#✶ — sunnie writes challengers!

[sunnie-angel]

jason todd x gn!neutral reader

a/n: inspired by this incredible piece of art by @jjenthusee, part of the february acts of kindness challenge

“dance with me,” you say, slipping off the couch and extending your hand.

“hm?” jason todd hums, finger marking his spot in his book as he looks up at you.

“dance with me.” the music fills the apartment like a physical thing, a neighbour’s practice session with their trumpet seeping through the walls.

“what, now?” he asks. you nod and hold out your hand again.

“c’mon, it’ll be fun,” you cajole him. the lamplight in the darkening evening gilds him golden. he hesitates and you sigh. “please? the world could end tomorrow or i’ll end up getting called into overtime in a never ending loop or maybe you’ll break a leg slipping off a roof—”

“i’m not that accident prone!” he defends himself indignantly. “i haven’t been injured on patrol in three weeks!”

“yes, yes, and i’m very proud of you darling but my point is, the future’s an unknown country and i want to dance today.”

he laughs at your plaintive tone, but he pushes up from the couch, leather creaking under his shifting weight and grabs a hold of your hand. he uses it to pull you close, a little twirl that makes you gasp thrown in for good measure. you rest your cheek against the plane of his chest, warmth seeping through the cotton fabric of his shirt, and sigh. the trumpet player, whoever they are, aren’t perfect. there’s slightly flat notes and rhythms taken a half beat too fast but in the moment, it’s perfect.

what is decidedly less perfect is coming home the next evening to a crouched figure on the fire escape, the cherry red end of the cigarette the only indication of life. you sigh, then set down your groceries on the counter before going for the first aid kit under the kitchen sink.

“you’d better not be dying out there,” you call out. the figure twitches, then turns to face the music.

there’s blood on his face. no matter how glib you might sound or how many times it happens, it always opens up a pit in your stomach. your fingers tighten around the plastic of the first aide kit.

“oh sweetheart, don’t worry, it’s just a lil’ blood.” he’s aiming for reassuring but it’s landing somewhere north of cocky. you roll your eyes and lean out the window to take his chin in your hand, turning his head gently to get a better look at the damage.

“anything broken?” you ask instead.

he stubs out the cigarette on the little ashtray you’d insisted he keep out there if he wasn’t gonna stop smoking, and moves to join you inside the apartment.

“my pride’s a little banged up but that’s about it. should have seen the knuckle dusters coming,” he sighs, hand ruffling through his hair. in the distance, your neighbour takes up his trumpet again.

“looks like your injury-free record is back down to zero,” you tease, the first aid kit back under the sink. to your surprise, Jason’s standing right behind you, smelling of fresh air and nicotine.

“got anything frozen?” he asks, jutting his chin out towards the groceries still sitting on the counter, abandoned.

“no but—”

“good. let’s dance,” he interrupts you, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“what, now?” you ask, aware of the absurd parody to the previous night.

“no better time,” he insists. he pulls you to the centre of the room, where there’s nothing to stop him from twirling you about. “the world didn’t end, you didn’t get called in to overtime, and I didn’t break my leg.”

“might’ve broken your nose,” you sniff, trying not to let his charm get to you. it doesn’t work. he laughs, head thrown back and unguarded.

“pinkie promise it’s not broken, just bruised sweetheart, like my ego’s gonna be if i can’t you to dance with me.”

you plant a quick kiss on his bloodied cheek and let out an undignified giggle when he tries to dip you.

“i’ll keep coming home to dance,” he murmurs into your ear, pulling you close as he pulls you upright. “s’long as it’s with you.”

the trumpeter plays on, a little more on key and a little less out of time with your heart.

[cybersunnie]

18+ / MDNI situationship; angry sex; college!art; f!reader; possibly ooc; art calls reader a slut (wc 975) with ART DONALDSON

Your relationship with Art Donaldson was complicated.

You two teetered between the line of friends and something more. A relationship that consisted of words left unspoken and constant what-ifs. (A dilemma he could never escape).

But the longing to become something more often felt one-sided. Because, for Art, it was always Tashi, tennis, Patrick, and then you. You were his fallback. Someone he went to when he needed a distraction. You just refused to believe you were so far down his list of priorities because how could you be with the way he kissed and touched you? Whispered your name in the dead of night like it was holy? Knew the ins and outs of you like a lover would? 

It was confusing—exhausting, even, having him all over you one day, then uninterested the next. Hot and cold. Cat and mouse. A never-ending cycle you grew comfortable with.

You figured that was how you found yourself bent over a bathroom counter on Saturday night, forced to you look at yourself in the mirror as Art fucked you from behind.

Art didn't want to go to the stupid frat party in the first place. He was only there because he let his tennis friends pressure him into going. And, as he expected, it was like every other party he attended at Stanford. Mundane. A pretty girl here and a pretty girl there to pay a compliment to. But most of the time, he kept to himself, hugging the walls to avoid being swept up into the rowdy crowd.

That was until he saw you.

You were as gorgeous as ever. All dolled up and wearing a mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Smiling and swaying your hips to the music like you didn't have a care in the world. Except you were dancing with another man. Your back flushed with his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist as his other hand drifted down to your thigh, holding you close. Too close. And, like you had been aware of his presence this entire time, your eyes locked with Art's, and he witnessed your sweet smile form into a smirk. 

Blood pumped through his veins, his stomach churned, and an unbearing heat encompassed him. 

He knew he had no right to be angry. You weren't his. Not officially, anyway. But that didn't stop him from seeing red. That didn't stop the green-eyed monster from consuming every rational thought in his mind.

And now, Art had you all to himself in a bathroom upstairs. 

The loud chattering and booming music from below did wonders to drown out your whimpers and cries. Art had your panties around your ankles and skirt flipped up over your ass, one hand on your hip and the other on your jaw as he fucked his cock into your tight cunt. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he rasped, his voice wrecked, almost unrecognizable. "Dancing with that guy, knowing it'd make me jealous—is this what you fucking wanted?"

While you intended to make him jealous, this wasn't what you expected him to do.

You just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, to let him know how it felt to be on the back burner. Art usually wasn't quick to anger. Unlike Patrick, he would try to refrain from giving in to his impulses. But you must've caught him on a bad day. You weren't complaining, though.

When you didn't respond, his grip tightened along your jaw, your cheeks smushed between his fingers. "Tell me."

You stared at his reflection in the mirror, the mess of blond curls and flushed cheeks, an all too familiar sight for you. "Fuck you."

The anger in his eyes disappeared for a split second. He almost looked hurt. "Why're you acting like this, huh?" Art asked softly, words tumbling from his mouth with urgency. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear. You shuddered. "Acting like you're not my girl."

"Because I'm not."

"You are."

You cursed under your breath, trying and failing to keep your composure. "We're not—shit, together, remember?" 

Art scoffed, the irritation he felt earlier flooding back. "So you just let anyone fuck you like you're some slut?" He let go of your jaw to wrap his hand around your throat, relishing the subtle whimper that slipped past your lips. You shook your head. "Yeah, didn't think so. You only let me fuck this pretty pussy when I want, wherever I want, right?"

You braced yourself against the mirror, the glass cool on your forearms, your legs shaking as you struggled to keep yourself up. He hissed, "Say it."

Dumbly, you asked, "What?"

"Say that you're my girl."

Lost in the pleasure, you nodded without a second thought. In this moment, it was the truth. "I'm your girl."

"That's right. All mine." You heard the smile in his voice. "Fuck, wanna cum in your mouth—y'gonna let me, hm? Gonna let me fuck your throat?"

You realized a long time ago that you would let him do anything.

And then you found yourself on your knees, staring up at him with watery eyes like he was some sort of god, trying not to gag as he came down your throat. Soon after, Art helped you off the ground, your legs quivering, the taste of him fresh on your tongue. You heard his whispered praises from below while he pulled up your panties and felt the soft kisses he left on your thighs.

Once he stood up, fixing your skirt, you couldn't help but ask, "Do you actually like me?"

He stilled, and you didn't miss how he clenched his jaw. Instead of answering with words, Art leaned in and kissed you. That told you all you needed to know.

Of course, Art liked you. He just didn't like you enough.

author's note: i hate this but its been sitting in my drafts for too long 😭 and by too long, i mean since june (oops!)

LAST EDITED — 09.15.2024

[chaitantei-ao3]

just going over the season 16 scripts but do we see how that scene in 'frank v. russia' has dennis becoming more and more upfront about being johnny - dennis has been hinting that he is johnny to mac in private over months but then he is angry enough to confess that he is johnny in front of everyone

dennis is synonymous to rage in the show (with waxing and waning cycles) but he's been generally mellow post s12 hate crimes... (notice that he wasn't the sin of wrath but lust in the s11 finale cause he reached his apex point in mac and dennis move to the suburbs, this continues through seasons 11 to 14... rising slightly as we reach the castle in s15 but still... pretty mellow) dennis has generally been on the mellow path and the best evidence of this is in 'the gang inflates' where he is willing to share an inflatable bed with a man actively trying to off himself by being completely unaware of his nut allergy despite the obvious evidence (as mac cycles through cycles of being deeply unaware of himself to being somewhat aware), dennis's mellow moments are sadly layered with moments when mac is The Most Unaware person on the planet, he has always been delusional, but when dennis is the most accessible and not clouded with wrath, mac just happens to be the most unaware person around him (notice how he is deeply unaware of what dennis thinks about him in s12 the gang tends bar, so much so that charlie is trying to tell him what dennis feels, yes he knows how dennis might be feeling in general (by getting him what he wanted) but he fails to understand dennis's feelings when he himself is involved

there are moments where they are in the same orbit so to speak, where dennis is mildly annoyed at him (and doesn't push him away) and mac is a bit more aware (of his importance to dennis) and these moments are the ones where we see their friendship, so underrated, shine in the very early seasons (season 5 and 6 especially)

these ships keep passing each other by... and now well, we are on another turning point as s16 finale actually saw dennis's rage simmer after reaching another apex (not in mac's presence this time, though he is halfway there, seething in 'frank v. russia') as dennis reaches the apex of his rage, mac says this to dennis in the episode before it happens, "yeah, we're hoping that you get mad out there and then you come back and you're happy."

[sunshiline-writes]

Sunny's Personal Horror November 2024 Challenge

Hello everyone. I am doing a personal Drabble challenge with mostly horror concepts. It's 300 words a day and was suggested to me by my dear lovely friend @/crash-bump-bring-the-whump . The list will be posted here and the links will be updated as I write them.

Feel free to join if you feel particularly inspired and @ me if you do! I would love to see everyone's little takes in my silly little challenge. Enjoy my little drabbles! _____________

1.) Rest

2.) Whipped

3.) buzzard

4.) Soft  

5. )Blood 

6.) Burrow 

7.) Pinned 

8.) Freeze 

9.) Lightheaded 

10.) Sleep Deprivation 

11.) Delicious 

12.) Small Town 

13.) Silence 

14.) Bone 

15.) anticipation 

16.) Crucifix 

17.) Sweet 

18.) Absence 

19.) Objectify 

20.) Watching 

21.) Howl 

22.) Shatter

23.) photograph 

24.) Kettle 

25.) In the Woods 

26.) Jaw 

27.) Piercing 

28.) Parasite 

29.) Drained 

30.) Throat 

31.) Alone

[ilovelickingrocks]

something to be said about the deeply dysfunctional and abusive but also tightly bound relationships and dynamics in it's always sunny in philadelphia. "shut up, charlie, i can talk to my son any way i want" says it all. frank traumatized both dennis and dee for their entire childhoods and then they end up stuck with him as a permanent fixture of their friend group when they're almost 30 and he stays with them for twenty years, and in that time he grows, he changes as a person, he becomes a surrogate father figure to charlie and mac, but at the same time, he becomes even more of a demented, morally corrupt person. he continues to mentally scar dennis and dee, showing them their dead mother's skeleton for the hell of it, but at the same time, he is part of their group. he's part of the gang. even when he stops being their dad, he's frank.

[lilac-udon]

Cringe au note for basil , wow I finally refining him

Trying to write mythical au basil, making more og basil alike, more depending on a toxic level. In my old drafts of maid Basil seems/felt more free and independent because he came out of that state (after realizing, the drafts of the jumping cliff incident) so became manageable to be more focused on stuff, having a very unstable goal to blindly following, but still heavily hallucinating just more manageable. This is also why he is always smiley, it is a state of detachment from reality. Prior to that he first becomes someone having difficulty living alone, any connection, or touch to him becomes obsession, and any form of interaction becomes “love(something)” in his eyes. And having sunny in his life reverses himself back to this unstable self. Personally see it more like a painful healing but both him and Sunny are very clueless of normal humans' kindness and normalcy. How they appreciate each other in action becomes very violent.

more easily to describe, Basil blocked/ lost self and senses I guess, he is scared of Sunny being different, someone the same as him that’s not the norm who won’t perish. This connection he never felt before in his hundreds of life driving him crazy, the funny of you don’t have anything but you also can’t have it

schizophrenia of continuous hallucinations and hearing voices, years of torture to the point he cannot live without it, it easier for others to tell (force)him what to do. That must be “love”, the only thing that is pleasurable in life, however, they never lasted. I am their _ _ _, love , hate, jealousy, kindness, obsession, anything, please look at me, please stay with me, please don’t let me alone

add, maid basil is not servicing towards sunny, and sunny rarely dominates towards basil. Basil acts randomly but he does not serve him, the man looks more like going to kill Sunny and himself if serious. Sunny shows aggression when hungry, rage, and low sanity. They act equally towards each other, and do things mostly independently, with no bluntowner, servant dynamics because of the outfit. ( was told by ppl they imagine it is like a very servant-owner type dynamic or something like that I’m shocked

[six-eyed-samurai]

trainers sunny and ying challenge you to a battle !

OMG OMG OMG DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW LONG I SAT THERE GAPING STUNNED LIKE

IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL I LITERALLY EXPLODED I'M GOING TO BE RANDOMLY SMILING AND GIGGLING WHILE KICKING MY FEET AT SCHOOL NOW BECAUSE I'LL SUDDENLY THINK OF IT I'M SO PROUD OF IT I'M SO HAPPY YOU DREW THIS I LOVE IT SO MUCH ONTO MY SCRAPBOOK, CORKBOARD, LOCKER AND SCHOOL DESK IT WILL ABSOLUTELY GO YOU BET YOUR ASS I'M SHOWING IT OFF SO PROUDLY

Sedate me I'm cackling so hard-

[passionfruitmango]

Assigned memories and morality to pixels

They mean so much to me

Their code so familiar to the friends long since deleted from cartridges

Created as a way to bring your team through the ages

They're not truly the same

Not the originals

A copy and paste of code edited just enough to work in the modern

Yet I still find myself so enthralled when I find a 14 year old pokemon trained by May.

And I feel almost guilt when I release the low IV'd mons someone sent me for my own breedject fodder.

I keep some.

Those with ribbons, 5-6 IVs, high levels.

Value ive assigned to them based on how i enjoy the games.

But without electricity and the systems that contain them

Its all just pixelized memories.

How real is something that's intangible?

Something that may not exist forever.

I'll always have the memories no?

Not entirely.

The human mind is a fleeting and fickle thing.

But when I try to imagine my life without the experiences those pixelized memories brought me?

Im left feeling empty.

Its so interesting how even half a lifetime later,

I'm still the same player,

Using so many different names,

But they're all me.

I lived through every part of them.

Just as they've found life through me.

[wronghandcomic]

Here’s a color wheel for the characters from my comic Wrong Hand! I’m really happy with this.

[villainsidestep]

fawniel thoughts hour….

[cybersunnie]

18+ / MDNI cock warming; f!reader (wc 992) with PATRICK ZWEIG

There was a story about the tortoise and the hare, and Patrick Zweig was the hare. 

Slow and steady wasn't exactly his style. 

He was quick and impulsive. Careless and arrogant. Annoyingly—or admirably?—persistent like the suffocating heat on a hot summer day. If you spared one glance at Patrick, you'd think he was nothing but smug. And he was well aware of all of this, too. He just never cared much about what other people thought of him, to begin with. 

But Patrick loved a challenge, and he sure liked taking his sweet time with you. Or, more accurately, he enjoyed making you squirm.

He'd have his cock stuffed inside your cunt, and tease you with lingering touches and chaste kisses until you caved in and begged him to fuck you. With Patrick, it was all fire and the wrong kind of love. But sometimes, when he felt a little nicer, he just wanted to be close to you, to become one with you, heartbeats linked and breathing the same breath.

And with how poorly he had been doing in his last few matches, he needed that semblance of human connection he had lost years ago.

The night was young, but Patrick was eager to have you. His hungry kisses left your lips raw, and his mouth traveled south and started to nip at your jaw, his nose digging into your cheek. Everything he did was to distract you. Distract you from the burning sensation you felt as his cock stretched you out.

"There you go, atta girl."

Patrick kept a firm grip on your hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there to soothe your nerves. You always got so flustered whenever you tried to take him. And that was because you felt all of him. The tuft of hair on his pubic bone, the veins on his cock. You'd whine, tell him that it was too much, that he was too big, as if your pussy wasn't made for him.

He liked it, though.

Because in the end, you looked so pretty, sitting on his fat cock. 

You heard him groan, low and guttural, and his large hands snaked up to your ribs, stopping just beneath your breasts. His touch was electrifying—everything about him was—and it sent a slight buzz through your body. And the sight of him alone wasn't helping. Patrick's wild hair and deep green eyes and that fucking smirk he never went without. But as much as you wanted to move, you couldn't. He wouldn't allow it. Not yet.

"Fuck, look at you." Patrick slid a hand further up to cup your breast, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding heart. "I could stare at you for hours."

You raised a brow. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be doing."

"No, no," he said softly, his gaze darting over your face while he let his other hand wander, fingers tracing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But it's tempting."

Patrick watched you roll your eyes, and he chuckled, grasping your hips once again and squeezing. He wished he could just keep his cock inside you all night, your cunt keeping it warm and wet and snug. But you were always too fussy to stay still for long. He supposed that was his fault—he did like spoiling you, after all.

"I have an idea."

Ideas and Patrick Zweig didn't mix well. You learned that early on when you first met him. And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the playful mischief within, you knew you were in for a treat whether you liked it or not. 

He took your silence as an invitation to continue, so he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear and voice velvety, "We should do this in front of a mirror next time." 

Or maybe ideas and Patrick Zweig did mix well.

Your mind started to reel, imagination running wild. But Patrick painted the picture for you like it was something he had been thinking about for a while. 

"You'd have no choice but to look at yourself—to look at just how fucking pretty you are when you're like this," Patrick whispered, his voice beginning to get lost in the heat and longing. "I'd keep your legs spread nice and wide so that you can see how my dick looks stuffed inside your sweet pussy." You squirmed, but his grip tightened around your hips. A silent warning to stay still. "Maybe you'd finally understand why I do this to you every time."

He pulled away from your ear, a hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek, his touch soft despite his calloused palm. All you could do was stare at him with a tight chest. "I care about you, you know," he laughed as if to hide the sincerity behind his words. "I'm not just trying to get a quick fuck. I wanna take my time, stay close to you longer." 

For once, his name tasted sweet on your tongue. "Patrick."

It was a prayer disguised as a whisper, a plea for his words to be true. And he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he uttered your name back. If this was the wrong kind of love, why did it feel so right? Why did he feel so right?

You tried to swallow down your pride. "Please."

"Please, what?" Patrick asked, but he knew what you wanted. He was connected to you. Your thoughts were his, too. "C'mon, use your words, baby."

But you couldn't bring yourself to say more, to accept defeat. You pulled your lips taut.

"No? Nothing?" He tilted his head, and his signature smirk was back. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."

And while Patrick was much like the hare, he knew he needed to take it slow and steady when it came to you. You would surrender to him sooner or later. You always did.

author's note: i have very mixed feelings abt this 😄 ANYWHO i will gladly give patrick everything he needs which is a shower and a bed

UNEDITED — 05.14.2024

[chaitantei-ao3]

22

"So that's how it is." Mac stretches his hand in explanation.

They look at Dee sprawled diagonally, chest rising and falling, arms akimbo on his bed like she’s nesting on a bed of twigs. Once Dennis saw her recreating a Seventeen magazine’s fall cover which he’d told her looked more like a Garbage Pail card and she’d pushed him off the bed.

"We have no other option.” Dennis taps his chin in thought, “We have to throw her out." he says looking at Mac, an action to make it absolutely clear who’s doing the actual throwing.

Mac hesitates, "Well, Dennis. I…tried.”

"Try harder then." Dennis narrows his eyes, "She's on my bed. And she must be off it. This instant.” he imagines the earth shattering and swallowing Dee whole. The image gives him a little reprieve but as he it’s wiped away the instant he sees Dee drooling on his pillow.

“Look, I can sleep on the couch and you can take my room.” Mac looks at his phone, “I mean I really need to sleep… I can’t get late for the funeral. I’ll just knock down-” Mac looks around, “Wait a second. Where’s the goddamn beer?”

Did Charlie just take all our beers? I'm going to exchange a strong word with him today, Dennis. I will set him straight. What does he think huh? First!” Mac raises his finger, “He blatantly blasphemes the Lord then he has the gall to-” Mac picks up his phone and paces towards the window, “Oh my god, Dennis. Charlie’s out there with Frank and they’re drinking our beers outside the building right now." Mac opens the window craning his neck. “Charlie is going down today. Where’s my Bible I am going to read him- wait, are you okay?!”

“I’m perfectly-” 

“No, you’re looking- you’re looking so pale right now.”

Dennis coughs.

“Dennis - what.. what is happening?”

Mac places his hands on Dennis’s forehead, rubbing his thumbs on his cheeks. A rush of heat trails the path of his fingers. “Hey- what can I do for you? What should I-”

Dennis feels the sheen of sweat on his forehead cool and he digs his chin on Mac’s shoulder.

“Hold on!” He feels his weight shift.

“What are you-” Dennis says, hoarsely. 

Mac squeezes his arms and Dennis hovers an inch off the ground, feeling his heart up in his ears. Mac wheezes and loses his grip, breathing hotly on his neck. “It’s the- I’m kind of out of practice and I just ate. Hey-”

Dennis hears Mac’s heart thud. 

“Dennis. Hey. Are you okay?”

Dennis snorts, breathing in slowly and releasing it. “You think my body would ever have any-” 

Bile rises in his throat, Dennis clutches his stomach and rushes to the bathroom. Falling on his knees, he grips the rim of the toilet bowl and empties out the contents of his dinner, watching it swirl in orange. Glancing at Mac’s feet an inch away, his stomach pulls at him again and Dennis bites his tongue trying to swallow. The choking sensation builds and Dennis heaves, his mind shakes like he’s in a ship on raging waters.

Fuck.

Dennis finally lifts his gaze to see Mac standing at a distance away, not saying a word.

Shaking his head, Dennis glares at the mess sticking to the white porcelain, the smell. The goddamn smell shoots up his sinuses. Schooling his features he tries lifting his head and sees Mac watching him wide eyed, burn his insides with an iron tipped rod.

“Dennis-” Mac’s voice breaks. Dennis ignores him, staring at the floor and walking toward the basin. He looks in the mirror to see a vision more frightening than he could ever imagine. Skin pallid and beaded with sweat, pieces of sick stuck to his chin, hair matted on his forehead.

Clutching the cold marble Dennis flips open the tap and splashes his face. Dennis feels his back prickle and watches Mac shift his weight from the corner of his eye, Mac’s knuckles tightly hold the door frame and his forehead creases as he looks at him.

Dennis touches the hem of his shirt, removing it slowly over his head. When he looks back, Mac is nowhere to be seen. Dennis crumples the shirt in a ball, throws it on the floor and steps away from the mirror.

Read more

[sunshiline-writes]

She had never seen so many flowers.

(For five-sentence fic prompts!)

The town burned behind her. Making her eyes water with smoke. She walked away from the scene behind her. Taking a deep breath of fresh air once she was far enough away. Isobele kept walking, kept walking until she was over a hill and the sight over the hill took her breath away again. She had never seen so many flowers. Isobele wondered if they were as many as the lives she had taken. Falling to her knees, she then turned and laid on her back in them. The flowers she had never seen. Will probably never see again. She surrounded herself in them. Even if it was just for a second.

[ampheenix]

Sunflower Week 2023, Day 3- Movie Night!

“Wait, what?!”

The chair screeched loudly as it was pushed back, Hero standing up as he gaped at Sunny, who was  blinking at him from the other side of the table. “You two haven’t been on a single date?!”

Sunny slowly reached out and grabbed a slice of pizza, chewing thoughtfully.

After a moment he shook his head, and Hero’s eyes widened even more, practically bulging out of his skull. He grabbed his head with his hands, practically tearing out his hair as he whisper-yelled across the table.

“HOW?!”

Sunny shrugged, feeling unsure all of a sudden.

…It wasn’t that big of a deal, right…?

“But- but you two have been going out for months now!” Hero said in shock, slowly falling back onto the chair. “I- I mean, you have been, haven’t you?”

Sunny nodded.

“But- then… then, how- how..” Hero gestured helplessly, and Sunny shrugged again as he bit into his pizza, grimacing slightly as his fingers got all greasy.

Hero let out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the back of his seat, nabbing a piece of margherita from the plate. “Well then, there’s only one thing for it.”

Sunny simply raised an eyebrow in response, and Hero grinned.

“You need to plan a date, of course!”

- - -

Basil froze, damn near dropping the phone where he stood as a flush steadily rose on his cheeks. Was he dreaming?

He had to be dreaming, or- or mishearing somehow, there was no way...

“…Basil?” Sunny’s voice said softly down the phone, a bit scratchy from disuse.

“S-sorry, I’m here!” Basil said nervously, pressing it back against his ear as his mind raced. There- there were so many things that could go wrong!!

What if Sunny realised how horrible of a person he was and didn’t want to be with him anymore?? Would it be different from when they normally spent time together??

Would it be… He swallowed.

…Awkward?

“Are you f-free… um, Sunday?” Sunny’s voice said hesitantly, and Basil’s heart swelled, a small smile appearing on his face. Then again, it was Sunny, so it’d be fine no matter what, right?

“U-um…” He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I- I think so! Is it.. is alright if I just check with Polly quickly?” Basil said, smile widening.

He couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

“Okay.” Sunny’s voice murmured softly. “Sh… should I wait here?”

“U-um, yeah! Sure!!” Basil said quickly, before he put down the phone and sprinted out of the room, skidding into the kitchen where Polly stood, looking confused as she peered down at a recipe.

“Hmm…” Her brow scrunched up as she squinted, looking from the recipe book to the bubbling pot and back again. “This is not what the recipe says it should look like…”

“P-POLLY!!” Basil yelped, and that got her attention. He hardly ever raised his voice, after all.

“Basil? What’s the matter? Is something wrong??” Polly said worriedly, instantly looking up from her book and scanning him up and down for any injuries.

She sighed with relief as she found none, thank goodness. Her nerves still hadn’t recovered from that horrible scare a year or so ago…

“Polly.” Basil said, voice shaking, and she instantly looked up with concern only to see a huge, warm smile spreading across his face.

He reached up to fidget with the flower in his hair, the silly smile still on his face, before mumbling something.

Polly smiled, sensing good news already. “Sorry, what was that?”

“S- sunny asked me on a date.” Basil said softly, voice trembling from sheer excitement as his smile grew even wider.

Polly’s eyes widened, and her face split in a matching grin.

“Oh my! Basil, really?” She laughed, ruffling his hair and feeling her heart swell as he leaned into the touch slightly. This time last year, he would flinch back from gentle touches before she could even get close. “That’s just lovely, oh, Sunny’s such a sweet boy! When’s the date?”

“Next Sunday!” Basil said happily, before his smile slipped off his face, brow creasing in worry. “Oh no… what am I going to wear?! I-I mean, I don’t even know what type of date it is…”

Polly smiled devilishly. “Oh, don’t worry about that… Let’s just say I have a few ideas I’ve been storing up…”

- - -

Basil knocked on the door of the Suzuki household, an excited grin on his face. He bounced on his heels to try and get rid of the nervous energy that was stirring up his insides.

The door opened almost instantly. Sunny stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as they landed on the flower adorning Basil’s hair:

A creamy-white tulip, fresh from the garden.

Basil’s small smile grew as he noticed the blush slowly growing on Sunny’s cheeks… Polly was always full of such good ideas!

“Hi Sunny!” He said happily, but soon he was the one turning scarlet as Sunny took his hand, leading him inside. It felt… a bit different from normal, for some reason.

He felt a bit nervous, butterflies roiling in his stomach, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad different… it’d just take some time to get used to.

They settled themselves on the couch in front of the TV with plenty of blankets and a plate of choc-chip cookies, courtesy of Hero.

And with no further ado they pressed play, snuggled up on Sunny’s ridiculously comfy couch (after they cancelled the move they ended up buying a new sofa, as the old one had been all old and moth-eaten anyway, and it still had that delicious, leathery new couch smell to it.)

About half-way through Basil felt a small weight on his shoulder, and glanced over in confusion to see-

Oh. Oh.

Basil’s face slowly heated up as he realised Sunny’s head was resting on his shoulder… but this wasn’t right, what if Sunny wouldn’t want this if he was awake??

Basil subtly moved over slightly, hoping he wouldn’t be disturbed (the other’s sleeping face was adorable).

…But his plan backfired when Sunny ended up just slipping down further, until his head was resting on his chest. Sunny let out a small sigh as he seemed to unconsciously nuzzle into him, murmuring something softly as he slept.

Basil was a full-blown tomato at this point, not moving a muscle lest Sunny wake up.

Silently, he lifted a hand up from under the blanket, wondering if… if it was okay, if…

Carefully, Basil rested it on the other’s inky-black hair, a small smile spreading across his face as he gazed down at the Sunny’s rosy face, wholly relaxed in sleep. Basil slowly stroked the other’s hair as he continued watching the movie, a giddy grin on his face (it felt a bit creepy to just stare at Sunny’s face like that, heh.)

A small smile rested on Sunny’s face as he nuzzled further into Basil, melting into the gentle touch… it reminded him of when Mari used to play with his hair, half-asleep on the picnic blanket as the sun set…

It was warm. And safe.

…He liked it very much.

(And Hero’s suggestion to get Basil to cuddle with him had worked as well, surprisingly…)

Hope you enjoyed :))

[xawkward-ariesx]

I'm rereading a fic of mine to contextualise a comment I got it and my god I meant to write 'tooth and nail' but the dw brain rot is so deep that I unironically put 'tooth and claw' kill me

[sunnie-angel]

help, i’ve been working on a fic and it is fighting me so hard. i’ve written three successive conversations (set in the same day) and i’m already past 2.5k. ordinarily I would be happy to write so much for a single fic already, except i need to move this chapter several months along so i can get to the actual plot development.