clothing is punk clothing is punk clothing when it has been visibly unapologetically altered" so you can call that jacket a WIP battle jacket

consider adding badges, patches, and other visible alterations. stick those enamel pins on!

secondly, my safety tip of the day is don't actually cover the entire back in a trans flag. stick the trans flag on the front. there's a semi-official rule in punk spaces that you stick more generic music/arty patches on the back but anything relating explicitly to politics or marginalised identity should be kept on your front for safety so you can see who's seeing it, in case theyre a bigot and choose violence

good luck with your jacket!