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shieldofiron · 11 months

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Hello

But what about Steve who got kicked out by his parents when he came out as bi and somehow made it to California and ends up doing sex work and finds it is something he is good at and having a huge dick is good for something for a change. He also does some high end escort work too cos he knows all the etiquette stuff, thanks to his upbringing.

He's got his regulars, men and women, and a little apartment and there's this golden guy who looks like a freaking god who goes past every morning on a run, super early, when Steve has a coffee on his balcony. Steve starts thinking about him when he's jerking off or when he's with clients, he can't help himself.

And then one day he shows up at this fancy hotel to be some rich guy's escort for the night and it's the guy he's been seeing run past his balcony every morning.

Mr Hargrove, CEO of something.

Anyway, that's what I was thinking about just now while I was waiting for you to tell me the super sad bit of your idea.

The request is kind of weird.

Normally people request him in lingerie, something filmy and sexy that frames his body. When it's not that it's suits, from a casual sports coat all the way to a tuxedo, and he keeps it all in his closet.

"You know what it means?" Angela's gum snaps on the phone.

"Green basketball shorts?" Steve scratched his temple, "Not really. I think I have some from high school."

"Well, if they're tight," Angela said, "And he said sneakers. High white socks."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Okay. Weirdo. Did he say anything about sex acts?"

"Anal," Her gum pops.

"No shit, it's a guy," Steve rolls his eyes.

"He just asked what you looked like, honestly. Wanted a guy with brown eyes, brown hair, real pretty," Angela clicked her long nails against the counter, "Other than the outfit he wasn't too talkative. Sexy ass voice. He requested you specifically. Got all perked up when I said the name. Stephan the King only."

Steve shrugged, "Okay. Whatever."

Most of the time he wasn't too concerned with what his clients wanted. He was flexible in more ways that one, happy to bottom or top or escort them to the opera or just listen. Most of the time, the job was just listening, even during sex. Finding out what people liked and being that came naturally to him. He was good at bullshit, as Nancy would say. He was a great hooker.

He'd made his job bullshit. He got paid an ungodly amount by the hour to spread his legs or spread someone else's, and he was good at it. Hooked up with an agency that specialized in high quality work, and kept the total weirdos away from him.

His roommate Jason Carver had a good hand with the weirdos anyway. He was always getting the odd calls where he had to dress up in costumes and came home to their apartment at odd hours, covered in weird substances, his legs shaky until Steve made him take a shower. Last night it had been grape jelly.

And so here Steve was, not covered in jelly, sitting in a plush hotel room in Malibu with his Hawkins high shorts pushed down his thighs, trying to finger himself and thinking about his favorite spank bank material.

Steve didn't know the guy's name, but he called him the runner. Always running at 5 am, long blonde curls streaming behind him. He looked like the models on the covers of those Johanna Lindsay romance novels, the practically-bondage porn that he'd devoured in high school during sleepless nights.

He imagined the running slowing down when he got to Steve's balcony, his bronze skin gleaming and his blonde beard hiding a devilish smirk.

The smirk may be borrowed... maybe the shorts have him remembering some other sleepless nights in high school.

Steve is loose, last night he was working with a couple, and so he's pretty stretched out, which means he can concentrate on just relaxing, brushing his fingers ever so softly over his prostate as he imagines the runner smirking, his voice a hazy blend of movie stars and devilish California drawling.

He kicks up his feet on the bed, working himself shamelessly in time with his finger's motions. He rolls the tip of his pointer over the small nub of his prostate while he works a fourth finger inside.

The alarm on his watch goes off and he makes a winded noise, halfway between a whine and a groan. He was just getting to the good part of the fantasy, where the runner would position him, ass up, over his tiny Venice balcony and eat him out like he was trying to make Steve cum before the dawning of the apocalypse. He would rub his face all over that golden beard, ride him like a stallion. Steve rode his fingers through one more wave, heat crashing down his spine, before he pulled out, tugging up his shorts over his painful erection and rushing to the bathroom to wash his hands and check his hair.

He didn't have to do all this prep but it made his job more enjoyable. Most clients didn't want to go through a lot of foreplay, obviously. But he did like coming too, and it wasn't like he was taking ten clients a night. Might as well have fun.

He was all positioned on the bed when the guy came in. Ready for the masc fantasy, legs spread, his arms on his knees. His dick was lewdly outlined by the tiny shorts, but he guessed they weren't going to the opera so that should be okay.

"In here," He called out, holding his breath until the guy came around the corner.

That devilish smirk fell right to pieces.

"Harrington," The man gasped, the word more breath than it was noise.

"Billy??"

"What are you doing here? Is it Max? Is she okay?" Billy's face is vulnerable, pale under his golden beard.

Steve thinks of the last time they'd seen him, driving off into the dead of the night while Max had cried. She'd begged for Steve's help to move Billy out, and the last he'd seen of Billy Hargrove it was just him chuffing Max on the chin, telling her to be brave.

"She's okay, I..." Steve shook his head, "I'm just here to meet a client."

"Client..." Billy ran a hand over his eyes, and then dropped it over his mouth.

"Yeah, sorry, they must have given me the wrong key at the front I'm supposed to meet-"

"Killian Handcock?"

Steve froze.

"Yeah," Billy sighed, "That's me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Look, sorry for all this. I'll pay, of course, for your time," Billy began to dig in the pocket of his suit jacket.

"No, whoa, it's okay," Steve waved his hands, "It's okay."

"Obviously, you wouldn't-"

"We can still-"

Billy blinked at him.

"I just mean. It's fine, right. We know why we're here," Steve glances down at his outfit, "You really didn't know it was me?"

"Fuck," Billy dragged a hand down his face, "This is so fucking humiliating."

"No, really," Steve chuckled, "What high school crush am I supposed to be?"

The words are out of his mouth before he's fully able to think them through. It's all obvious later but in the moment, he's thinking of all the guys in their school with brown eyes... brown hair... real pretty...

Billy moves towards him, his face flashing angrily, and then he rears back, nearly slamming into the giant tv that dominates the far wall.

Startle response, Steve remembered from when Billy came back. If he so much as put his hands towards someone he would flinch, remembering what the Mind Flayer made him do.

Steve wasn't being a very good hooker. He wasn't listening. Wasn't thinking.

"You know," Steve sat back on the bed slowly, no quick movements. "I used to read these romance novels in high school. Kind of cheesy, definitely NOT always with the best consent. But... sometimes they'd have these tough guys, kind of take charge guys. And I used to imagine you... taking charge of me."

Billy just blinks at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Steve spread his legs, just casually.

"Is that what you used to imagine too?" Steve asked.

"Maybe," Billy says in a cracked voice.

"Tell me," Steve urged.

It takes Billy a moment, fumbling with his fancy wool jacket. He hasn't flashed the cash yet, but Richard Harrington's son recognizes an expensive suit when he sees it. Billy's got the money to pay.

Not that Steve's thinking much about payment when Billy starts talking, in that movie star drawl.

"Wanted you to fuck me. Me to fuck you. Wanted to turn you inside out and shake you like pants at the laundromat," Billy whispered, "See what falls out."

Steve bit off a moan that wasn't practiced, wasn't planned. They haven't touched for years. Not since after Starcourt, careful touches around Billy's healing body, friendly, boyish nudges. Nothing like this.

"Wanted to touch you," Billy's face is so raw with longing, blue eyes sparking, it's almost hard to look at, "Touch you all up and down those long legs. Wrap you around me like a scarf. Keep me warm. Indiana's cold as shit and you always looked so warm."

Steve spread his legs further, "I run hot."

Billy reached back and undoes his hair, and it's only as it streams down his shoulders that Steve realizes, almost chuckling if it wasn't for the open, bare way Billy's looking at him. Like Steve is some kind of dream come true.

And the thing is that Steve's a happy hooker. He's not looking for any pretty woman ending.

But... you know sometimes he imagines. Imagines a guy with long blonde hair pulling him close after sex and calling him honey, baby, sweetness.

Billy takes a step forward and Steve smiles at him.

"I'm assuming you don't want me scared, or nervous," Steve runs a hand up his knee.

Billy shakes his head.

"Boyfriend experience," Steve offers, but it doesn't sound like a question, because he's not asking.

Billy's telling him, in the trembling hand that finally finds it's way to Steve's knee, the heavy swallow when Steve tips his head back, letting Billy into his space.

Steve knows. He's listening.

"This a... you have rules..." Billy's voice is gruff, low. Barely heard over the hum of the ac and the distant traffic from the street below.

"I kiss," Steve cocks his head to the side, "I do just about anything. For you."

He runs his hand over the back of Billy's, just tracing the road map of his veins. The long route that led them both here.

"Billy," Steve breathes.

It was just like he imagined Billy Hargrove would kiss. Hard and rough and desperate, like they were about to be ripped apart. Maybe they were, because Steve was clinging too, and it wasn't bullshit. He was shocked to find it was true, every word of it.

He fell open on the bed, half smothered by Billy's bulk, and he reveled in it, wrapping his legs around Billy and tugging him until his full weight pressed Steve to the bed.

Billy broke their kiss with a rough pant against Steve's lips, "Don't wanna crush you, Pretty Boy."

Steve urged, tugging Billy harder, "What a way to go."

Billy's laugh felt different close up, and his beard was softer than it looked, tickling Steve's face. His kiss was hot, and he sank into Steve like a hot knife through butter.

Steve was used to having to work himself up, he forgot what a revelation it was to just kiss. They rolled around together like they invented it, gasping at tugging nips and sucked tongues like they had never done this shit before.

Billy cradled his face like he was trying to memorize it, barely even dry humping him.

And Steve was losing it a little, because the boyfriend experience never felt like this. Never felt like years of knowledge and a "be brave, shitbird."

Never like this.

He undressed Billy like his life depended on it, running his hands up and down Billy's scars and feeling like he could cry, or laugh or something. Somehow, Billy was now the slow one, holding him carefully, like Steve might break. And Steve was the animal, the cyclone, kissing Billy hard, rubbing up on him like a cat in heat.

Because it was Billy, Billy Hargrove, and he was murmuring about honey and sweetheart, and he was begging Steve in soft words to just, "let me take care of you, that's all I want. Want to wrap those legs around my head and drown in 'ya, Harrington."

Steve shook his head, trembling when Billy rolled his hands around Steve's cock through the shorts, pulling Billy closer with his legs.

"I'm ready," Steve whispered, "Want you inside of me. Please, Billy, let's not wait."

"M'Pretty Boy," Billy whispered back, sounding tortured. His brows were drawn up as if in pain, and he cradled Steve's cheek in one hand.

"Billy," Steve pulled Billy back by that long gorgeous hair, "Just fuck me. Please, God, I really want you to fuck me, please."

Billy had a slightly troubled look, but he nodded, tugging at Steve's shorts with gentle hands, chuckling softly when Steve reaches down and yanks them off roughly, losing them in the rumpled bed instantly.

Steve just rolled his legs up, not wanting to part before he gets into position and-

"Condoms," Billy gasped, his eyes jolting to Steve's face.

"Yes... fuck... sorry, yes, I have some, they're on the nightstand."

It's like dousing them both with ice water. Billy pulls back, looking at Steve and then looking down.

They sit there a moment.

"I want you to know," Billy said in a cracked voice after a long pause, his back to Steve. "I'm not a creep. I haven't thought of you in... in a long time. I don't like... hire guys and make them pretend to be you or nothing like that. I just..."

Steve waits, just listening. After a while he reaches a hand out and putting it on Billy's shoulder, rubbing slightly.

"I'm not a creep. I'm not gonna follow you home and t-throw you in a trunk or something-"

"Stop," Steve said, rubbing Billy's back in slow circles. "I don't think that."

"I just mean.... I'll pay," Billy said it gruffly, "If you have another client tonight, you gotta rush, that's ok. But if you have the night, I'll pay."

Steve looks down, catching a glimpse of Billy's hands, tangled together in his lap, holding the condom that he grabbed from the bedside table. He's just as beautiful as he used to be, maybe more so. He's got a layer of fat over his muscles that makes him look softer, his hair is long and soft, and even the beard, it takes away all his rough edges.

"I don't have to rush," Steve said. "Why'd you have me dress up, Billy?"

"I just saw someone, the other day. Been seeing him. In Venice. This guy, he's always wearing these loose robes and he hangs out on his balcony in the morning," Billy bit his lip, "Sometimes with a blonde guy. Boyfriend or something. Anyway, he kinda looks like you. And my boyfriend dumped me like a year ago, because I'm still a total freakshow. Issues on issues on issues. So I thought, fuck it. Why don't I just... be the freakshow I am."

"You're not a freakshow."

Billy chuckles, "Trust me. I am. Pining after a high school... nothing. You didn't even like me."

"I-"

"Don't pretend," Billy looks at him, eyes glistening, "Don't you bullshit me, Harrington."

"I'm not," Steve says, heart in his throat. "I'm not bullshitting. Haven't been from the moment you walked in here."

Billy says nothing, just looking at him.

"I don't have to rush," Steve shook his head. "And if tomorrow, you just leave, and there's money on the stand... that's totally cool. But I'm rushing because... because..."

Billy just watches. Listens.

"Because I'm really glad to see you again, Billy. Really glad. And I wouldn't mind," Steve steels himself for rejection, sucking in a breath. "Seeing you after tonight."

Billy's brow furrows, and he looks down at his hands again.

"Like... maybe for real. And I can wear actual clothes. And no one has to pay anyone. And I'll know who you are. You'll know who I am. And I'll take you back to Venice to meet my roommate, who you already fucking know, I think."

Billy's blinking hard, and it takes Steve a moment to realize he's crying.

"Billy," He whispers, "Honey. Sweetheart."

Billy reaches out and cradles Steve's cheeks, pulling him into his lap and then into a kiss.

"I don't think you're a creep, Billy," Steve wraps his legs around Billy, and holds him safe and warm, "I know you. I know you."

Billy makes a wounded noise, like he doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing. But then he starts running his hands down Steve's chest, tugging on his chest hair and rolling his nipples between his fingers, and Steve goes kind of cock dumb and wild again, rolling his hips, seeking to get closer. He wants Billy to press him to the bed, crush him with his weight.

It's just a happy blur, punctuated by moments of crystal clear sweetness. Billy presses his cock inside of Steve after a long, leisurely, lovely trip between Steve's legs. It turns out his tongue really is magic like the girls used to write on the bathroom walls. Steve's heart is beating like a jackhammer and he's sweating like he did so long ago in high school, his hair flopping in his face as Billy drives into him hard.

"You used to look so fuckin' cute in these little shorts," Billy growled, "Put them on again. Wanna push them to the side, get you all fucked out and gorgeous. Want you to cum in them, pressed all up against the waistband."

And maybe Jason's rubbing off on Steve because he does, slides the somewhat wrecked shorts over his sweaty ass and flops back on the bed. He practically presents his ass on a Hawkins green platter, moaning all slutty.

"Used to dream about them every night," Billy rubs him through the shorts, "Used to think about you in the hospital. When you would wear that fucking family video vest and come drive Max. You got me through physical therapy."

Steve looked over his shoulder, still working his ass back on Billy's cock, "I still have the vest."

"Fuck... fuck..." Billy actually covers his face with his hands, "Is this real? This is real right, not fake bullshit?"

Steve's literally got a cock in his ass, and it's normally not how he does stuff, but he looks back, because seriously?

"Billy. I said I wanna see you? I like you? Now can you please keep fucking me, I'm so close."

Billy finally smiles that smile, that devilish grin, "At your service, Sweetheart."

And then he rocks his hips up and back in a way that presses right against that sweet spot that makes Steve see stars. He cums so hard it does soak into the shorts like Billy said, and Billy rubs it in messily, groaning and pressing his head to Steve's back.

Steve goes boneless on the bed, not even moving when Billy pulls his softening cock out and gets up.

There's a moment when Steve's heart skips a beat that he thinks Billy's gonna slap down an envelope of cash and ask him to leave. And that would be fine. Could be totally fine.

But instead he tugs the covers back and helps Steve under, wrapping his arms around Steve and holding him close to his heart.

"You meant that, about seeing me again?" Billy says softly.

"Yeah, weren't you listening?" Steve plays with the silver medallion that hangs across Billy's collarbone.

"Yeah, I was listening," Billy kisses Steve's temple softly, and Steve's heart flutters like a cartoon duck. "How about we start with breakfast tomorrow. I got a good amount, let's give someone the tip of their life. And I think you need waffles. Pancakes. Whatever the hell you want."

Normally, Steve would call bullshit. But Billy's got a Cartier tank ticking where he tucks a sweaty lock behind Steve's ear. And he knows Billy. He trusts him.

Steve tugs on the necklace until Billy gets the hint and draws him into another filthy kiss.

Steve's normally a pretty good hooker. He's not looking for a Pretty Woman ending.

But it turns out he's a bit of a sucker for the boyfriend experience.

---

This got WAY long. I'll proably put it up on ao3. @intothedysphoria and @dragonflylady77 be proud of me plz.

#asks #harringrove #my writing #shieldofiron #SW Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #Billy x Steve #Steve x Billy #bratty steve harrington #bear billy hargrove #otter steve harrington

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ultimac · 3 months

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saturnrevolution · 1 year

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Mars through houses

🏹1st house

You have this individualistic and competitive side to you. You are driven by exploring and always looking for the next challenge, while wearing your failures on your sleeve, without shying away from them. You value self-expression through your personality or appearance. You always vouch for the things you believe in and can easily get angry with the world. Sometimes your temper is expressed in an impulsive way and it’s important to find activities, such as sports or meditation that keep you balanced. You are able to motivate yourself and are action-oriented. It’s important to trust your instincts, but also know when it’s time to take things slower and get out of the fight zone while allowing others to take the initiative too.

🏹2nd house

You are motivated by practical things. You usually value quality over quantity in everything you do. You are driven by the idea of making it on your own and are looking for ways to improve yourself daily. Success is also something you are interested in, but you can sometimes get a bit too focused on the material side of things and let your ‘status’ define you and put you in comparison mode. You are into self-growth content and are really self-aware, but sometimes it’s okay to let loose. You also value the feeling of comfort, so a balance between not falling into the lazy trap versus being on top of your to-do list is always a good idea. Financially this is a great placement to have if you handle it well.

🏹3rd house

Communication and expressing yourself through sharing your ideas and thoughts is your greatest asset. You are a great manifestor if you put your mind to it. You might sometimes get stuck in overthinking or allow yourself to be influenced by others’ opinions often and this keeps you from being focused on your path. You are rational and have a lot of meaningful information to share with the world, so just remember that your wisdom lies in observing others and then going inward and speaking your own truth. You are driven by honesty and motivated when you feel heard. You enjoy discussing different subjects and get threatened by words, as they hold great meaning. You would make a great motivational speaker or teacher.

🏹4th house

You are motivated by anything that feels familiar. You are always looking to find a safe spot to go back to and you thrive in finding new solutions to things that might seem mundane. However, you can sometimes get stuck in your comfort zone if you don’t push yourself out of it. You tend to have this introverted side to you and you mostly take action when you feel comfortable around others or behind the scenes. You like to keep things private and not a lot of people get to see your feisty side. You are likely to build a beautiful family on your own terms and are motivated about decorating your own place. You have a big heart and value empathy and emotional connections. You always protect your loved ones.

🏹5th house

You are driven by anything that makes you the main character. You enjoy having fun and like finding pleasure in everything you do. Otherwise, you might not do it. You are highly creative and naturally talented and people appreciate this about you. You have a unique aura that stands out in the room. You know how to make others smile and take the role of the entertainer when you need to. However, you might want to live in a child-like world and get bored easily, so you should balance it with practicality. Being in creative environments helps you thrive. You are attractive and flirtatious and can allure people that are focused on the fun side of things. When looking to settle down, your priorities can change.

🏹6th house

You are driven by keeping a routine that is true to you. Being organized, in your own way, is what keeps you motivated. You might be careful about the type of lifestyle you have and the way you manage your chores. There is a high connection between your health and energy levels, so if you feel low you might want to take a break or listen to your body. Keeping your body moving is also really important and you could even make a job out of your lifestyle. You are driven by working in a team and being of service to others. However, you can sometimes get so caught up in these daily tasks that you forget to see the bigger picture. Invest in spirituality and think of your overall life path, but do take breaks, too.

🏹7th house

You are driven by creating connections with people you resonate with. You have this loving side to you and a side that is driven by anything that has to do with harmonious relationships, however, you might not consider yourself to be this way. This is why, in order to create meaningful relationships and find your drive, you need to look at how other people’s behaviors are mirroring yours and this will help you learn a lot about yourself. You are looking for high levels of passion in your relationships and might sometimes react impulsively. You are likely driven by getting married or collaborating with others and creating something together. Teamwork will actually help you stand out and lead.

🏹8th house

You are driven by the mysteries of life. There is something about the unknown that drives you in, this is why you can find yourself in situations that are rather intense or attract people that are this way. The reason this is happening is that there is this inner turmoil you might be scared to face, so it seems easier to see others as solutions. In reality, you have so much inner power that if you knew about it, you wouldn’t be giving it away. Invest your inner callings and private time spent with yourself and people that are meant for you will align to that and meet you in the middle, there is no need to make yourself small. Address the things that seem scary and you are going to find your inner power.

🏹9th house

You are a curious person, adventurous and always looking for the next thing to study or learn. Reading, learning a new language, meeting people from different cultures, or exploring new food and traveling is what excites you. You are the type to think about concepts and always be open to new ideas and beliefs. You are inclusive and have a funny side. You can sometimes feel lost and want to live at a more speedy pace than you can take in reality. It’s important for you to create these small rituals you always go back to in order to relax and keep the anxiety in check, as wanting to do too many things at once and getting bored easily might end up stressing you out. You are not missing out on anything, so chill.

🏹10th house

You are always looking for the next goal to reach, you are observant and strategic and there is this very career-driven side to you. However, this can sometimes keep you in a state of alert and thinking of work a bit too much. People might sense that and will try to get you out of this zone. Give yourself time with family and loved ones, going out and spending time on things that feed your creativity without it being an end goal - just for fun! Whenever you put your mind to something, you do reach it. So, stop being so hard on yourself and know that you are more than the goals you reach. You have the ability to make a great leader and your sense of responsibility and realism is highly needed in today’s world.

🏹11th house

You are driven by anything that is new and slightly weird. You have this eye for things that might be excluded from society. You are the one to stand up for the underdog and to help people find their voice and speak up. Your ideas are innovative and you are likely to lead a community or create one. You thrive around your friends and love meeting new people, although you somehow never seem to fully fit in. But the truth is that you don’t have to. As long as you follow your authenticity, you’re all good. Sometimes, your friendly vibe might give off the wrong signals, so make sure you speak truthfully and set boundaries where needed, just so no one gets hurt. Also, remember that teamwork is better than working alone at times.

🏹12th house

You are a mystery in itself. You are the dreamer, the misunderstood at times. You believe in magic, but you might not ever admit that. You are someone that is driven by the better of humanity and sometimes you can get so attached to the idea of being there for another that you lose yourself. Spirituality is your biggest asset and the more you dive into the depths of your subconscious, the more you will find your inner power, outside of others' influences. You have a strong connection to a past life of yours, so you might be getting signs and guiding messages from that time. Your intuition is subtle, but it’s just about believing and you’re able to reach any goal. You sometimes feel the need to escape, so do it in healthy ways.

#astrology #mars #power #posted #drive

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franciskirkland · 10 months

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APH South Italy/Romano Headcanons 🇮🇹

(SFW, Spamano/RomaSpa centric)

He wears a lot of jewelry, but it's classy never flashy. Several rings, one of which is engraved with an 'A' for Antonio. Usually wearing at least a solid gold chain and a crucifix.

He's very Catholic, in a uniquely Italian way (iykyk i cannot elaborate)

He smokes like a chimney, high quality cigars and cheap cigarettes. If you ask him to put it out he will blow it right at you. This is on top of heavy cologne (Versace Eros) so you can smell him from a mile away.

Certified Short King™, maybe around 5'7? I can see him with almost any sort of physique, that being said I don't think he's a twink, he at least has some wiry strength. He's lean but solidly built, maybe even has some pudge esp as he ages?

He's very warm toned. His skin is a light olive, not pale yet not quite bronze. He tans well but isn't tan all year round. Honestly he probably uses tanning beds during winter lmao

He's got a fair amount of body hair and often leaves his shirts unbuttoned to display this, intentionally or not. He's a sharp dresser when out in public, but at home he sits around in sweat stained tanks and boxers.

He loves his red wine, and apertifs. Grappa or Sambuca for something a stronger. Doesn't mind the taste of hard liquor at all. Definitely holds his alcohol better than his brother or Antonio.

Loves sailing and yachting, leisure sports. Has a bit of a gambling habit. Not to a destructive point, just in good fun.

When he's in a good mood he hums to himself and you might even catch him singing if he thinks he's alone.

Dances to Dean Martin in the kitchen with Antonio. He actually likes cooking together. Normally he'd be the type of person to hate others in his space while doing something, but Toni is an equally talented chef so he allows it.

Makes a big pot of sauce and polpette on Sundays. Italians will know. Eats wayyyy too much meat than is healthy. You can pry his salumi out of his cold dead hands.

He's sensitive and not always rational - the type to make mountains out of molehills and deflect real issues with humour. Explosive temper. Born to argue. Quick to throw insults (and hands). Just as quick to forgive and forget. If he holds a grudge you really fucked up.

If he likes you, he'll tease you and call you names. If he doesn't, he won't bother to talk to you much. He likes to fuck with people to an extent but has little patience for unnecessary conversation.

He can be extremely condescending; and to Tonio exclusively, extremely sweet. He's a smooth talker and romantic when he feels like it, laying on the pet names and sweet nothings, especially when he wants something in return.

He's honest and loyal, but generally a very private person. It's difficult to earn his trust and get on his good side but once you have it you're one of the lucky few. He's hospitable and generous and often does that for show. Loves to give meaningful and lavish gifts. If he cares about someone not only will they be spoiled in a material sense, but he'll do favors for them to make their life easier.

(note: this might be controversial re; accuracy but i don't actually have beef with his canon human name. 'lovino isn't a real name' well yes and no. it's not common or representative. but there's so much variety in italian naming that it certainly could be a first name. according to forebears there are 259 ppl named lovino on record but only 9 are in italy lol. or u could just call him ~romano~ which is a more popular human first name. i kinda like lovino, its unique.)

#can we just retcon his chibi arc im talking about adult romano here #no ship hate pls #can you tell from this post that my dad is italian #aph south italy #hws south italy #aph romano #hws romano #spamano #romaspa #hetalia headcanons

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mirkhammett · 1 month

Text

champagne coast / kirk

there’s a specific vibe i went for in this, and i don’t know if i manage to express it properly but..those coming of age movie parties with jeff buckley in the soundtrack ^.^ you get me?? this is my first time trying to write something longer than 400 words in a looong while, so pls bare with me and my clusters of infinite mistakes lol

reblogs, likes, comments and asks are all highly appreciated! if this gets some interactions i may do a part 2 with..fun stuff wink wink!! i also apologise for how rushed the ending is, but i gave up lol

summary: you meet a cute guitarist at a party, that’s about it ^.^

word count; 4.2k

warnings; mentions of drugs, smoking (tobacco+marijuana, reader+kirk smoke cigs)

i have not proofread this yet so expect mistakes!!

the summer breeze is discouraging. desolate plants are surviving just barely under the malicious sun, like a record that just keeps on playing; the aftermath of the music, the seconds of muffled silence as the vinyl spins effortlessly, and you know you should just get up and remove the stylus, because the impracticalness of such a simple act of futility, could end up with a damaged record. and no one wants a damaged record.

there’s often a local yearn for the heat, summer always seeming too far away in winter, as the miserable humidity is replaced with a sharp winter, ice flakes cutting like blades, which to some, would be considered worse. and to this sum, the summer breeze may be a blessing.

everything about this place could be deemed as overstimulating. from the immense mass of people, all in garments that would never live to see the day in a public place, with such little material- could these things really be considered as clothes? and judging by the majority of party-goers, your opinion would be considered unpopular.

the concrete is hot to touch- the unsteady porch not doing much to help. it’s slightly better than inside the house, though.

it isn’t too big, it’s just too small. a perfectly adequate residence for someone in their mid 20s to occupy, and it looks it too. the entryway of the house is not only filled with coats and others of the sort, but all 4 of the cream coloured walls are adorned in posters. some are easily known- you recognise one in particular as a promotional poster for a new thrash band, the logo on the corner signifying that whoever owns this, got it fresh from a record store window.

entering though the hallway into the kitchen felt like a treacherous task for you, under the oppressive temperatures. sporting this thin sweater may have not been the right choice, you criticise.

there’s a table in the kitchen. well, the remains of a table. empty beer cans are scattered across, and a half full bowl of punch sits, patiently waiting for its next victim to intoxicate with its high levels of ethanol, and god knows what else. you pondered if fresh orange juice was used, or artificial.

you feel their eyes on you before you see it. and then a hands reaching out to you. skinny, nimble fingers connected to a tanned wrist, paired with a couple dainty, gold, probably fake, bracelets. and that tanned wrist connects to an equally tan body, (of course.)

you look at her quizzically. she’s got flowing hair, brown ribbons of curl that shone with an orange tint under the shitty, dingy lamp illuminating the cramped room. and then you gazed up at her again.

do you know her? does she know you?

staring unblinkingly at her, you realise, is probably very much off putting. it’s hard to take kindness from strangers, well, for most people. it’s even harder to tell if that kindness is genuine. you believe in the idea, quality, or quantity. at least that’s what you tell yourself- and it maybe the whole reason you ended up in this predicament.

she’s got a man on her arm. he’s tall, well, he’s taller than both you, and her. his long, blonde hair is looking a little ratty, and you know she must have thought the same too. you can also tell he’s been trying to grow out a ‘horse-shoe’ moustache, judging by the minor prickles of hair, and the subtle shaping.

he’s looking at you like a guard dog- and his expression is fully straight. you can’t tell if he’s one of those people, that show a hard exterior, but really, is the complete opposite, or, if he is really a dick and is gonna punch you if you stare any longer. choosing a safe option, you glance back at her.

“here,” she nudges you again. oh, she’s got a cup. it’s one of those cheap, red plastic cups you always see in the movies- the frat party ones. her presence is warm. she smiles warmly. is that a thing?

“get yourself a drink.” and then she’s opening up the palm of your hand, and tightening your fingers around the plastic rim.

you hum in surprise. it’s not every day a complete stranger is nice to you. infact, you can only count one specific time where this happened before. the one time that led to you coming to this party, through the kindness of a once mutual, now, you felt comfortable enough to consider, just a friend.

“oh! thank you.” you give the best, closed mouth wide smile you can, though it seems more like a grimace.

she doesn’t care. they’re already gone.

the next room is slightly more interesting than the last, a blue strobe light left in the corner. thought it’s not glowing in multi colours like it should be, instead it’s just illuminating the room, which could be the antithesis of something spacious, in a pale blue hue. it’s reflecting off onto an old, worn leather couch with multiple holes, which you can only assume are from cigarette stubs.

the whole house has some sort of retro style, which you appreciate.

the summer breeze, once discouraging, now borderlining on something sinister. could the sun really have malicious intent? or is the world just hell bent against you?- with your fashion choices not accommodated to the ever changing weather.

you pass a couple of groups- they don’t look older than you, though they don’t look younger. but the bodies on bodies is all too much to handle, when everyone’s body temperature has accumulated into one big cacophony, a spell for disaster.

every thing was getting too much.

the grandfather clock standing proud, ticking in a futile rhythm, back and forth, on and off, a constant reminder of the stench of sweat covered bodies and the metallic aroma of almost empty cans of beer, for the sticky residue left behind, which had escaped out of one too many discarded cans, and seeped into possibly every material in this cramped hole of a living space. the longer this party would go on, the harder it would be to call this room a living space. scrap that, this is an un-liveable space.

the atmosphere was fine. the people were fine. everything was fine minding it’s own, but together, seeming like a recipe for a symphony of destruction.

luckily for you, there was an out.

big wooden doors, with bigger glass panels, providing the only symbol of a once eloquent residence. the whole house was, well, not modern, but in a sense it didn’t carry this vintage-ness; like the decorations of choice did- so it was a nice touch. at least you thought.

and those big wooden doors, led you to your freedom, or in other words, the patio.

upon first examination, the garden was split into two groups. the outdoor couch sitting area, which provided just as many cigarette burns as the excuse of a couch inside, but longer, presenting itself in an ‘L’ shape. and on this couch, sprawled out were a group of people, all comfortable in very, odd? positions. wait, on a different thought, not all.

he was very pretty from a first glance, his chocolate curls fading into something more, like black ribbons of coal, though they shone with a red tinge under the harsh glow from the ongoing sunset.

you never stopped to notice the sunset.

but he looked almost rigid. he seemed reserved. he seemed different. it was like he had purposely tried to squeeze himself down the cracks of the sofa, for it to swallow him whole. but then again, he didn’t seem anxious.

he held a joint between nimble fingers. from a distance, you could make out the red rashes lining them, small bloody scars, in such a recognisable pattern that you just knew all too well, he had to play guitar. often. he was having trouble smoking it, though. intimate breaths of wind cascaded his locks to cover his pretty features, sticking to his chapped lips as he brought up the blunt and examined, close and personal.

you pondered if maybe, just maybe, he was like you too. practically a stranger to this new world before your eyes, lacking the confidence to do anything to change it. sure, you were confident in yourself, there was no reason for you not to be. just, in social situations like this, it would tend to falter.

oh, wait. no, you take it back.

the guard dog from before-hand sits tall beside the curly brunette. he seems to be ranting about something. the nice girls not by his side anymore. you wonder if anything happened between them.

the ratty blonde sported a goofy grin. so you were right. a labrador in disguise. you stole a few more glances, before continuing down your trail.

you didn’t think you’d fit into other group either. this was was more, energetic, a pile of sweaty messes, a cheap speaker blasting heavy metal, with a crispness to the speaker that could never be recreated with a new one, nor the sense of comfort that comes with it. something worn down, worn with love, like a jacket, peeling at the seams. a jacket that’s been well loved by someone, despite its flaws.

it was hard to concentrate on your thoughts and breathe pure air properly with the booming deathly melodie’s of ozzy osbourne blasting, the bass managing to shake a loose rope swing hanging from an old oak tree. you thought it must’ve been a gentle reminder of childhood.

the path continued to trail on, the melancholic rock dying it by a couple slight octaves. then it ended. a large, unsteady fence stood tall, and not very proud. a bench resided, with 2 more oak trees, one on each side, in a way to protect the bench, preserve the wood from heavy sunlight.

the bench wasn’t the most comfortable, but it served for what it could. it was obviously aged down through the years, so really, you couldn’t complain.

the view was pretty. the sun going down, with all these people enjoying themselves, it was a gorgeous sight. though it was funny you still hadn’t wandered into the small minority you knew yet. though you were growing impatient under this blanket of loneliness, itching for something that would burn, something to exhale.

the pocket of your worn jeans were loose- loose enough to know that if something wanted to fall out, by all means it could. and now, after futile attempts to find your lighter, you prayed to anyone that would listen, please say i haven’t lost it.

but alas, the gods still weren’t on your side. maybe it was something in the air, which bubbled up into a fit of internal rage, your three-quarters empty pack providing a strong sense of tobacco, laying lifeless in your rigid lap.

“need a light?”

he walked up awkwardly, intertwining his hands together. his blunt was gone, whether he had finished it himself or passed it on, you didn’t know. he smiled warmly, and if you blinked you would’ve missed it.

and all of a sudden the unbearable heat was back, sending a tinge to yours cheeks, feeling like being trapped inside a car under the scorching sun- but he didn’t look affected by the heat, in his black button up (half un-buttoned), infact, he looked angelic under the hues of reds, purples, and yellows, and whatever else fit into the mix.

he seemed nice; nice enough, to even suggest such an offer to a stranger.

“please.” you mumbled, and he warmly reached his hand out, a battered, black lighter, one of the cheap ones from the convenience stores, clasped loosely. he wiggled his fingers. revealing the lighter to your gaze, he emitted that same, goofy smile, only now revealing his crooked pearls.

he sat down on the bench.

“you don’t know many people here, huh?” he questioned. though his voice wasn’t judgy, nor threatening.

well, it’s great that your efforts to stay on the down low went out the door. it’s even greater to know that people have noticed your outstanding loneliness.

“is it that obvious?”

he stifled a laugh, shrugging slightly, sporting a wide grin. “that’s okay,” he muttered. “you know, i don’t know many either.”

the reality seemed embarrassing, and with anyone else, you would never, on your own life, admit it. but somehow, in this moment, everything was different.

he fixed his posture, resting his hands in his lap, his head turned towards you. you pursed your lips, a small smile gracing. he looked down to your lap, cigarette still in your hand, and signalled for you to raise it.

you quickly caught on, assuming he would just hand you the lighter after you placed the cigarette between your lips. he did not.

instead he leaned in closer, bringing one hand to cover one side of the cigarette, the other to light it up effortlessly. oh, i guess that works too.

you took a puff, the inhale longer than the exhale, the smoke a delicious burn in your lungs. resting the cigarette between 2 nimble fingers, you bit your chapped lip.

“i’m kirk, by the way.”

“hi kirk,” you grinned, and told him your name. he grinned back.

he fiddled with his fingers, cracking his knuckles with expertise. and then he points at your shirt. “i like fleetwood mac, too.”

hanging with kirk wasn’t so bad. actually it wasn’t bad, not at all. somehow minutes turned into shorter minutes, 60 seconds seeming to pass all too quick. and those minutes were quickly consumed by a larger number, a black hole that could be called hours.

the night air had turned chilly, the effects of a bipolar summer very clear. the arrival of goosebumps took place, and so did a great warmth, the crackle of a fire pit, and the smell of fresh wood, the aroma of smoke. legs now touching one another’s as a multitude of different people sat around in criss-cross positions.

but that wasn’t where you found yourself.

sitting in the passenger seat of his run down black 70s capri, a heavy scent of cologne mixed with a faint essence of weed, hanging lowly, stuck into the leather seats. the key clattered as he pushed it into the lock, the engine starting up with a fierce roar.

a conversation about music had somehow led you here, sitting almost shyly in his car, legs folded upon one another. it all started with a singular comment about fleetwood mac, and in a matter of minutes you found yourself immersed in conversation, somehow sitting close together than you had before, the heat of his breath radiating closely as he enthusiastically ranted about led zeppelin IV. and then some more, about who he believed to be his biggest inspiration, jimi hendrix.

oh yeah, you learnt he plays guitar too.

and with a declaration that he was hungry, sported with his reddened eyes, you were off. well, you were never really given the choice. your hand grasped tightly in his, excitedly taken back through the garden, through the shitty cramped living space, (and him accidentally walking into the smaller couch), back through the kitchen with bottles now empty, red plastic cups now scattered, through to the entry way. with that same, sweet thrash poster now hanging on.

and as the car roared up, so did the symphonies of rolling stones, because you can’t always get what you want.

“so the blonde one, he’s your friend?”

the melody of the rolling stones, switching to the doors, a mix-tape he probably burnt himself, disrupted. god bless jim morrison.

he raised a brow, though still looking at the road ahead, answering quizzically. “which blonde one?”

you bit back a smile. “the scary blonde one, with long hair. and the pretty girlfriend.”

this caused kirk to grin, shaking his head slightly to stop his hair from disrupting his view of the darkened roads. the streetlights didn’t go much to help accommodate pedestrians, nor drivers. the headlights of his vintage vehicle were slightly darker than the average, but he seemed used to it.

“ah, james. he’s my bandmate. scary, no, long hair, yes, girlfriend, no. he doesn’t do girlfriends,” he hummed lowly. “he’s one of my bestfriends.” james. you wondered if he was still with the girl you earlier assumed to be his girlfriend.

and then you sat in silence for maybe 30 seconds, maybe a full minute, pondering your next words. he didn’t seem to mind, waiting just slightly impatiently for the red light to turn green and give the get go. he rolled down the window.

“do you do girlfriends?” you asked suddenly. the longer it took for him to form a response, the more you regretted ever asking. maybe that was too forward for a guy you hadn’t even known for a full day. but then you could argue that him taking you out for dinner was even worse.

he was caught off guard, quickly masking his suprise. “i…don’t know,” he spun the wheel with skill as he turned left into a parking lot of a 50s presenting dinner, sporting a glowing red sign, walls painted once white now a light yellow. he stopped the car as he pulled into a parking spot, twisting the keys. the engine abruptly stopped, and so did the music. and then he turned to look at you, with a small smile. “do you do boyfriends?” and that was when you finally made eye contact.

shrugging slightly, you looked from his eyes to your lap, and back up to his eyes again. “i don’t know.”

his grin widened, and you return the gesture.

the gleaming lights of the diner held a stark contrast to the gloomy sky, the current time being in the early hours of the morning very obvious- and in a couple hours you’d start to hear the birds cheep and the sky lighten, and determine it time for bed.

he led you into the diner, holding the door open for you like a gentleman, the little bell on top of the door chiming in recognition of your arrival.

and from there he traveled with experience of the 24-hour diner, to a booth hidden in the corner, though still visible under the cream glare of the flickering lights; almost too visible, you thought, the brightness of the lights already forming a subtle headache in the back of your mind. the two comforts of the booth were separated with a nimble oak wood table, the sturdiness of it which had definitely gone down in its many years of occupying this place.

he grabs two menus before sitting down on one side of the booth, and you follow, sitting down on the other. he hands you one menu, and opens his own.

“i want a milkshake.” he murmurs, his eyes still scanning over the menu. you lean over the table, your menu left unopened, shifting slightly to examine the contents of drinks he was looking at.

“which flavour?” you question, slumping back into your seat.

“dunno,” he puts the menu down, looking up at you. “what flavour do you want?”

his eye contact is almost too much to handle, causing you to look back down at your hands. he doesn’t comment on it, that is if he ever even noticed the slight tint of blush on your cheeks.

“vanilla.” throughout the options of chocolate, strawberry, and banana, there’s a clear winner.

“then that’s what we’ll get.” he smiles, his red hued eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. you bite the side of your lip, suppressing a grin, sporting a one sided, shy smile as you try to resettle your composure.

you open the menu, trying to distract yourself from the flush on your cheeks and the man sitting infront of you. his curls drop down as he tries to push them out of his face, watching you almost shyly.

“what are you gonna get?” you voice, finally looking up from the menu.

he tucks his black coils behind his ears. “the burger,” and then leans down slightly, his elbows making contact with the table, his eyes still on you. “do you wanna share?”

you nod, grinning widely. “okay, we’ll share.”

the diner lights flicker again, as well as the chime of the door, the slight rush of wind causing an appreciate breeze. there’s an empty coffee cup on the bar side, and an imprint in a red stool.

adorned in a teal coloured uniform, a tired, and pissed, (probably a college student), waitress takes your order. she doesn’t bother to put on a fake persona, and you don’t blame her. infact, you almost feel sorry that her nap in the staff room was cut short, by the puffiness of her eyes. as for kirk, he doesn’t even bat an eye at her as you order politely, his eyes still fixtated on you.

and in mere minutes the food arrives, a vanilla milkshake with a candied red cherry on top already in your grasp. kirk has taken to the task of trying to cut the burger evenly into 2 pieces, through frowns when he’s cut one slice bigger than the other. you take the smaller piece, knowing the effects of weed on your hunger. when he realises this, he pouts. “i’m not that hungry,” you explain, taking your first bite.

he pushes the fries further towards you. they’re in a wooden tray, with a tissue adorned with patterns of red and white squares underneath. you chew throughly before swallowing, setting the burger back down on the plate.

he reaches out for a fry, surprising you when he reaches even further towards you, bringing the fry up to your mouth. you take it, giggling.

while you chew on the fry with one hand, you pick up the milkshake with the other and bring the straw to his mouth, mimicking his previous movements. he smiles widely as he takes down a big gulp, laughing through his closed mouth. “wait, that’s so good.”

“i know!” you exclaim, taking a couple of salty fries from the bunch.

you dip a handful of fries into the milkshake, and he grimaces. “that’s criminal!”

you roll your eyes, giggling. “no it’s not,” you dip another one in. “you just don’t have taste.” he finishes his part of the burger ravenously, and you push the plate with your half eaten burger towards him.

“are you sure?” he questions, looking for any signs of unsureness on your face.

“only if i can have the cherry.” you bargain.

“deal,” he picks the cherry off from the top of the milkshake, wiping the whipped cream off from it with his finger, then bringing his finger to his mouth. he reaches out to give you the cherry. “here you go, m’lady.”

you let out another high pitched laugh, bringing the cherry to your plump lips and nibbling on the stem. the waitress cringes at the sound, leaning her head down in her hands and closing her eyes. you pity her.

kirk finishes the burger quickly, his next mission being reaching out for the fries. you’re not sure if he’s just got the munchies, or if he’s also even eaten today.

and soon enough, you’re flopping back into your seat, empty dishes covering the table. kirk is leaning towards you, smiling softly. you yawn, covering your face with a soft hand.

“you tired?” he murmurs, tilting his head as he smiles sweetly. you make a quiet sound, similar to a hum, and his smile grows. “okay,” he reaches over the table for your hand. “let me take you home.”

and then once again, your back in his passenger seat, the smell of cologne and marijuana now comforting. he puts the key in as softly as he can, and the second the car roars to life he takes it to himself to turn the radio down to the lowest level, looking over at you. you’re slumped in the seat, your head towards the window. he just grins.

the sky isn’t so dark anymore, a greyish dark blue, with a slint orange before sunrise. “i’m gonna need you to give me directions, ‘mkay?” he pulls out of the car park as you respond quietly, giving him the directions.

a few minutes into the ride, you realise he’s going miles below the speed limit, to keep the car steady, and not pull you out of your sleepy state. he’s humming along to the radio, his finger tapping the wheel at every beat.

trees pass in a flash, so do streetlights and benches, sets of three drains, and a couple single drains too.

then time flashes again and he’s pulling up outside your apartment, already outside the passenger door and beating you to open it. he walks you to the doorway of the building, stopping and playing with his hands.

you look up at him, smiling shyly. he does the same. “thank you for tonight, kirk,” you hesitantly open the building door. “do you wanna, maybe, do this again?”

“o-of course. i’d love to.” if you blinked, you would’ve missed the slight flush tinting his cheeks, rushing down into his neck and shoulders. he fumbles in his pocket for a piece of ripped newspaper and a pen, scribbling down his home phone number in messy writing, and if it was anything but numbers you’d have a hard time reading it. “call me, okay?”

“okay.” you grin softly, stepping into the doorway.

he backs up, smiling as he waves you off. “okay.”

and then the door shuts.

#stars writing!!#kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #kirky cutie #metallica #eddie munson x reader #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #stranger things #kirk #fanfic #dave mustaine x reader

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captain-price-unofficially · 6 months

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Video published by Al-Qassam Brigades (Hamas) allegedly showing them tracking an officer in the elite Shaldag unit, Yitzhar Hoffman, before he was killed by a sniper. Hoffman is said to be responsible for the siege and storming of Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza.

Translation:

A unit of the occupation forces is holed up in Gaza City. The images obtained exclusively by Al Jazeera allow the location of the concentration to be determined. The field command center was established in a sports club, about one kilometer away from Al-Shifa Hospital, and located within the Jawazat area, which witnessed fierce clashes between the Israeli army and the Resistance factions for weeks.

This is Yitzhar Hoffman, a platoon leader in the Shaldag Special Unit. He was responsible for drawing up a plan to besiege Al-Shifa Hospital and then storm it last November. According to photos obtained by Al Jazeera, which are being shown for the first time, the Al-Qassam Brigades monitored Hoffman's movements after storming the hospital. At the end of last January, the Al-Qassam Brigades waited for the Israeli army to announce the killing of Hoffman so that they publish pictures of the operation and identify the targeted person.

The Al-Aqsa flood was not the first confrontation in which the Qassam Brigades used sniper weapons. The developed Al-Ghoul rifle that mimics the specifications of the Austrian-made Steyr rifle, caliber 12.7 mm, has the capabilities and features of an assault rifle with an adjustable system, to transform from an assault rifle into a sniper rifle.

The Al-Qassam Brigades were able to manufacture it locally and it bore the name of one of the most prominent symbols of military manufacturing in Al-Qassam: the martyr Adnan Al-Ghoul. With the rifle, Al-Qassam produced the appropriate ammunition to enhance the rifle’s effectiveness and feasibility.

The ammunition was manufactured with three specifications:

1- Training that enable the preparation of fighters within the special units.

2-Ammunition designed to target flammable materials.

3-Used to deal with the armor and fortifications used by the Israeli army.

The impact of the locally manufactured weapons is show on battlefields, in a way that the bullet penetrates the helmet worn by the soldiers and explodes after penetration. The bullet can also penetrate the protective vest, which is supported by a metal plate that shatters when hit to cause damage to the upper area of the body. It can also penetrate and disrupt devices and systems used by the occupying army.

To put the weapon into use, the Al-Qassam Brigades trained special units of fighters within its combat formations, as the photos obtained by Al Jazeera show. Training takes place after selecting fighters who have qualities that enable them to withstand long periods of waiting to capture a potential target, the ability to work under extreme pressure in difficult field conditions, the flexibility of concealment, determining the importance of the target and making the decision of execution.

The Qassam had previously used sniper weapons in field combat in battles before 2007, when it seized medium-caliber rifles like the Russian Dragunov and Brezhnev models and the Belgian FN FAL rifle. But it suffered from limited availability, scarcity of ammunition and its high cost. Then, heavy snipers including the Austrian Steyr and the Chinese M99, were brought into the Gaza Strip through supply lines. And documented operations were carried out using them.

The Ghoul rifle is the latest weapon in the resistance’s arsenal, which according to Al Jazeera’s information, recorded a verified hitting distance of 1800 meters in Al-Aqsa Flood Operation.

#modern #combat footage #2023 israel-gaza conflict #arab-israeli conflict

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archangeldyke-all · 10 months

Note

Oh my fucking god that sugar mommy AU👀is there more where that came from?

yesss!!!!! have some spare hc's i have for this sevika.

men and minors dni

sevika's favorite thing to buy you is anything that funds your hobby. whether it's crocheting or painting or yoga or weightlifting, she'll do so much research about The Best products and investments to make, and buys you new accessories on the regular.

even if you think your hobby doesn't need accessories. do you hike? she buys you new boots and binoculars and little guide books on local flora and fauna. do you watch a sport? she buys you tickets to games whenever she can, buys you merch on the regular, if you're someone who plays she even learns the basic rules so she can scrimmage with you.

she just loves seeing you in your element, doing what you love, that happy smile on your face.

she also loves seeing you get to explore your personal style on her dime.

regardless of your aesthetic-- i think clothes are things everyone loves experimenting with if they have the money to.

she won't let you buy cheap stuff-- fast fashion or cheap materials are a no. she makes you get high quality stuff-- stuff that'll last for years, and she sends it all off to a tailors so it'll fit you like a glove.

she just likes watching you enjoy yourself. she likes watching the person you are become bigger and brighter as she helps you do and be what you love.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #soft sevika

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ac3-76 · 3 months

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Legend of korra headcannons🐌

warnings: brief mention of drinking(kinda alcoholism), other than that nothing

(Most of these are in a modern setting)

Wing Beifong is a motorcycle guy and posts Aushen Ride type videos

Varrick is a coffee addict and he has awful coffee breath

Korra got a stingray tattooed on her upper back. the tail goes down her spine and the wings(?) are on her shoulder blades

If Formula 1 is a thing in their universe, Future Indistries is one of the og teams

Asami would have future industries make a feminine car for the races taking place in Women's History Month (march)

And for the cars used by the drivers outside of March there'd be something feminine on it, like a lip stick kiss mark

She started it because she wanted a more feminine touch in the sport to show that you can be a girly girl or a girly person and still enjoy and partake in something that's traditionally masculine

I feel like in general she uses her cars to bring awareness to things occurring in society

When Bolin got paid for the Nuktuk series one of the first things he bought was a high quality gaming set up that he had his eye on for years

Now he streams him playing video games and makes a fair bit of money from it

Sometimes the others will play games with him and make apperances on his streams

the fan favorite is Asami because she has the best builds in Minecraft and the best strategy in Call of Duty

Mako likes to watch Criminal Minds and other law/criminal shows to see if he can figure out where it's going and solve it before the characters do

Wu photoshops everything that he posts and is very active on all social media platforms

when Korra went on her own for 6 months after Zaheer tried to kill her, she started drinking because it made her sleepy

she didn't have to be awake and deal with her hallucinations, and when she slept it was nothing, no dreams, no nightmares, just hours of being away from her trauma

being with Toph in the swamp for a couple of weeks(or days?) was the start of her recovery from becoming reliant on drinking to avoid dealing with trauma

Opal collects cool rocks and crystals she finds in the places she travels to

She gets them as gifts for her mother

Also because she's an Air bender and thus follows the air nomad life style, she's always sure to say thank you to the land for allowing her to give the rock to her mom

Huan has had his art in museums and has sold some pieces to well known rich people

He gives most of the money to charity

Mako sleeps on silk sheets only

he was fine with cotton and other cheaper materials until he became Wus bodyguard

Wu insisted he sleep on silk sheets after Mako told him that he had never slept on silk, and now Mako needs silk sheets

Korra's had the same black 21 oz hyddroflask since she was 15

she refuses to buy another waterbottle

it's also covered in stickers

Bolin got Pabu a bed that was specially made for Pabus size, weight, and measurements

Kinda like the one Princess Anneliese had for her cat, Serafina, in Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper

Korras favorite thing to do when she sees a book or something with words is to ask how much spice in it

She's at a restaurant with Asami, they just got the menu, Korra picks it up and displays the front cover to Asami before asking "Booktok girlys before I read this how much spice is in it?"

She thinks it's the funniest thing ever

Wei and Bolin stream and play video games together, Wei has very severe anger management issues when it comes to video games

Not punch a hole in the wall bad because Su got mad at him the one time he did punch the wall, so he's practiced restraint, but still pretty bad

Su has a wax warmer for the scented wax cube things in every room of her house

She makes sure the scent is changed every week, and it has to be the same scent throughout the whole house

Tenzin avoids using social media and most technologies, as do the air nomads and monks, but Kya did get Tenzin to allow her to make a social media account for the air nation

it's mostly run by Jinora and owned by Kya on Kyas phone

it's used to spread information about the air nation, their culture, beliefs, customs, history, etc.

Lin wears boxer briefs

Asami has endometriosis

Mako doesn't handle spicy food that we'll, which is odd considering he's a fire bender

Wei's really into photography and always has a compact camera on him

His favorite compact camera is his Panasonic Lumix TZ95

Wings not super into photography but knows his way around a camera because Wei has rambled on about cameras and angles to him so many times

Wing also has to take pictures for Weis Instagram so he's had training on how to use cameras from Wei

Korra goes through a lot of interest that last for a couple of months, one of those interest was wood working/carving

Korra made Jinora a wooden claw clip for her birthday once

it's the only claw clip Jinora has and she loves it

Makos biggest guilty pleasure is cross stitch and other embroidery styles, but mostly cross stitch

Bolins bed has an uncountable number of pillows on it

After Korra and Asami come back from their spirit world vacation, they decide to travel the world

They both only ever traveled for world saving business, and even then it was earth kingdom and water tribe areas only

So they spent the next year or two traveling the world to see it in a tourist way and not a fighting war way

#wing beifong #korra #LoK #Asami sato #mako #bolin #beifong family #jinora #tenzin #lin beifong #legend of korra #legend of korra headcannons

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space-lorde · 9 months

Text

Banning trans people from sports will not improve your quality of life.

Banning drag will not improve your quality of life.

Banning books from schools will not improve your quality of life.

Banning abortion will not improve your quality of life.

Your material conditions will not improve. Your rent will still be too damn high. Your car bill, your light bill, your insurance, all of it will continue to be too damn high.

You gain nothing. Instead, you lose integrity.

#drag #banning books #pro choice #pro life #republicans #reactionaries #right wingers #trans rights #books #abortion #politics

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tackfield · 3 months

Text

Unleashing Style and Safety: The Ultimate Guide to Motorcycle Leather Boots

Regarding riding gear, motorcycle leather boots are more than just a fashion statement—they're a crucial element of safety and comfort on the road. Whether you're a seasoned rider or just starting, investing in the right boots can make all the difference in your riding experience. From protection against the elements to enhancing your overall riding performance, here’s everything you need to know about motorcycle leather boots:

Why Choose Leather Boots?

Durability: Leather is renowned for its durability, making it an ideal material for motorcycle boots that need to withstand constant wear and tear.

Protection: Motorcycle boots are designed with reinforced materials and ergonomic features to protect your feet, ankles, and lower legs from impact, abrasion, and the elements.

Comfort: Quality leather boots are comfortable for long rides, offering support and flexibility where needed while maintaining breathability.

Key Features to Look For:

Material: Opt for full-grain leather or high-quality synthetic leather. These materials offer the best combination of durability and comfort.

Armor: Look for boots with built-in ankle protection, toe caps, and shin guards to shield against impact and abrasion.

Waterproofing: Consider boots with waterproof membranes to keep your feet dry in rainy conditions.

Closure System: Choose between traditional laces, Velcro, or zippers based on your preference for ease of use and security.

Sole: A grippy, oil-resistant sole provides stability and traction, crucial for maintaining control of your bike.

Style and Functionality:

Classic vs. Sport: Classic leather boots offer timeless style and versatility, while sportier options may include additional features like ventilation for warmer climates.

Color Choices: From classic black to bold colors, choose a style that complements your riding gear and personal taste.

Fit: Proper fit is essential for comfort and safety. Ensure your boots provide enough room for movement without being too loose.

Maintenance Tips:

Cleaning: Regularly clean your boots with a damp cloth to remove dirt and grime. Use leather conditioner to keep the material supple and prevent cracking.

Storage: Store your boots in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight to maintain their shape and prevent leather from drying out.

Repair: Address any minor scuffs or tears promptly with leather repair kits to prolong the lifespan of your boots.

Conclusion:

Investing in a high-quality pair of motorcycle leather boots is an investment in both style and safety. Whether you're cruising down the highway or navigating challenging terrain, the right boots will enhance your riding experience while providing essential protection. Explore different styles, features, and brands to find the perfect pair that suits your riding style and personal preferences. Remember, safety should always come first on the road—starting from the ground up with your choice of boots!

Gear up, stay safe, and enjoy the ride with confidence in your motorcycle leather boots!

#leather #leather biker #leather boots #leather boy #leather coat #leather dress #leather jacket #leather man #leather skirt #leather suit

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poledancingdinos · 2 months

Text

Girls' Night Out - Chapter 20

Pairing: Sy x OFC (Amber Hamby)

Word count: 2.1K

Warnings: smut, oral (F), sex

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Masterlist

The night came to a close at the reasonable hour of 2 am. By then most of Sy and Amber’s family had gone back to the motel in town leaving only a couple of loudmouth soldiers and Amber’s friends who were stubbornly ignoring their fatigue to make the most of their time in the States.

Like the first time they’d visited Georgia together, the happy couple stayed in the guest house. There would have been more than enough room for others to stay with them but as Sy had joked — not incorrectly — there was no way in hell that they would both manage to stay quiet.

After saying goodbye to everyone, they began the walk back to the house. The dogs were prancing around in the tall grass, completely unbothered by the fact that it was the middle of the night. Amber still hadn’t put her shoes back on and the soft blades tickled her feet.

Sy quietly trailed behind her, holding her hand and watching the way her hair shone in the moonlight. Every now and then she would giggle and call out to the four excited pups zooming around them. He was sure he was sporting a ridiculously goofy grin himself but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When they reached the porch steps, he tugged on Amber’s hand, spinning her around with little yelp. Before her body collided with his, he bent down, sweeping her legs up and holding her to his chest. She kept quiet, biting her lip as she looked up into his eyes. Sy didn’t look away, confidently climbing the steps and pulling open the screen door. He slowly lowered her until her toes touched the ground, his face hovering less than an inch above hers.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’. You chose that dress damn well.”

“Thank you, Nathan. You look pretty good yourself. You’re so handsome in that suit, you had me crying within seconds of seeing you up there at the end of the aisle.”

Sy’s hand moved up her waist, trailing over her bare arm and shoulder before settling under her chin.

“I’m sorry I made you cry… twice,” he whispered.

“I’ll forgive you,” she answered, “but just this once since it’s our wedding night and all.”

Sy bent down so their lips were brushing together ever so slightly. It was Amber who closed the rest of the gap and sealed her lips with Sy’s. The kiss was slow and deep, their bodies pressed together completely. Sy’s hands found the round globes of her ass, squeezing through the silky skirt of her dress.

“I know ya ain’t takin’ my name but for tonight, you’re Mrs. Syverson,” he declared.

“With the way it sounds, falling from your lips in that drawl of yours, you might just convince me to change my mind.”

Sy made a sound that was only comparable to a growl before he bent down, lifting Amber over his shoulder. Sy brought his hand down on her ass, a loud crack echoing through the silent house followed by a surprised yelp.

With wide strides, Sy crossed the lounge, making his way to their bedroom. Having only gotten to Georgia two days prior, Sy had so far been sleeping in the main house and had let Amber take over the guest house as her bridal suite. She had apparently used the opportunity to make a few improvements.

The bed was stripped of its regular blanket which was folded in a corner with a stack of extra pillows. The fitted bed sheet looked brand new and looked to be made of a soft and high-quality material. Sticking out from between the mattress and the frame was a set of black restraints and on the nightstand was every sort of toy he could picture himself using.

“Damn, woman, you’ve been busy.”

Sy set Amber on her feet, straightening up to see her devilish grin.

“I couldn’t leave my husband unsatisfied on our first night of the marriage, could I?"

“I don’t need anythin’ but you, Mrs. Syverson.”

Sy lowered his head, kissing the side of her neck. His hands caught her hips, gently turning her so her back was to him. He carefully unfastened her dress, nipping the flesh of her ass as he lowered it down then placed it over the back of the armchair in the corner.

It crossed Sy’s mind that it would make a good perch to watch Amber use the toys on the nightstand while begging for the relief of his cock but he set that idea aside for later. When he turned around, he caught his wife unabashedly ogling his backside.

Under her dress, all Amber had on was a pair of white lace panties which showed off her smooth skin below. Her breasts were on full display, her nipples pebbling under his heated gaze. Sy began unbuttoning his shirt and tilted his head towards the bed.

“Sit on the edge for me. Legs open and heels on the mattress.” She obeyed immediately, sitting on the edge with her back to Sy. She glanced at him over her shoulder in time to see his shirt hit the floor.

“Eyes front, Mrs. Syverson.”

She bit her lip, smiling at his tone which was loving yet dripping with calm authority. The metal of his belt clicked as he undid it and soon the whole thing fell to the rug with a muffled thud.

It took a few more seconds of Amber’s patience before Sy came into view holding two pillows. The thinnest one was placed under the small of her back while the other, thicker one was placed under her shoulders and head so she could lay back comfortably but still see her husband.

Sy’s fingers trailed down her ribs and slipped under the thin white fabric. With a quick tug, the lace tore apart exposing her folds. He lowered himself to his knees, smoothing his hands over her toned thighs while sucking deep hickeys into her skin but never getting close to where she needed him most. She attempted to guide him with a hand on the back of his head but the stubborn captain didn’t break.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours but you don’t get to come until you can repeat your weddin’ vows for me. Can you do that Mrs. Syverson?”

“Nathan, baby, anything, just please give me your mouth.”

Sy snaked his arms under Amber’s thighs so his hands rested on her stomach. He flattened his tongue and ran it along the length of her folds, tasting her arousal.

“Oh my God, Nathan!” The light touch had Amber’s hips bucking off the bed. Sy’s large hands took hold of her ass and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed until she was practically falling off. Amber was so lost in the feeling of his lips wrapped around her clit that she forgot his command. Her legs were already shaking as she struggled to hold her position.

Sy pulled back for a second, leaving Amber to express her disapproval with a whine. He carefully took hold of one ankle, placing it on his shoulder then did the same with the other to give her something sturdier to lean against rather than slipping off the sheet.

His hand shifted to a bruising grip on her thing while the other moved up to play with her breasts.

“Start talking, darlin’.”

Amber began to recite the words she’d so carefully crafted over the last few weeks. Luckily she had practiced them over and over but as Sy continued his work, her sentences grew choppy and she stammered over her words.

“My dearest Nathan, I thought I had made a happy life for myself before we met but I now know that it’s only with you that I am truly content. From the moment my eyes found you across that bar, I couldn’t look at anyone or anything else. I could tell that you were someone special. Someone more than just a handsome, brooding stranger.

“Though I may not fall asleep in your arms every night or wake by your side every morning, I know that you are always there for me. Sometimes I am alone, but I am never lonely. I can feel your love for me whether you are by my side or we are oceans apart.”

Amber’s legs closed around Sy’s head and she made a conscious effort not to suffocate her new husband between her thighs.

“Oh my god, Sy! I’m gonna…”

“Not yet, Mrs. Syverson. Finish your vows.” Sy pinned her thigh open with a firm hand, nipping at the tender flesh.

“I know our little family is unconventional, so was our path getting here, but there is no doubt in my mind that you are the only one for me. Every time I look at you I’m overwhelmed with the love I see in your eyes.”

Feeling her about to explode despite all her efforts to hold back, Sy substituted his mouth for his fingers. His thumb traced lazy circles over her clit as he helped her finish the final lines.

“I promise to love you as unconditionally as you love me.” Sy plunged two thick fingers in her core and sucked hard on her clit. “Oh! I— I promise to always give you a safe place to c— come home to. I pro— promise to stand strong by your side, fuck! Throughout everything life may throw at us because when we are together, we can brave any storm! Oh my god!”

Amber’s walls fluttered around his digits, her entire body shaking. Sy admired the sight, relishing in his favorite show. He loved the way she let go, head tipped back, mouth agape and spilling absolutely filthy sounds and her breasts heaving with every breath.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I ever saw, ya know that?” he said, bending down over Amber and slipping a hand under her back. He gave her a languid kiss before lifting her off the bed and placing himself under her in the middle of the mattress.

“First night we met you took me just like this, you remember?”

“How could I forget?” She bit her bottom lip, tipping her head to the side. “A handsome hunk fucks my brains out? There’s no forgetting that.”

Sy groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Hmm, My wife says the sweetest things.”

Amber lifted her hips, taking hold of Sy’s throbbing erection and lining herself up. She brushed the tip through her folds, coating it in the evidence of her earlier release before sinking down to the root.

Sy’s hands traveled over every inch of skin within reach, teasing her peaked nipples and administering a shameless spank on her ass cheek. Her hips undulated above him, pulling off until just the tip remained before slamming back down.

“Get over here,” Sy whispered, tangling his fingers in Amber’s hair and pulling her lips to his. His wife repositioned quickly then continued to move while grinding her clit into his pelvis. “That’s it, sweetheart, get yourself off. Wanna feel you milk my cock.”

“Sy, please.”

He took hold of Amber’s hips, helping her move as he met her thrust for thrust. From there it was a frantic chase, both of them working towards their peak. Amber placed open-mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck, nipping at the sensitive skin before her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“I love you, Nathan. I love you so fucking much. I love you.”

Sy managed two more thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible in his wife, spilling his seed in her wet heat. She ground her hips into his, quickly following him over the edge.

“I love you too, Mrs. Syverson.” He wrapped both arms around her waist, keeping Amber plastered against his front.

“Sy…” she whined, wiggling in his hold. “We’ll get the sheets all sticky.”

Sy nudged her cheek with his nose, silently requested that she lift her head enough to look into his eyes.

“Not letting you go, darlin’. I’m gonna hold my wife on our weddin’ night, sheets be damned.”

“You know, I’ll still be your wife tomorrow right?” she teased. “And the night after that and the night after that?”

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, placing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know. And I can’t fuckin’ wait to spend forever with you in my arms.”

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #henry cavill #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson smut #captain syverson smut #captain syverson x ofc

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mudhamster · 9 months

Text

CHWHWN: 31. December - " an ear / advice "

It was quite late already and Izuku was struggling with unknown amounts of cloth, wrapped in layers, and time was running out in the narrow space of the bathroom.

"Ready?" Kacchan's voice sounded muffled through the raffia of the bathroom door and still, Izuku flinched. He was nervous. On a scale of 1-10, an honest 100. Never before had he had such high quality material on his body as he did at this moment. On top of that, he smelled exactly like Kacchan. His sleeves, his collar, everything.

"In a minute!" he squeaked back, trying to tie the knot the way Masaru had shown him yesterday - when impatience in person pushed open the bathroom door and Izuku's head shot up - and his breath caught in his throat.

"What's taking so long - what?" hissed Katsuki and stopped in the doorway when he saw Izuku's expression. Izuku blinked, momentarily awestruck. He knew Kacchan in his hero costume. In a suit. In sports clothes or swimming trunks. But the sight of his body in that sleek, handsome look left him speechless. He recognized the same handwriting in the design of the fabric, the thin orange-red seams, the silver accents and the detailed embroidery. Only the cranes had given way to delicate explosions and aesthetic fire patterns. They did something to Katsuki's eyes that made a warm wave of affection slosh around in Izuku's stomach. Two small black hairclips were stuck into the blond strands behind his ears.

"What's wrong? Is there shit on my face?"

Only when he raised his head, did he see Izuku shaking his head, also dressed in velvet and silk, with a belt that was completely twisted.

"Incompetent as always, huh?"

He stepped into the bathroom, inevitably in Izuku's comfort zone, and reached around him to twist the belt properly.

"Kacchan," Izuku breathed against his shoulder, bending back enough to face him again and whispering under his breath, "You're gorgeous."

Time froze, as did Katsuki's hands on Izuku's hips.

The bathroom was small and Izuku's eyes unintentionally wandered to the mirror next to them.

His cheeks immediately flushed when he got the split-second image that the hands on his belt and his bent posture could also stand for something else entirely. It looked as if Kacchan was only centimeters away from kissing him.

But as if he had heard his thoughts, Kacchan only pulled hard on the belt once, inadvertently bringing Izuku a step closer to him, before he expertly rewound the knot and stepped back.

Unseen steam shot out of Izuku's green curls as Katsuki also brought the rest of the kimono into place.

"I-"

"Is it true that you didn't want to go to the shrine this year?"

Katsuki furrowed his brow, distracted from his original thought, and backed away slightly.

"Hm," he muttered and Izuku also took a step back until he bumped into the sink, "Why?"

"Since I drew the first horoscope, it always came true within one year."

Izuku raised his eyebrows, baffled by the thought that Kacchan actually believed in things like horoscopes or New Year's oracles.

"Really?"

He didn't know much about such things. Neither he nor his mother had ever drawn oracles. If he was honest, he had too much respect for them, or maybe he was afraid of drawing something bad. So he had kept his hands off from the beginning. He and his mother had been content to say their prayers, leave a small donation, and then stroll through the crowds after dropping off their elderly companion on a park bench with a hot drink.

"Yes."

Kacchan held the door open for him and they walked down the dark hallway side by side.

"But not the last one?" he questioned, slipping on his shoes.

On the lamp-lit porch, Katsuki hesitated for a moment and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from a deep pocket of his kimono, holding it up to the light with a pout.

"No," he said quietly, "and I didn't want to get a new one while I still had this one."

The note was folded several times making it impossible to read what it said, so Izuku asked, "What does it say?"

Instead of answering, Katsuki tapped the note on the tip of his nose and put it away.

"None of your business."

But Izuku, gripped by curiosity, couldn't help but ask further: "But – but we're going? Has something changed? Has it finally come true?"

The wind came up and made a small wind chime sound in the neighbors' garden. The air already smelled of candles and the sweet smells of the New Year.

A car horn broke the peaceful atmosphere and Izuku spun around with one hand raised in a small wave and jumped down the next three steps at once. It seemed as if Mitsuki's patience had run out. Katsuki caught up with him immediately, footsteps crunching in the snow as he replied cryptically, "Feels like it, yeah."

They made it to the car, and even though Izuku was still full of questions, Kacchan was immediately wrapped up in a fiery conversation with his mother, so Izuku began to wonder about the oracle. And the small piece of paper he had in his breast pocket. The last piece of the calendar, the 24th. It weighed what felt like 170 kilos and was placed right above his heart.

Today was New Year's Eve.

At midnight, the 24th would burn if Kacchan wouldn't do something. And that was in just over two hours.

The way was long even by car. There were countless people on the streets and they were forced to park the car a little further down the mountain and take the steep path to the shrine on the hill with everyone else. No problem for Izuku nor Katsuki, but strangely enough, about halfway up, a problem for his parents' stamina.

"We'll go up ahead," their son announced harshly before grabbing Izuku's elbow and leading him further to the side, onto the uneven part of the road where they could make faster progress. He was obviously in a hurry, so no one objected. Izuku turned for a last wave and noticed Mitsuki's impish smile.

She wasn't out of breath at all.

Arriving at the top of the shrine, time flew by as quickly as dozens of beaming faces and Izuku almost bit his tongue to keep from asking for the two remaining notes when he realized that the new year would start in less than an hour.

They had been at the altar, had knelt down to pray and Izuku had picked up an oracle that he would not open until the old year was finally over. Which was precisely the reason why he was getting more and more antsy.

But then: "Deku".

Suddenly, he was pulled away from the street, up two small wooden stairs to an empty place with several small lanterns, and Katsuki took off his thin gloves and blew warm air into his fingers. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and lifted it into the warm light. It was even smaller than the folded oracle note, but Izuku only realized what was going on when he heard the words "an ear" being read aloud. Kacchan did it. He used the first of the two remaining notes. To the sound of the shrine chimes. Over the murmur of prayers. NOW. BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR.

"God. …fuck. Fuck." Izuku was still struggling with where to put himself or his hands or his thoughts in general as he watched Kacchan who was obviously struggling with himself.

"I'm 10 seconds away from chickening out," he finally admitted, his lips pressed together.

"You would never do that," Izuku replied immediately, terribly nervous at the thought that Kacchan would actually open the last notes. He had expected it. But somehow, he did not.

"No. No, not really. But I .... fuck." And then he chuckled weakly and pushed a hand deep into his hair.

"Okay. I interpret that," Katsuki waved the note in front of Izuku's nose until his eyes crossed briefly, "to mean that I can tell you something that stays between us. Right?"

Izuku's heart melted into a heart-shaped puddle when he saw the vulnerability in Kacchan's eyes. His eyebrows had knitted together, the tiny wrinkle of worry between them that he saw less often these days than All-Might in his filled shape.

He felt like he'd been dumped on a beach seconds before a tsunami was about to crash in and tear him apart. His ears tingled. He could feel the thin line between them more clearly than ever, for they were seconds away from crossing it or breaking apart.

"Yes," he nodded, unable to take his eyes off Katsuki for even a blink, "but I - "

"How much longer do I have?"

"What?"

"Until midnight, Izuku. Until New Year."

"Oh - no idea?" he replied hastily, "30 seconds?"

"Okay, listen carefully. I'm only going to say this once," Katsuki raised his head to the sky, pursed his lips and crumpled the note into a fist before he whispered to the clouds, "I have a serious thing for... that boy."

Izuku watched as Kacchan swallowed hard, his eyes still on the sky, "A cute one, with ... ugh. Green hair. Freckles. Shitty style... the loser who made me a calander this year, and fuck if that wasn't the bravest shit ever."

Izuku stared at him, mouth agape, as if Katsuki was the most precious creature in the universe. Snow blew into his mouth. He didn't notice.

Somewhere in the distance, the last, loudest chimes of the year began, and Katsuki almost let the second note slip from his fingers as he tried to smooth it out: "So, um, yeah. Advice, Deku. How do I ask him out?"

"Ugh," Izuku trembled as goose bumps spread all over his body as he too pulled out the last piece of paper and held it out to Katsuki, "You should check out 24."

He could feel his heart beating in his throat when Kacchan just stood there for a long time without moving. But eventually, he took the paper and carefully unfolded it.

Izuku sent his last prayer of the year while Katsuki took a deep breath.

"Please ignore it if you feel uncomfortable," Katsuki read, "But I'd like to give you a -" he unrolled the paper even more and continued reading, his voice suddenly cracking and hoarse, "A ... a kiss, if you want one."

People passed around them. The final gong sounded and the crowd began to cheer, while Izuku's entire focus was on the boy in front of him. Again, he did not move. But suddenly, he bit his lower lip so forcefully that Izuku dropped one of his own gloves in shock. Surely, nobody who was happy looked like that?

"Kacchan, oh my God, you don't have to...!"

The first rocket of the new year exploded with colorful sparks above their heads.

"Now."

More explosions crackled through the night sky and Izuku breathed out a soft "What?" in disbelief.

Had he heard wrong? No.

"I want one. Now."

"For the new year?"

"Exactly." Katsuki waved the note excessively, "and I want you to give it to me. Now."

"I never thought we'd get this far," Izuku choked out, tongue heavy and eyes moist with disbelief and hope, "I wanted to woo you with sweetness, but this - I never thought I'd make it - I...?"

They looked at each other.

"You have. If you don't chicken out now. Just like all the other moments before."

"What moments?"

More and more sparklers lit up the snow on the other side of the street and Izuku cast a glance over until Katsuki continued to speak.

"Use your brain, Deku. As soon as I made the slightest move, your signals were so... so damn irritating. Suddenly no answers, running away, lying..."

Well, Izuku had heard enough. Enough of confusing signals and implications. This would be a straightforward matter. Determined, he stepped forward and reached for Kacchan's collar to drag him down a bit. Katsuki immediately followed the demanding yank and their lips met after the tiniest second of hesitation, just as a particularly violent explosion showered them with golden sparks. The tingle of the century shook his whole body, from the top of his head to the cold toes in his red sneakers.

It was perfect. There was nothing more romantic than kissing in the colorful glow of dying sparks. It took his breath away.

Izuku, totally high, totally overwhelmed, backed away a little when he felt an arm trying to wrap itself around his middle. This was way too close to his dreams. Kacchan would never kiss him, would he? Not on Christmas and especially not on New Year's Eve! There was a tradition that people kissed at midnight, "more," Kacchan's growl interrupted his thoughts. His lips tingled as warm breath slid over them, and Kacchan's cold nose slid along his, and he kissed the corner of his mouth lightly, "one more."

His lips were easily captured, their mouths like freshly activated magnets, and his eyes fell shut in surrender.

"T-take as much as you need," he said between kisses that went that perfect little bit deeper each time.

"I'll take what you want to give."

"Everything then."

Kacchan grinned against his mouth, "Sounds like it all worked out pretty well after all," and slipped his old oracle note into Izuku's fingers as he interlocked their hands and pushed him out of the crowd, into the lantern-lit darkness of the night beside the shrine.

"Won't you get a new one?" breathed Izuku, his other hand deep in the black velvet of Kacchan's kimono collar.

"Nah, got everything I ever wanted."

With that said, he kissed Izuku even harder than before, declaring in his own way, that they were starting their new year with a pretty deep level of connection.

#finale #bkdk #mha #bakudeku #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #deku #fanfiction #fluff #kacchan #chwhwn #bakugou katsuki #Bkdk kiss #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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