#and you have to be able to step away for a bit when you need to because there's never going to be an Ultimate End

[monstersflashlight]

Christmas special: Santa is coming tonight

A/N: Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating! Hope Santa was good with his presents… As good as he is in this story. Here I describe Santa as something akin to a demon, and has magic, just to make it make a bit more sense. Enjoy!

Santa (monster) x fem!reader || (very light) dom/sub, (light) marking, oral sex, breeding, size kink, mentions of body modification, magic sex (?)

When you started dating Santa, you expected a lot of things, but him being an absolute himbo wasn’t one of them.

He wasn’t only a himbo, but also incredibly clumsy, to the point that on your first date he accidentally tripped and send your food (and his) to the ground. Along with the broken pieces of the table and the chair he fell onto. Having incredible strength and a body as big as a wall is not great when you have no control over them, apparently.

He was so lucky the elves had everything controlled and he only needed to show up on the big day and do the things… He wouldn't be able to do shit if it was all his responsibility. And well, you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind it at all. It made you hot all over that he was so incredibly stupid, but also so incredibly hot.

He was pretty clear since the begging that he was in for all, that he not only wanted to date you, but he wanted to marry you and turn you into a magical being just as he was. So who could have blamed you for running away? That was insane to say to somebody you barely knew.

But you should have known better. He was magic after all…

Also, his dick was so good you could accept everything he said if he asked while he was buried deep inside. You were a simple girl after all: he gave you a good (incredible, fantastic, phenomenal… and all the good adjectives possible) dicking, and you accepted his marriage proposal. It was a good pact, you got good dick and a loving husband, and he got a wife to adore. Perfect combination.

And what you loved most about him… what how crazy he got after Christmas Night.

It was like all the adrenaline and magic high made his body bigger, stronger, harder… And he used it to his advantage, and you… you enjoyed it more than anything.

And this year wasn’t different.

He came home to find you in your prettiest, skimpiest lingerie, the one you made the elves made for you and hugged your curves in the best way possible. In a way that made your boobs stand to attention as your body tingled with anticipation when the siren alerting everyone of his arrival started ringing.

He walked into your room with his face sweaty, his red suit half undone and looking so hot you were salivating. It only took one look at you in your flimsy clothes for him to turn into the demon he was inside. He growled, his fangs elongating and his skin turning the prettiest pattern of red and white. He looked a bit like a candy cane when he got aroused, and weirdly enough, you dig it.

You stared at him as he crossed the room in less than three steps, grabbing you by the hips and hoisting you up until your legs were wrapped around his middle and his hands were groping your ass. He devoured your mouth like a starving man, grunting and scratching your lips with the force of the kiss.

His hands were all over, probing and pinching, groping and caressing until you were a mess of moans and groans on his arms and you could feel his big… Christmas present pressing against your ass. His hand found your pussy over the lace, rubbing against your needy clit, praising you about how wet you were for him already.

He was kissing your neck when he whispered: “You’ve been so good, Santa is coming twice tonight”.

You stared at his bearded face and extended canines, dumbfounded by the stupidest line he ever said to you. And then you busted out laughing. “You did- you did not say that,” you let out, still laughing. To the point where your eyes were teary and your face was probably as red as he was.

“What?” He asked, completely confused at the change in the mood.

That made your amusement die down a bit, only chuckling as you explained. “Honey, I love you dearly, but you can’t say shit like that when you are touching my pussy, it throws the whole mood off.” He looked like a kicked puppy and you couldn’t have that. You hated when he looked like that.

You pulled him down by his hair, making him groan when you claimed his mouth in a possessive kiss, trying to make everything better. He grunted against your lips, and bite down on your lower lip, drawing a bit of blood. That always drove him crazy, and this time wasn’t different.

He pulled back and roared, pushing you back to the mattress and ripping your clothes off, snapping his fingers to make his own suit disappear. (You asked once why he didn’t do that with your clothes and he simply said he liked to rip them out, and you couldn’t argue with that logic).

A blink later, you were laying on the bed, your legs pushed far apart as he drove for your pussy with hunger. He licked and sucked until you were chanting his name, just to push two of his too big fingers inside your tight hole. It was too much, too soon, but it felt so great you couldn’t stop moaning. He grunted against your vulnerable flesh when you started moving your hips, using his nose and his mouth as you pleased, your fingers pulling at his hair in a way that you knew turned him on.

“Just like that, use me for your pleasure, make yourself come, my love,” he whispered inside your head, his voice reverberating inside your brain and making you let out a startled noise. He pulled back for a second, smirking at you with his fangs out before pushing a third and fourth finger inside your pussy.

“Santa, fuck. Klaus!” You screamed as your orgasm took you by surprise, rushing over you like a tidal wave as he rode it with you.

When you came back to your senses, he was over you, holding his weight on his hands, caging your body against the mattress and making you want to bite down on his hard muscles. You did, because you could, causing him to curse and push forward, the tip of his huge dick breaching your already stretched hole.

He cursed some more as he took his time bottoming out. You never got used to how big he was, how wide he stretched you and how deep you could feel him. You knew he must use some kind of magic, because there was no way your human body could take that much dick without permanent damage, but he never said so, and you like it that way. You liked that he used magic on you, that he made your pussy so perfect for himself it drove him crazy every time you two fucked.

He gave you a couple minutes to adjust, breathing hard over you, kissing every piece of skin he could reach until you were giggling and rolling your hips, urging him to move.

And good goddess did he move.

He set a punishing pace, treating you like the naughtiest of girls as he fucked you into oblivion. He moved your legs over his shoulders, fucking you deeper and harder as his thumb found your clit. He pressed down with his palm at the same time he pushed up his dick, the pressure was so intense and so pleasurable you couldn’t hold back a second orgasm, closing your eyes and arching your back as you came messily around his dick.

“Fuck,” he roared. His head thrown back, his white hair hanging over his shoulders and making him look almost ethereal as the tendons in his neck tensed and he let out the loudest cry of pleasure known to man. You bet every part of the North Pole heard him, but you didn’t care at all because he wasn’t stopping.

He fucked you full until you felt his release gushing around his dick. With each thrust you could feel the mixture of juices coming out around his length. It was filthy, it was exhilarating, and it sent you over the edge once again.

He pressed his chest again your back and asked: “I told you I was coming twice, didn’t I?” You groaned and he turned you into your front, fucking you from behind. “By the time the night is over, you are going to get more than one present from Santa,” he promised.

If you weren’t dumb with pleasure and post-orgasm bliss, you might have laughed again, but your brain was too empty to process his words. You could only process the way his hips were bouncing against your ass cheeks, the clap clap sound sending you into oblivion.

Your arms and legs couldn’t hold your weight any longer, so you were flat against the mattress as he rutted his hips against your stretched hole. You could hear the way his come was leaking out as he fucked it back in. It was filthy in the best possible way and your body was reacting to it.

You were so close to another orgasm, your body trembling. And when he pulled you up by your hips, the angle hit you in the best way possible, his dick rubbing against your G-spot as he pounded your pussy until you were drooling over the sheets in pleasure and he was chanting your name like a prayer.

You screamed his name until you were hoarse, and he kept fucking you. He fucked two more orgasms out of you, your body sagging against him, trusting him to take care of every part of you as he pounded into your welcoming heat over and over.

“I’m going to fuck you until you don’t know your own name,” he grunted, accelerating his pace until his hips were barely a blur and your body was trembling with the force of his thrusts. It was the best experience of your life. “Your pussy is so greedy, it won’t stop swallowing me in, clenching over my length… How eager,” his words weren’t even for you, he was talking to himself, but it made your eyes roll back into your head as you orgasmed again, whispering his name because your throat was too sore to scream anymore.

Your orgasm sent him over the edge, and he pushed all his weight over you as he came and came and came. He filled you until you couldn’t hold it in anymore, his come dripping around his shaft inside of you, making a mess of your pussy and the sheets. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. You only had thoughts about how good it felt, how full you were and how fucking much you loved every second of it.

And how you couldn’t wait till next year to do it again.

[writingastory]

221: A summer's night

A/N: Please keep in mind that this is no-where near "canon" and his Myth only served as inspiration. There are some spoilers and a lot of altered / made-up events. Hope you enjoy.

Word count: 1.8k

— "But maybe that's where love grows best - in the deep space that exists between polarities."

"Sylus?"

The young woman's voice echoed in the empty cave. The dragon's lair was unusually cold and quiet. She called his name again, only to be met with silence once more.

Carefully, she made her way deeper into the cave, her feet thudding lightly against the cold stone ground. His usual resting place was unoccupied. She frowned and looked around. Was he toying with her? Playing a game of hide-and-seek? It certainly would not be the first time. She had lost count of the many occasions he had tricked her like that, suddenly emerging from the dark or some other hidden corner. This time, however, it seemed like he was truly not there.

She stepped closer to his resting place, patting the stone gently. As cold as the rest of the cave. Where was he?

It was close to midnight when she awoke again, a soft glow illuminating the cave. Warmth surrounded her and when she finally remembered where she was, she realized that she had been gently tucked in - on Sylus' resting place.

"Boo," he mumbled, his voice laced with a sense of mischief. She jerked around, finding him sitting on the ground next to his place, looking up at her with his signature smirk. "Rest well?"

She blushed and pushed the blanket off, climbing down from the stone-bed. "Sorry," she mumbled, looking at him with a sheepish grin.

"Where were you?" her voice was soft and gentle as she kneeled down next to him - and froze briefly when she saw some cuts along his arms and shoulders. "You're hurt...!"

The Dragon grumbled quietly, his gaze darkening. "It's fine," he answered, a soft sigh leaving his lips. "Ran into a bit of trouble earlier. Nothing important."

Her hand came to rest on his arm, squeezing him gently. "Let me help you," she whispered, knowing full well that he did not need her help; he would quickly heal on his own, just fine. But...

"I want to..."

Sylus grunted when her fingers traced along one of the cuts gently. The sting of her magic was sweet yet painful as she mended his torn skin slowly. It was a ritual they had followed many times during their relationship. Ever since they were children, she had regularly tended to him. She had dried his tears, dabbed his blood, mended his skin. She was an outcast - just like Sylus.

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking a deep breath. A heavy silence settled over the two of them, only interrupted by the soft humming of her magic.

"The Legion is getting closer everyday," he said quietly, a deep frown etched onto his face. "I..." he started - only to be interrupted by her voice.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly, finishing up mending another wound on his skin. "I'm not, so don't even think about it."

Sylus sighed deeply under his breath. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? You aways were. It's annoying."

She chuckled, finishing up treating the last of his wounds. "I know," she answered, scooting a little closer to him, "but you leave me no choice." A grin made its way onto her face. "I wouldn't be here with you if I weren't so stubborn, hm?"

He huffed dryly, not able to suppress a small smirk of his own. "Still," he said, taking her hand into his much bigger claws gently, "I can't have you get hurt... or worse. You should leave. For now."

"No, Sylus." Her voice was filled with determination as she looked up at him. "You and me, we were both chased away from society. Together. We fought our way through life. Together. We built Tarus City. Together. I won't leave you now. Whatever you choose to do - flee or fight - I will stay with you. We'll do it together."

Sylus avoided her gaze, his frown deepening once more. "Promise me, Sylus," she pleaded, squeezing his clawed hands. "Promise me, you won't separate us. Don't face this alone."

He had not answered her, just squeezing her hand gently - and she should have known it was a mistake to not be more firm and demand an answer. If she had, maybe she would not have found herself in the middle of nowhere, abandoned and without orientation. She was not helpless by any means - she was a sorceress after all; still, she was alone, fending for herself, fighting her way back to Tarus City. The burning city was a literal beacon in the distance, an eerily bright glow illuminating the horizon.

Her heart clenched painfully. Tarus City - the city of outcasts - that Sylus and her helped build and fortify. The city where they found friendship. Love. A home. Everything that society took from them, they had found there... and now it was burning to the ground.

The Legion of Justitia was merciless, slaughtering everyone that was brave enough to go against them. She fought her way through the main gate and immediately spotted a familiar face.

"Alran!" She called, hoping her voice would make it over the deafening ruckus around her. She was lucky, for once. The imposing figure turned towards her, after he had finally subdued his foe. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked over, bowing his head in respect - despite the more than disgruntled look on his face.

"Where were you?" he asked lowly. "The city was attacked at midnight, the fiend has been defeated - and you were nowhere to be found!"

Her ears rang loudly at his words. The fiend had been defeated...?

"Sylus..." she whispered, gripping Alran's shoulders, shaking him forcefully. "Where is he? Where is Sylus?!"

The screams had long stopped, when the Legion finally left Tarus City - or rather, the burning remains of it. She stood in the middle of the ruined market place, her hands sore and burning from overusing her magic. But what other way was there to stop the attacks?

Hot tears streamed down her face, dropping into the cold ashes on the ground.

"Sylus is dead," Alran had said. "He fought well... but they got lucky."

A loud sob escaped her lips - and she broke down screaming and crying. In the midst of whatever was left of the city, the young sorceress wailed, mourning the death of her love.

Very few people survived the vicious attack. Thankfully, her most loved ones were among them.

Alran.

Dochin.

Elora.

Opiris.

Talula.

"Where-", another sob wrecked through her, "where is he? Show me where it happened."

Alran stepped forward, glaring down at her. "First, you owe us an answer. Where were you?"

She looked up at him slowly, her vision blurred from unshed tears. "You've got some nerve..." she whispered, clearly understanding the implication in his words. With a snap of her fingers, she cast an illusion, showing the whole group her memories.

Sylus had taken her on an outing earlier that day. He flew to Taurus' outskirts with her, where the seas of red blossoms were in full bloom. They had frolicked around, rolled through the grass and flowers, shared hopes, and dreams, and wishes... and soft kisses. She had fallen asleep - and woken up alone.

"Challenge my integrity and loyalty again, I dare you," she sneered, standing up slowly as the illusion slowly faded away. Alran, the imposing half-orc, lowered himself to one knee slowly, bowing his head - the others immediately following his example.

"I apologize," he mumbled. "When we saw the fiend fighting alone, we assumed you dead. It was... a shock to see you alive. Not that we're unhappy about that, but-"

She cut him off harshly. "Save your breath," she snarled, "and take me to where it happened. Where did the fiend-... where did Sylus..."

Alran nodded and motioned her - and the rest of the group - to follow him. It was not far from the city gates - and Sylus' cave. With every step they took, her heart grew heavier. It was maddening. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Sylus was not dead. Maybe he was just heavily injured and needed their help. He would be alright. They would nurse him back to help.

It would all be alright.

If she just clung to that thought...

The ground was blackened by a fire, soot strewn about in all directions from the point of impact. She sighed heavily, fresh tears welling up in her eyes at the sight. The group lowered their heads in respect as she made her way over slowly, her gaze fixed on the area in the middle of the black soot - an area that seemed so awfully familiar in shape.

She whimpered and knelt down, tracing the line between the ground and where the soot appeared. Sylus.

A loud curse left her lips and she punched the ground in anger and hate and sadness - it was not fair. Sylus should be there. With them. With her. And all that was left of him was a silhouette and soot, burnt sand in the desert.

"I'm... so sorry..." Alran said, having stepped closer in the meantime. He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's not right..." she whispered, her fingers raking through the sand underneath her, as if trying to feel Sylus one last time.

"It's not right, he should have... I should be..."

Alran shushed her gently, allowing her to lean against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her to comfort her. They sat there from sunset to sunrise, mourning the loss of their dear friend and beloved companion.

Days passed. Days filled with sorrow and misery. Tarus City laid in ruins. Everything they built up and worked for was destroyed. The little group found more survivors underneath the rubble, old and young, men and women. It was a small beacon of hope - even if the light was still weak and dim.

Every day, once the work was done, she had returned to that fateful place. Sylus' silhouette was still clearly visible on the ground, even after the many times her hands had touched the outlines.

"My love... beloved Dragon... how will I ever cope with your death...?" she whispered as she looked up at the moon. A deep sigh escaped her as she turned to leave the place - when something caught her eye in the ground.

Maybe it was fate... or something else. In that moment, it felt like Sylus himself had answered her from another realm. There, hidden in the sand, something glistened in the moonlight. She bent down and picked it up - and her heart started racing. She knew immediately, what it was. A beautiful red gem, that belonged to her love. Onto his chest, like a heart, connecting his human and dragon form.

She gasped, examining the treasure in her hands. How had she not seen it before? "Sylus," she whispered, a sense of hope coursing through her veins. Her lips found the red gem, placing a gentle kiss onto the cold surface.

"I will bring you back."

[cc-cobalt-1043]

Comforting words can go a long way (A sonic 3 oneshot):

It was late now at the Wachowski campsite, Tom, Maddie, Sonic and Knuckles had drifted off to sleep hours ago but despite his best efforts Tails couldn't sleep.

He could only think of one thing...Stone.

Tails couldn't think of why, but despite being Robotnik's lackey Tails had never thought of him as a particularly bad person, not only had he seemed genuinely horrified when he heard about Gerald Robotnik's plans for Earth, but the man had tried to shield him when Shadow attacked them...that had to count for something right.

After tossing and turning for a good while now and still unable to sleep he got up with a irritated huff and grabbed his backpack walking out the tent.

Sitting down near the now dead campfire he pulled out his Miles electric and tapped away at it.

After several minutes of tapping away he located Stone.

The man was located at Kings Cross Station in London, however according to the schedules no trains were departing for several hours and apparently Stone's signal had been stationary for a few hours now.

Deciding he needed to do something, anything to help the grieving man Tails pulled out a ring he'd been keeping for emergencies he threw it and stepped through.

London:

Stone was sitting on a bench at Kings Cross, the station was deathly silent, the usual trains weren't running at this time, Stone noticed several parked in the platforms but they weren't the reason for him being there.

He was looking up at the stars as well as the now damaged moon, he couldn't get his thought of the doctor.

People only saw them as two madmen but to him Ivo Robotnik was a friend...yes a very very flawed friend, but one nonetheless, the two having met back when Stone was in the military, the two having formed something of a partnerships, neither he nor Ivo had been able to figure out what they were and now they clearly never would.

"Erm, excuse me." A tiny voice said.

Taken by surprise Stone looked and saw the young Fox, Tails or something looking at him with a pair of bright cyan eyes.

Stone blinked not sure if he was hallucinating but after a moment he realised he mustn't be as the fox kit was still here.

"Not to be rude, but how did you get in here?" Stone asked.

"I used a ring, how did you get here?" Tails asked blinking innocently at him.

"That's for me to know and you to find out." Stone said simply.

He looked at Tails who simply stared at him.

"So what are you doing here...Tails was it?" Stone asked.

Tails nodded.

"Technically it's Miles, but you can call me Tails." Tails told him.

Stone nodded.

"So Tails, what brings you to merry old London?" Stone asked.

"I wanted to see you, make sure you were ok." Tails said.

"Oh I'm just fine, all lollipops and rainbows." Stone said bitterly.

"I may be a kid but I can recognise sarcasm you know." Tails said crossing his arms and looking at him with a pout that even Stone thought looked adorable on the kits face.

"Alright fine I'll level with you kid, I've just lost the man I loved over some stupid thing I barely know the details of, he was the first person who actually treated me with some level of respect after I withdrew from Afghanistan and yeah you know what, maybe he was kinda crazy, and maybe he was a bit of a jerk at times but we had each other and that was enough, I loved him kid and now without I'm completely lost and confused, do you have any idea what that's like Tails." Stone snapped.

He looked at the fox seeing his tails had wilted and ears drooped back and he frowned.

"Sorry kid, I didn't mean to go all dark and gloomy on you." Stone said.

"Actually I kinda get it, when I was younger I was always picked on for my extra tail and my smarts, even my own parents had abandoned me by the time I was three." Tails said.

Stone grimaced. "Wow, that's horrible." He said.

"Well I've been staying with Sonic, Knuckles and my mom and dad for a while now they took me in and loved me regardless of my flaws, but if I lost then I guess I'd feel like you do right now, I know it's probably not what you want to hear right now, I just want you to know I understand." Tails are.

Stone looked at the kid in front of him, he would be lying if he said the kid's statement hadn't resonated with his own lonely childhood.

"Sorry, didn't mean to give you my life story." Tails apologised.

Stone shrugged.

"No Tails, that actually did help, guess we have more in common than we thought." Stone said.

"I guess." Tails said.

Just then the Fox let out a very wide yawn, it was then Stone noticed just how late it was, he looked at Tails who looked absolutely exhausted, if he was right about how young the kit was he should have been in bed and fast asleep hours ago.

"You have a way home right?" Stone asked.

Tails suddenly realised he hadnt grabbed a spare ring and face-palmed when he realised his error.

Stone let out an amused snort.

"I'll give you a ride home, want me to carry you?" He asked.

"Tha---s." Tails said, the rest being drowned out by another almighty yawn and he climbed onto the mans shoulders.

Stone simply snorted again and made his way out of the station and towards crab-bot as Ivo had dubbed it.

Thankfully the streets were quiet even by London's standards so thankfully they got very few looks.

Stone wasn't sure when but at some point the kit fell asleep on his shoulders.

The Fox's soft snores echoed in Stone's ears as he walked and not even he could hide his smile at the child's innocence, expecially when the world seemed so determined to snatch it from him.

They got to the crab-bot and Stone set the snoozing fox down in the co-pilot seat, the kid shuffling slightly in his sleep using one of his tails as an improvised pillow.

Stone smiled at the adorable sight before setting course for Green Hills.

By the time they got there it was early morning and when they got to the campsite the Wachowskis were staying at Stone could see the kit's family looking for him.

They certainly weren't expecting to see Stone appear with said Fox snuggled up in his arms.

"Relax, I'm just bringing him home." Stone said seeing the alert looks on Tom, Knuckles and Sonic's faces.

He handed Tails over to Maddie who took the sleeping fox with a much kinder look than the others were giving him.

Tails let out a tiny yawn and groggily opened his eyes looking at Maddie with a sleepy smile.

"Hi mama." He mumbled sleepily cuddling into her.

"Hi pumpkin." Maddie cooed before heading to the kids tent with the exhausted fox, the two talking in hushed whispers.

Stone turned around and was about to leave when he saw Sonic in front of him.

"What were you doing with Tails?" The blue hedgehog demanded.

"Nothing, he came to me, we had a chat and he couldn't get home so I gave him a lift." Stone said truthfully, well he was hardly lying was he.

Sonic gave him a look but seeing no trace of a lie nodded.

"Well, thanks for bringing him back...and look I'm sorry about Eggman, yeah I didn't particularly like him, but he did the right thing in the end, and despite our checkered past...I guess I can respect him for that." Sonic said.

Stone nodded.

"Thanks Sonic...you've got a good brother there, take care of him." Stone said.

Sonic nodded and with a brief smile Stone climbed into the crab-bot and departed the Wachowski campsite.

[post-apocalyptic-fantasy-au]

Tango started sneezing about twenty minutes after leaving the lab. By the time they reached the city's outskirts, six hours later, he was a sniffling mess, eyes burning and nose running, throat tight. Every part of his skin not covered in scales was covered in rashes. On top of that, his legs felt like jelly, there was a sharp pain tearing his sides open, every step hurt his feet and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

"Maybe we should stop for a bit," Torchy suggested, concerned. The little dragon was flying around Tango's head since his touch irritated Tango's skin even more.

"We should... get somewhere less... open... first." Tango was gasping, every breath a struggle.

But he refused to stop. It was just allergies and a lack of exercise, it would all calm down once his body got used to being outside the lab's sterile walls. The best thing to do was to keep pushing, keep, walking, force his body to adapt. He would survive allergies, he would survive being unfit. He wasn't sure he would survive what wandered around out here, beyond the city limits, where laws barely applied and civilisation ended.

Sometimes, when the scientists in the lab worked late, they'd come into Tango's room at night and he'd light a little fire in the middle and they'd sit around telling scary stories. He was told it was a human tradition older than time. Far too often, those stories included werewolves who refused to abide by the palace's laws, vampires who were so consumed by their bloodlust they'd lost all their humanity, human-born sirens who had forsaken community in favour of luring travellers away from their paths.

Cub had once sworn up and down that a garden faerie had tried to gouge out his eyes, killing every plant in a ten-foot radius in the process, and to this day he still didn't know how he'd escaped intact.

Doc had then scoffed and claimed it was all hearsay, but the tale had stuck with Tango. He was rather fond of his eyes, and preferred not to risk losing them.

"I can keep going," he said to Torchy. "I can... I'll be fine."

They had barely walked another hour before Tango was forced to stop by his feet - which were dragging on the floor - hooking on a rock, sending him plummetting with a yelp.

"Tango!" Torchy gasped, swooping down to join him on the ground.

"I'm- I'm fine," Tango assured him, running a hand across Torchy's scales. "I'm fine."

Tango allowed himself twenty seconds of rest - he counted each one - before pushing himself back to his feet.

"Just a little further," he told himself.

He could see a small copse of trees in the distance. If he could just make it that far, he'd be fine. It was close. Just a little further.

When, after a few seconds, it became clear his feet weren't moving any time soon, he sighed and sank into a crouch, absently itching his arm.

"I'm fine," he whispered, staring at the trees, like repeating it will make it true.

He shook his head, shaking that thought out of it. He was fine. This was just a normal bodily reaction, and it would pass. It wasn't like he was dying or anything. He was fine. He just needed a few more seconds to rest. Then he'd be able to command his legs to move again, and he could keep going.

He was fine.

That was when he heard the voice: "Hello! What do we have here?"

Tango leapt to his feet, twisting around and staggering back and falling onto his butt as he yelled, "Hagagah!"

Hovering in front of him was a garden faerie with pink hair and eyes, and a dress made out of a brown leaf that seemed to be clinging to life by the fingertips - leaftips? The creature was a little more than three inches tall, his hair short and messy.

"What're you doing all the way out here?" he asked, flying a little closer to Tango's face.

Tango squeaked. "Please don't steal my eyes!"

"Steal your eyes?" the faerie chuckled. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know!"

The creature laughed again. "I'm Zedaph. What are you?" He spoke the question slowly, drawing out each word.

"Don't you mean who?" Tango couldn't help but ask.

"Nope!" Zedaph flew a few laps around Tango, faster than he could follow. "I've never seen anything like you before!"

"I'm Tango."

"RIght. Aaand, what's a Tango?"

"Well, me, obviously!"

"Right! Of course, why didn't I think of that?" He was laughing again.

Zedaph's voice was strange, quiet and high-pitched and buzzy, and he spoke English like his mouth wasn't meant to ever have any of these sounds in it. And yet, every single sound came out clear and amost easy. Sure, he spoke slowly, drawing out most of his words, but he never faltered and stuttered, only paused and hesitated now and then.

"And this is-" Tango paused to sneeze. "-Torchy."

Torchy landed on Tango's head, peering at Zedaph through the flames. Zedaph grinnged at the little dragon.

"Very nice to meet ya, Torchy!"

"Of course it is," Torchy muttered, getting comfortable on his perch.

Zedaph's grin faded and his tiny features twisted into a frown as he looked at Tango.

"Hey, you don't look too good," he noted.

"I'm fine," Tango insisted again. Then immediately was wracked by a sneezing and coughing fit, barely managing to find time in between to breathe. When he emerged, his throat hurt more than ever, his eyes itched like they were full of powder and his chest burned. He leaned over his knees, which were pressed against his chest, and panted for breath.

"Yes, I can see that." Even when he was concerned, his voice seemed to carry a laugh, like he couldn't help but find a joke in every detail. "Hey, I think I know something that could help!"

And, before Tango could say a word, the little faerie flew off.

"Well, that was... weird," Tango said to Torchy, who merely grumbled. He'd been thrown off Tango's head during the coughing fit, and was instead curling up on the rock that had sent Tango crashing to the ground minutes ago. Tango poked him. "Don't get too - ACHOO - comfortable. We need to get moving again. Just cause this faerie didn't steal our eyes, doesn't mean the next one won't."

"He's fetching something!" Torchy protested, like he was settling down for any reason that wasn't bedtime. "We should wait for him!"

"He's probably fetching a swarm to pick us apart piece by piece. We can't just hang around here." He glanced up at the trees. They just had to make it to there.

"Just a little further," Tango pleaded.

"Give me ten minutes," Torchy insisted. Seconds later, he was fast asleep.

"Oh you-" Tango reached out to grab the dragon by his tail to shake him awake, but was interrupted by Zedaph's voice.

"Here we are!"

Tango looked up to see the faerie flying over, his wings struggling to lift both his own body weight, and the small glass vial he was clinging to.

The vial was a good inch taller than Zedaph, and filled with a dark purple liquid. Tango didn't know where he'd gotten it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"What's this?" he asked instead, holding out a hand to let Zedaph drop the vial and land, giving his poor wings a rest.

"Medicine!" Zedaph looked proud of himself. "It should fix you right up!"

Tango frowned, looking at the liquid sceptically. "You want me to... drink it."

"No, I want you to pour it on your toes. Yes, I want you to drink it!"

Tango sighed, lifting the vial with his other hand so that Zedaph could stay where he was. He sniffed the medicine. It smelled... bad. Fake. Human.

He sighed. What did he have to lose, at this point? After only a second's hesitation, he downed the whole thing in one gulp, trying to get it out of his mouth as quickly as possible. Zedaph flew off his hand as his entire body jerked involuntarily at the taste of the stuff.

It tasted, somehow, even worse than it smelled. Like every piece of artificial food he'd been given over the centuries rolled into one disgusting mixture. Tango shuddered and hurried to pull a flask of water from his bag to wash away the taste, first rinsing his mouth and spitting out the water, than swallowing to clear his throat, as well.

"It's not that bad!" Zedaph protested in that strange, laughing voice of his.

"It definitely is that bad." Tango coughed. He didn't feel remotely different, better or otherwise. If anything, the swallowing had made his sore throat worse. "And it didn't even work!"

"Well, give it time!"

Tango huffed and started trying to get up again, but Zedaph flew right into his face.

"No, no, stay down until it kicks in!"

"I need to keep moving."

"We can keep moving in about twenty minutes. You might fall again if you get up now."

"I'll be fine."

"Tango."

Tango sighed. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath that was sliced to pieces by another coughing fit. Wiped his runny nose. And leaned back onto his elbows.

Zedaph stayed with him, chatting away about something Tango paid no mind to. He was too busy trying to breath without coughing his guts up to listen to a word that was said.

Until finally, slowly, the pain lessened. His throat opened up entirely, all pain vanishing, and his nose dried up and stopped running. When he breathed, it was without the constant scratching he'd been dealing with all day, and he didn't even nearly cough.

Tango let out a jubilant, incredulous laugh. It had worked! It had really worked!

"That sounds promising." Zedaph flew back up to his face. "Feeling better?"

"Loads. How did you do that?"

"Secrets of the trade, my friend."

When Tango stood up, the only shakiness came from the exhaustion of walking for a full day. When he crouched down to wake Torchy, he didn't nearly collapse at all. Somehow, in twenty minutes, Zedaph had fixed him completely.

The faerie accompanied them when they started moving again, Torchy flapping along sleepily beside Tango's head.

The excitement was short-lived, however, because halfway to the trees, without any change in the weather, Tango was suddenly freezing. With shivering hands, he grabbed the coat that was still draped over the bag and pulled it on. Both Torchy and Zedaph watched him, confused.

Torchy settled on Tango's head, leaning forward so his face was upside down in Tango's vision. "Tango?"

Dragon's weren't built to be cold, and Tango was no exception. He could feel himself weakening by the second.

Zedaph went to land on Tango's hand, but quickly shot back up into the air.

"Holy moly! You're boiling!"

"N- no?" Tango frowned. "I'm freezing! Hence the coat, genius!"

He just had to make it to the trees. He could collapse there, when he wasn't so in the open. Just a little further.

"Maybe you should sit down," Zedaph suggested.

Tango shook his head, then stumbled, losing his balance. The whole world had tipped, leaning wildly to the right for a second.

"Maybe you should listen," Torchy told him, his claws clinging into Tango's scalp to stay on. He was still upside down.

"Just a little further," Tango muttered, his words slurring together. "Juss a lil-"

A figure appeared at the treeline, all the wrong shapes and sizes, built all wrong. It seemed to watch them, though it was impossible to tell properly from so far.

Zedaph spotted the figure at the same time as Tango, announced, "I'll go get help!" then zipped off at top speed towards the figure.

Tango took one step after him, then another, then went careening wildly forwards, just barely catching himself before he splatted. Torchy shrieked as he was flung off Tango's head, flinging out his wings to stay in the air.

Just a little further.

The next step had him falling to his knees. The world was still dancing circles around him, and now its corners were fading away to blackness.

He struggled to get back to his feet, but the best he could do was one foot before falling to the side as the world gave another sickening jolt. He stomach turned, and he leaned over and emptied its meagre contents onto the ground.

He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, then two someones, as his vision faded completley to black.

The last thing he heard was a feminine voice gasping, "I'm sorey I took so long!"

Then everything stopped.

[cottoncandyafterdark]

Stanley Snyder SFW Alphabet

Fandom: Dr Stone

Character(s): Stanley Snyder

Warnings: None

Notes: This one was requested by C_L_E_O on ao3! Next up is gonna be Xeno, just some form of Xeno lol. Enjoy!

ao3 | Ko-Fi

A: Affection (How affectionate are they with a s/o?)

More than you might think. He doesn't get super sappy about it, and isn't too into PDA, but he can be pretty affectionate in private, and even in public it's not strange for him to put an arm around you or give you a quick hug sometimes.

B: Breath (What can their s/o do to take their breath away)

You could dress up real nice and take his breath away with how gorgeous you are, that's the easy route. If you want to really impress him, show off some skills he's invested in. He'll try to appreciate any hobbies you might have, but cares the most about strength and combat related skills. If you have any interest or prowess in those, you'll be able to really grab his attention.

C: Cuddle (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

When he really loves someone, he can be pretty casual with touch, so you'll be cuddling with him, probably more than you expected. It's not exactly planned, he doesn't make a big deal of it, he just pulls you closer when you sit next to him and wraps his arms around you pretty much whenever you're close by.

D: Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

He wants to eventually settle down. Not retire, not completely, not yet, but when things have calmed down a little, he'd love to live a bit more quiet a life with you; a nice house, maybe a couple kids, a dog. That kind of thing.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

He does things pretty effortlessly, honestly. He has a decent amount of experience with relationships, and more or less knows what goes into making one work, especially once he's gotten to know you and what you want specifically.

F: Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

Stan is a protector, and his first priority is always going to be keeping you safe. He has more experience with fighting physical threats than dealing with anxiety or irrational fears, but no matter what's scaring you, he'll do his best to neutralize the threat.

G: Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

I don't think he really knows how to give a good gift, he's not particularly interested in gifts as a display of affection. He'll get you something on your birthday and Christmas, but he'll likely need to be advised on what to get and doesn't really expect anything in return.

H: Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

Yes, pretty often. Only when you're in private, though, he's not one for PDA.

I: Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

It depends a little on your definition of "romantic". If you want physical intimacy, no problem! He can be very physical with someone he loves. But if you're more into spoken affirmations or candlelit dinners, you might be out of luck.

J: Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

Surprisingly, given his protective attitude, not really. He might feel jealous on occasion, that's only natural, but he doesn't really... Do anything about it? He'll step in if someone is making you uncomfortable with their flirting, but generally, he trusts you to make good decisions. He's not up for a completely open relationship, but he might even be okay with introducing a third to your relationship of it was someone you both knew, liked, and trusted (like, say, Xeno-)

K: Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

He's a great kisser with plenty of experience, and you'll get to experience that a lot.

L: Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say it or show it?)

He doesn't outright say it very much, he prefers to show it through his actions. He does say it sometimes, though, when the time is right. He says it once in a while when you're making love, he'll say it when he proposes, and he'll say it at your wedding, don't expect to hear those words much otherwise. You'll feel them through his actions and devotion instead.

M: Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

Stan always pictured himself getting married back home in a small ceremony with just family and close friends in his mom's backyard. He's probably going to wait until that becomes possible again to propose- if that can happen in a reasonable amount of time, anyways, if a few years pass and it's not looking like "home" will be rebuilt any time soon he'll bite the bullet and pop the question anyways.

N: Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

He doesn't like to go out much, per se, he's more into home dates and such. You can definitely convince him to go out every once in a while, but don't expect a lot of PDA or anything, it's likely just going to be the two of you doing a normal fun activity together.

O: Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do for/with their s/o?)

He's not one for PDA, and traditional "romantic dates" in public places aren't his style either. He prefers to keep things mostly private and low-key.

P: Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

He doesn't joke or play around much, but he can be a bit teasing, sometimes. He mostly jokes by poking fun, and sometimes a darker sense of humor slips through. He... Usually avoids taking it too far, though.

Q: Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

He's used to being in command at this point, but he tries. He doesn't want to just unilaterally make decisions when it comes to his personal relationships. You might sometimes need to remind him you also need to weigh in on the matter at hand, though, because he may not always remember to ask.

R: Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

It's a pretty solid mix of spontaneity and plans with him- he doesn't really have a strong preference for one or the other, he appreciates both ways of doing things.

S: Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

He sleeps on his back and likes to hold you on top of him so you're laying on his chest, like a pillow. He makes a pretty good pillow.

T: Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

If he didn't trust you, he wouldn't go out with you, especially not with the world as it is, so by necessity the answer is "a lot".

U: Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?)

To put it bluntly, strength, skill, and renown. He can fly a plane, he can shoot a gun, he can lead an army. He was one of the astronauts that went to the moon. Now, how often are you going to need or see those combat skills, especially post-canon? Hopefully not much, and he's not exactly going to be going around with his medal bragging about his achievements, but it's all still felt and seen.

V: Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

Yeah, he's not exactly the "vulnerable" type. Don't get me wrong, he has a soft side, especially for his romantic partners, but you're not going to see a lot of weakness from him unless things are fucking dire.

W: Wild Card (Random domestic headcanon)

He's a terrible cook. Look, the guy's never had to worry about his own meals in his life, he went straight from his parents to the military and he definitely wasn't doing the cooking post-petrification. Put him in a kitchen and he'll have no clue what he's doing.

X: X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

Hopefully the injury was an accident because if someone else hurt you he's going scorched earth on their ass. Besides that, though, he'd take you to the nearest medic and do what he can to help until you're healthy. He might be able to do some basic first aid himself, but he's not the most experienced in medical things.

Y: Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

He smokes. He can try making accommodations, he'll avoid smoking indoors or around you, but you're not going to get him to quit.

Z: Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

Oh, is he ever. In his own way. He can come across as a cold, distant person, but his devotion to someone he truly cares for is unmatched. He'd do just about anything for you. And he might not like PDA, but when you're in private and he's comfortable showing affection, he'll be all over you.

[sidesteppostinghours]

I need to stop finishing fics when i have to sleep. but anway. heres 1.3k words of f!chentega, plus a bit of unnamed sidestep for funsies.

Chen is cutting Ortega's hair.

They've both settled into her living room, a bottle of beer set on the table. She's buzzed, not drunk, just enough alcohol in her system to get the words flowing easier. Chen, ever responsible, hasn't touched a drop. He focuses on cutting and brushing, mechanical hands careful not to get the comb tangled in her wavy hair. Julia, meanwhile, is talking, but about what, she couldn't tell you. Half of her thoughts are elsewhere, eyes closed as she lets Chen work.

Cutting Ortega's hair has become their own little ritual. Every few months or so, whenever her hair became long enough to bother her, she would call Wei over to cut it down to length. Sometimes she returns the favour, though that mostly entails grabbing a razor and shaving until it was completely cropped. Not like this, where skills actually mattered to make the results look good.

It was suggested to her, uncharacteristically, by Chen. About a year or so after she first cut her hair, she was lamenting to him about how she missed having short hair. She was just talking– she didn't expect him to take it seriously, but about ten minutes into her rant he had looked up from where he was typing on his computer and asked, "Do you want me to cut it?"

She had given him a look. "You can do that?"

He shrugged. "I know some styles. I can make it look decent, at least."

"Are you sure?" she'd asked, still skeptical. Not that she wouldn't be grateful, but-

"You don't have to deal with the stylists anymore," he pointed out, and that had been that. She found out later on that he learned how to cut hair from his siblings. He would mostly do it on his brothers, though sometimes his sisters too, when the money was tight or his family didn't feel like heading to the stylist.

It's nice, sitting here and talking to him like nothing else matters. A moment of reprieve to catch their breath in the pressure bomb that is their lives. Julia cracks a joke, and Chen huffs in amusement, though he doesn't stop cutting. She takes another pull from her bottle.

Maybe one day she'll ask the questions she's been meaning to. They still haven't talked about whatever this is. Neither Chen nor Ortega are good with their words, and there isn't much that isn't already said by the pocket moments they spend watching eachother navigate the world. The look in other people's eyes when somebody calls Wei "he". The way the stylists purse their lips whenever Julia walks into the studio. The understanding was unspoken but mutual, though Ortega could never place what. Chen might be able to, but until she decides to ask, she wouldn't know.

She will. Someday. Just not today, sitting in front of her TV, talking about God-knows-what and content to let him work till he finally steps away.

"Finished."

She opens her eyes, not bothering to look at herself in the mirror though its propped up on the table next to the beer. They've done this enough times already that she knows it will look good. Instead, she watches as Chen puts everything away, combs, clippers, the works. She nabs the scissors from the table, spinning it on her finger. When he goes to grab them and finds nothing, he looks up and sighs, the corner of his lip twitching at her antics.

"Julia, you're going to stab someone's eye out."

"Hey, I can dodge scissors," she insists, looking at him innocently. "Can you, Marshal?"

His face is caught halfway between exasparated and unimpressed. She chuckles and acquiesces, handing the scissors for him to pack into his bag.

It's not often nowadays that Julia gets to spend time with Wei outside of the Rangers. He was always busy as the Marshal dealing with the mess she left behind, and when she wasn't busy at the HQ or fighting villains, she was twelve balls of yarn deep into her own investigations. The quiet moments were rare enough that it feels precious to watch him like this, walls down, for once without the furrow in his brow as he worked. It makes him look softer.

It makes him look handsome.

"Hey, Wei?"

He turns to face her, still holding the scissors. "Yes?"

Julia could be completely wrong about everything, of course. He could recoil the minute she cups his face, or push her away as she pulls him in. He could, but he doesn't, and his lips are warm when they meet hers. His breath tastes better than she thought. She doesn't know why she would think otherwise– Julia was the one drinking beer the whole time. She traces her thumb over one of the scars on his cheek, rough yet soft, and a part of her wonders what it would be like to run her tongue over it.

It's a beat or two before anything happens, long enough that she worries she really did misjudge. Then, ever so slowly, Chen settles a hand on her face, careful, almost afraid. Not even touching the hair he spent the past thirty minutes working on. His hand moves from her cheek down to her chin, gently tilting her head upwards to make it easier from where he's standing. Julia wraps a hand around his neck and brings him down lower, and he obliges like putty. No trace of the hard edges she'd come to see as his staple, just a tenderness she never remembers seeing in him before.

It's harder to break the kiss than she would like. Wei doesn't resist. He's still holding the scissors. She half expected him to have dropped it, but instead he's gripping them tight enough that she wonders if they'll break.

"Julia?" Brittle. Out of breath. Still looking at her lips at first, but then his eyes flit to the side of her face, and with a breath that's not quite a huff, he tucks a stray strand of hair she hadn't even noticed behind her ear.

"Thank you," she whispers, barely loud enough to be heard in the silence of her apartment. For being her friend. For being the only goddamn woman left in Los Diablos that really got her. For caring enough to keep her hair out of her face.

She says none of this. She just turns back around, not looking to see Chen's face as she takes another pull from her bottle.

———

"I think Chen has a crush on you." 

"Oh." She stops, looking at you with an expression you can't quite interpret. "You do." The words are careful, hesitant. It's not a question, but it's not not one either. 

"I do," you say, frowning at her reaction. It's not the explosive confusion you were expecting, more a quiet "oh, shit" moment as the ball drops. She hasn't even raised her voice yet. "I'm pretty sure he has for a while." 

"Did he...tell you that?" 

"Not in so many words, but he has his tells." 

"He does," she mutters, running a hand through her hair. There's a sigh punctuated by a string of quiet curses. 

"Did you already know?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at her. She didn't react the way you thought she would. Did she pick up on it? Has she just been ignoring it the entire time? 

"In a way," she admits, looking away to the coffee machine like she wants to make herself another cup. 

"Why haven't you done anything about it?" Knowing Ortega, she should've ambushed Chen the moment she suspected that was the case. 

"It's complicated." She shakes her head, dispelling whatever thundercloud was brewing behind her static shielded mind, then turns back to you with a smile. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him. In the meantime, you can tell me why you're here?" 

You can't help but frown. She's taking this too well for something to not be going on, but from the look in her eyes, you're not getting any answers right now. 

You'll find the time to pry one of them about it. Later. It's not a secret those two can keep away from you forever.

[angelesca]

“the stars will bend so that we can find each other again.”

w.c. 1k~ / content: sunday x gnreader, soft but desperate sunday strikes again, unrequited(?), angst on xmas what a blessing, open ending, you leave sunday behind to take a train starward a/n: my initial idea was completely scrapped bc i wanted to write more sad sunday, soooo this was a last minute plan i quickly conjured for xmas ( . •́ _ʖ •̀ .) it is unedited short but enjoy nonetheless!

inspired by closet(acoustic ver.) - fleshwater ♪

⋆⁺₊❅。

welcome aboard, dear passengers. please take your designated seats.

spirited penacony, bold in glamour and hues, is dulled by the colourless winter and painted with nightly blues. the snow becomes like paper under your feet, where your imprint is etched to reveal a long trail, telling stories about your journey. you have come a long way.

however, there is another story to be told. beside you was another pair of shoes, their footprints lagging ever so slightly behind your strides. their steps were uneven, crooked—shy off two beats from keeping up with your pace, but bordering on the fear of you acknowledging even a sliver of their haunting shadow.

it will pain you to turn around. so don’t. the train greets you, its opened door ready to embrace your tired body. the freedom you sought is within reach and you place one foot inside.

“won’t you please look at me?”

your breath hitches. the grip on your luggage tightens. 

���i beg of you.”

you are stuck in limbo. 

“...i’m leaving, sunday.”

the train is about to depart. please remain seated as the express prepares for your journey.

you turn to face him and mask everything with a smile, but what sort of person would he be if he cannot notice your performance? it is not a satisfactory answer. sunday would not budge. he would not care if the snow buried him. 

if he doesn’t, you will have to make the move, push him far enough over the edge for you knew how stubborn he could be. perhaps the truth could break it once and for all.

you swallow the dryness in your throat. “... i'm tired of being stuck here." people are not meant to be birds trapped in a cage. keep them for too long, and they will start to wonder about the purpose of their wings.

sunday’s eyes waver, a disparity widens from his usual orchestrated composure. “i thought i kept you safe,” he speaks, “i would give you the world if you desired so.”

“you didn’t. you hid it away from me.” the years have passed and the stars rotate along. you were never meant to be here forever. “there is a vast greatness beyond the dreamscape, beyond penacony, and beyond planets.”

“but you can’t—”

“you’re doing it again,” you interrupt, “i am not yours to order. please, let go of me...”

he pauses at your hard tone. it carves the words into him as he repeats it over into his head, so easily scrapes him into mere bits despite his practiced acting. 

“then, can you tell me where you are going?”

before you went out, you forged your resolve: you would leave tonight. “... i’m sorry,” you mutter, "i don’t want you searching for me. i will return when the time is right, not when you command it so.”

“... i see.”

the nostalgic past flashes on sunday’s face, and you remember the younger him as you notice his downcast eyes. his wings are barely fluttering and he is playing with his fingers. the drift of the sea of snow does nothing to obscure it, and it works in his favour.

don’t fall for it… except that this is not part of sunday’s act. these are his true feelings. he cherishes you greatly, but you are too familiar with how it drowns you. he needs to know you are near him, have you safe, be able to watch you. control. it reflects upon the way he oversees penacony. 

sunday's fingers hesitate, hovering in the air. "can you tell me for how long...? how about your companions? will you be far away? will you stay in touch? have you told everyone? how... how long will i have to..."

"..."

any separation will feel like eternity, never to close. it is a sunday who is afraid of losing anyone again, so he clinches onto them as tight as he can to the point of suffocation. his hands are behind his back, tightening into a prayer, mourning the hollowness that your presence is supposed to occupy.

emotion wells in your heart. it is only when you need to forget him, that he suddenly becomes so hard to ignore. "sunday... listen to me."

you hope that time will offer him space to contemplate. and although it is a painful reminder, you hope that the hole you leave behind will convey your message. you hold out your pinky towards sunday. “let’s believe that the universe will hold us together,” you gaze at the night sky. "you alone are not meant to hold the weight of the world."

sunday's wings twitch. his halo hums.

you nudge your pinky at him. “one day, the stars will bend so that we can find each other again.”

bells chime in the distance, chords striking, and the strings resound a melody of calming tuned to open ears. it reminds him that the passage of time is relentless, no matter how many more seconds he borrowed—it only delays the inevitable. 

sunday gazes off to the side, observing something transcending penacony’s familiar ground. a concept vast and horrifying, but perhaps beautiful and endless.

sunday then looks at you. "you promise?"

"promise." and memories of a younger you and sunday flicker, hand in hand, smiling against the odds, against a fate that could have made you strangers.

sunday’s smile is afflicted, but hopeful. the stories didn’t end here. there will be many winters to come, and the snow will always be ready to write your tales.

he links his pinky with yours. in the vast and horrifying, a sealed promise sets alight two more stars who will eventually separate with light years between them. only when these stars aligns, they will bend to meet again.

sunday untangles his finger, slithering his hand over your palm to study you one more time. your hand that used to be smaller, now fits comfortably in his hand. 

his eyes glimmer colourfully. he watches how much brighter you shine—a star who is returning to the cosmos, a bird who belongs to the sky—understanding that you were never his.

once again, the train is about to depart—

sunday gradually lets go of your hand, setting you free. his warmth leaves you. you step inside the train with a destination to elsewhere, waving him goodbye. “thank you.”

—and may this journey lead you starward.

⋆⁺₊❅。

a/n: have a merry christmas, get lots of presents(no boring socks), christmas tree doesnt fall and crush you, no burning down houses bc the turkey was forgotten, always winning the christmas crackers, the christmas pudding is actually a delectable 4-tiered heart-shaped chocolate cake, no awkward family games everyone just plays mario kart, gingerbread biscuits come to life, santa likes your cookies, rudolph has a red nose, michael buble serending you, the christmas elves are finally free, sunday makes out with you under the mistletoe ho ho ho🧑‍🎄 thank you for reading!!

[ilovegeorgie]

besame mucho

genre: fluff

warnings: none !

summary: basically the mistletoe cliche lol

a/n: ik this is cheesy and stuff, but well.. also, merry xmas to those who celebrate it !!

the house was filled with fairy lights twinkling on the tree, the smell of wine and mince pies wafting through the air. everything was perfect… except for one thing: georga had been trying all day to steal a kiss from her, but she wasn’t giving in.

george had been dropping hints, playful winks, leaning in a little too close when she wasn’t looking, but she kept dodging him, laughing it off or making excuses. after all, she had a million things to do before dinner, and george was being, well, himself.

the day had been spent decorating, baking, and sipping wine by the fire, but as the hours ticked on, george’s patience was wearing thin. he knew she’d been busy, but enough was enough, he wanted a kiss, and was determined to get it.

he spotted the mistletoe hanging by the doorframe, that quintessential christmas decoration that seemed to have magical powers of persuasion, or at least according to him. with a sly grin, george sauntered over, grabbed the mistletoe, and carefully hung it in place, just above where she’d have to pass to get to the kitchen. he then stood underneath it, waiting for her to walk by.

she had just finished setting the table for dinner, mumbling to herself about how everything needed to be just right. it had been a busy day, and she was looking forward to a quiet evening with george, but first a needed minute to breathe. heading for the kitchen, she suddenly noticed george standing there under the mistletoe, looking far too pleased with himself.

“oh, no,” she muttered under her breath. “not again.”

he grinned. “i’m just standing here, love. you’re just walking right under it.”

“george…” she warned, raising an eyebrow, knowing full well what he was up to. “don’t even think about it.”

“i’m not thinking about anything,” he said with a cheeky smile, stepping slightly into her path. “i’m just here, minding my business. if you happen to walk under this mistletoe... well, what can i do about it?”

she crossed her arms, trying to stay firm despite the way her heart fluttered. “you can stop trying to trick me into kissing you.”

he shrugged with mock innocence. “i’m not tricking you, love. it’s tradition, and you know that you can’t argue with tradition.”

she sighed, rolling her eyes but not able to suppress a smile. “i know exactly what you’re doing, harrison.”

“i’m sure you do,” he said, tilting his head and stepping closer. “but you can’t resist it forever, can you?”

she tried to sidestep him, but george was quick, stepping into her path once more. “i’m not falling for it, george.”

he grinned wider, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “you sure about that? i thought christmas was the time for a bit of giving.” he winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“alright, alright,” she said, secretly enjoying his persistence. “just one kiss. but only because you’ve been so persistent.”

george’s eyes lit up, and before she could change her mind, he quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him. their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. it wasn’t just any kiss, it was the one he’d been working for all day, the one he’d promised himself would happen under the mistletoe.

when he finally pulled away, he was grinning like a cheshire cat. “see? told you it’d work.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “you’re such a cheeky bugger, george.”

“yeah, well,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “i do have my charms.” he kissed her again, this time more softly, his forehead resting against her. “merry christmas, love.”

“merry christmas, georgie,” she replied, feeling the warmth of the moment.

george pulled her into a tight hug, still grinning. "and no more tricks, i promise."

“uh-huh..,” she said, though she had a feeling that if he ever got a good idea again, she’d be right under another mistletoe.

[headstrongblake]

@thewholecrew: grant, octavia & nick. / verse: all american.

"i'm not dope sick," nick replied to grant's clarification with less of his harsh venom, acknowledging that it's his own mind playing tricks. neither of them have blamed him, nor have they accused him of being a drug addict strung out looking for the next hit. no. that's simply how twisted he feels inside. it's not grant or octavia berating him. it's his old man's voice ringing in his ears, taunting him for being the weak little boy he always knew he'd be.

nicklas forced out another tense breath, shaking his head as he listened to them pleading with him, begging him to see reason. to see that the drugs he's chosen to manage his pain could end with him in a pine box. "a'ight, alright!" nick snapped again, "damn, you two don't fucking quit," he muttered, lifting his trembling hand to scratch through his beard. "i get it, a'ight? i'm home, you're home...there's no need for this street crap, i'll get in to see my doc about the nerves, and if that shit doesn't work, i'll see hunter, alright? that make everyone feel better?" he asked, dark hues scanning between grant and octavia with a lift of his brow.

while a bit of relief trickled through octavia because it finally seemed they were making more sense to her brother, octavia knew they had barely scratched the surface. nick agreeing to go back to a doctor now that he was home, it's a start. a great one where the doctors can help if he actually is suffering, but in her experience, it's never that easy. "yes," she snarked toward nick with a roll of her eyes. god, is this how she's sounded to bellamy any time she's snapped at him for simply giving a damn? "thank you...i need you to be okay nick..." octavia spoke honestly, grief still shining in her gaze because after everything...octavia can't lose him. she can't lose any of them.

regret pooled in the pit of his stomach, hearing the sadness drip into octavia's tone. she's been through enough, and the last thing he wanted to do was be the source of any more of her pain. he'd done that enough by blowing up all their lives with garrett. "i'll see the doc, o, i promise." he said as he approached both grant and her once more. "i hear you guys," he told them as the corner of his mouth ticked upwards, a foreign smile tugging on his features. slowly, his hand reached out to rest on grant's shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze. shaking his head, "i don't hate you, but hey, guess you were listening to me...s'good to know." he added as his grin grew. how many times had he yelled at grant that grant could fucking hate him, but he wasn't going anywhere? "alright, i'll see you guys later, yeah? i got shit to do." he said vaguely, letting his hand fall from grant as octavia's brows furrowed together with confusion. "we're not leaving nick...neither should you...i don't know how much you're using but without it, you're going to be just as sick as i was." if not more she feared, but didn't say.

nick had only gotten a step or two away from the two of them when octavia threw another wrench in his plan. his fist coiled at his side, twitching with impatience. they've searched his home, but he knows they would not have been able to get into his safes. let alone find them all. he just needs them to fucking leave. "i don't need any fuckin' babysitters like i've been saying, not all of us are addicts who need a whole ass program to save themselves. i'm not fuckin' weak. so thanks for all this, but grant, o, you two can see yourselves out." he said, glaring daggers toward them to let them know how serious he was before he turned, retreating into his home. they have to leave. they have to leave. they. have. to. leave!!!

@headstrongblake: grant, octavia & nick. / verse: all american.

brows furrowed as what he said seemed to trigger nicklas again, how nick then shouted at him, telling him he knew nothing and while grant could agree to some extent, he trusted octavia and her experience, and if she said something very wrong was going on, then there was. plus, though grant wasn't an expert by any means on the drugs and medication his brother was taking, it was impossible to ignore both the physical changes and the unstable, emotional outbursts. how aggressive he was in a way he had never been before towards octavia. it kept grant tense as he stood beside her with a protective step forward. though his hands appeared relaxed at his sides he would be ready in a moments notice if he would have to restrain his brother once again.

"no one said or thinks you are using it for kicks, nick..." he clarified, with a slow shake of his head, watching carefully as nick stalked away to put out what was left of his smoke. how painfully ironic was it now that he was on the other side of this, that it was grant who was desperately trying to help someone he cared about. how he was where nick was standing not more than a couple months ago, hatred shining in his eyes as he spat venomous lies to try and get octavia and his brother to leave him be. to think he didn't care about them, to think they had never been as close as they thought. to degrade them for daring to come after someone they loved. and here nick was, trying to distance himself from them as if nick hadn't done the exact same thing when octavia had been struggling with her own addiction.

lips parted to speak but he paused when octavia's desperate plea escaped her. the look on her face killed him, honey eyes shining as he shared her pain, as he agreed to her statement. as she reminded nick that she thought he was dead and how it tore grant on the inside both for the fear octavia must have felt having found nick like that but also the horrifying thought of if nick hadn't woken up. his jaw clenched then after the brief pause, as octavia continued, reminding nick how they hadn't wanted to lose grant, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest for all the grief he had caused them. swallowing the lump in his throat he nodded slowly, "we don't want to lose you nick. no one does. i promise you, we will figure something out for your pain, but what you're doing... nick, it can kill you."

he took a step closer to nick then, honey eyes searching for some sliver of acceptance, of acknowledgement that he truly could die from this. "you can hate us all you want; me, you can hate me with everything you have. but i won't let you die, brother." he never had before and he never will. everything he had done, getting him back from garrett, to leaving, to being downright terrible to nick -- he had done it to try and keep him safe, but first and foremost, he had done it to keep him alive.

[runawaymarbles]

The thing I keep coming back to, with all the *gestures expansively* is that real life doesn't have peaceful epilogues.

Every single win has to be defended. Forever. I'm sorry. It sucks. The Nazis lost until they stopped losing. The US had abortion rights, and then 50 years later it didn't. Empires fall, and then they invade other countries again. Oppressive regimes are overthrown and replaced with other oppressive regimes. You will never finish the work etc etc etc. Which is why it's so fucking important to be able to acknowledge and celebrate progress, when it happens. The people who came before you didn't put in all that work for nothing, and you aren't, either. You can't save it all for the Ultimate Victory because there is never going to be an Ultimate Victory. There's no such thing as a time when everything is good, and ours shall not be the commune of Heaven.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

The fans: Ugh Sonic was just so preachy. I mean obviously he's supposed to be the good guy, so any uncomfortableness I feel here and any way I feel like Sonic's choices are framed as being why some other people have shitty lives is just bad writing because he is obviously supposed to be right always, but this characterization makes no sense. Isn't he right for the things he did?

Ian Flynn, using Kitsunami to say the (barely even at this point) quiet part even louder: Hey it's almost like ever since the Mr. Tinker event we've been purposely running with the critique of Sonic as being more selfish than he appears. Sonic is upholding a system of Eggman v Sonic that currently benefits him and shuts down talk of how to improve the current system because he likes his own personal enjoyment and he's attached enough to Eggman that he'd rather Eggman pretend to be a good person than be stuck in prison for life. He doesn't even quite practice what he preaches. We are trying to show that the current hero v villain system and Sonic's recklessness currently affects some people poorly and that Sonic isn't a perfect hero.

[tkbrokkoli]

:O

[edwinisms]

op this is how you make a lich. what have you done

This may be too supernatural for an actually pretty down to earth show that is dbda (when it comes to magic, abilities and power scaling), but I'd have a blast seeing the plot point of Edwin's soul's capability to be used for obtaining magical power make a comeback

What would be even cooler is if it was Edwin himself who became interested in using that power

I can see him researching what devices can be used for it, do they have to always inflict pain on him to work and if yes, then how far is he willing to go in order to get it

He'd never use it for any malicious purposes or to just possess power for power's sake, he'd use it in extremely dire situations, when he really needs a certain spell to be amplified in order to rescue Charles from danger

Which brings me to the obvious angst potential of Edwin hiding the pain, lying about the source of the amazing power and then ofc Charles finding out and oh

(It'd introduce more magic and actual combat power for the boys - which is actually the opposite of what the show is about, I know, aside from a wild use of Crystal's vast abilities, they really make a good job at showing that the boys were just normal humans (and now ghosts) who predominantly use their wits and knowledge gathered throughout the many years of being on Earth, so I wouldn't even expect them to go this direction (if they actually mention Edwin's soul's power ever again), but it's just a very fun concept to me)

[mrsbarnesblog]

just us

masterlist

summary: a situation between pogues and kooks at the beach made Rafe rethink his priorities

word count: 1.8k.

warnings: season 4 spoilers, established relationship, mention of the dead turtle, that hoe Ruthie, protective Rafe

a/n: i'm obsessed with season 4, y'all. absolutely in love with everything that's going on and especially with Rafe being in a better place with a girl that he actually likes 🥹 this scene at the beach with turtles just made me sob, so I really need someone to drag that bitch by her hair. sorry not sorry.

Your heart was beating with adrenaline from the scene that just happened at the beach, with Topper’s girlfriend almost running over the pogues and being the usual insane bitch that she was. Rafe stood beside you, silent but shaking his buzzed head in disapproval.

Kie was standing on her knees on the sand, in shock, with juice still dripping down her face and hair. She brushed off the help of her friends, instead standing and picking something up from the ground, without hesitation, going towards the group of people around you. They seemed absolutely delighted by the whole situation, laughing, fist bumping each other, and making you want to punch every single one of them in the face. 

You didn’t even want to be here in the first place, not with a bunch of people with whom you shared mutual hatred towards each other. Rafe was your only connection with them, and it seemed like even for him it was a bit too much. A fun day at a beach with a little surfing competition, where even Topper and JJ seemed to have some fun together, took the wrong turn way too quickly.

“Look what you did! Is this okay?” Kie stopped in front of Ruthie, reaching out her hand to show something that you weren’t able to see, but by the look on her face it was obviously serious to her. “There was a turtle hatch, you idiots! You drove right over it!” Your stomach twisted at the realization, and you took a step closer to see it yourself. 

“Oh my God.” You whispered, catching a glimpse of a tiny dead turtle with a crushed shell laying in the palm of her hand. So little and harmless that the picture of it brought tears to your eyes. 

“Don’t look, baby.” Rafe’s deep voice mumbled near your ear, with a warm hand sprawled across your back to try to distract you, but you shook your head, unable to take your eyes off it. 

“All right, but it was only one.” Ruthie said with her usual attitude, nonchalantly pointing to the rest of the turtles that, luckily, were perfectly fine. Your mouth opened in disbelief, and you looked at Rafe to see him uncomfortably rubbing the back of his head. 

“I’m so sorry, Kie…” You whispered to her, stepping further away from the kooks, eyes drifting again to the dead animal in her hand. No matter how hard you tried to fit in with Rafe and his friends, you could never be one of them if it meant to be a bunch of pompous and cruel rich kids. You thought that, maybe it was time for you to finally admit that. 

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” She briefly looked at you, because despite not being friends, there never were any arguments between you and the rest of the pogues, always keeping cool and friendly with each other. “There’s something wrong with you, people.” Kiara looked back at the kooks with disgust written all over her face. 

“I’m leaving, Rafe.” Barely holding back your tears, you looked back at your boyfriend, before picking up your beach bag from the sand and turning around. “I’m sorry again for them, Kie.”

“No, wait, Y/N.” He pushed through the crowd, wide-eyed, quickly approaching you and grasping your wrist. “This is not—“

“I don’t want to be here. I didn’t sign up to hang out with your friends when I started dating you, okay?” You groaned in frustration, attempting to move, but Rafe stopped you. “I don’t even know why we’re here, why you are here, when you clearly don’t enjoy it anymore.” 

“Listen, this is not so easy, okay?” He rolled his eyes, but you knew it was not fully directed at you; Rafe was already struggling with trusting those around him, and the fact that you slowly but steadily made him reconsider his current surroundings did not help. 

“You are not like them, they are not your friends, don’t you understand it?” The pure desperation was speaking in you, searching for the answers in his eyes. You overheard some people laughing at you, as they were too confident that Rafe would never listen to someone like you, someone from the cut, not even realizing the war that was currently going on in his head. 

He was silent, thinking, making his already overwhelmed mind go hundred miles per hour to figure something out, because you were right. The more time had passed, the more the two of you were together, the less Rafe found himself enjoying the presence of his old friends, the less he wanted to do that childish bullshit. 

“This dumb fucking bitch almost ran over people and killed an innocent animal because her big ego got hurt, do you understand?! So I’m leaving. Alone or with you.” You almost whispered the last part to him, too scared that he'd not choose you. At the end of the day, you were a pogue, and no matter how much you tried, you would never be good enough for Rafe. 

“What did you just call me?” Ruthie arched a brow, now shooting daggers at you. 

“I called you a dumb fucking bitch, didn’t you hear me?” You spat, finally having a good enough reason to tell the truth right in her face. “Or are you too stupid to get that through your thick scull?” 

“That’s rich, coming for a pogue. It’s just a cycle of life. And if you, losers, are so offended by that, it’s not my problem.” 

“A cycle of life? Getting flattened by a truck is not a cycle of life.” Kiara pushed Ruthie with her hand, and it nearly turned into a fight, with JJ standing by his girlfriend's side. You turned away from them, too frustrated and drained to bother listening to the rest of the conversation, your gaze shifting to Rafe, who still held your hand.

“I want to leave. Stay here if you want to, I don’t care. I’m done with them, Rafe.” Your teary eyes met his blue ones, and he shook his head, pulling you closer with your forearms. The mere thought of you leaving him, angry and upset, triggered a whirlwind of panic within him.

“Hey, no, I’m not staying, okay?” Rafe's hands, now much gentler and delicate, touched your cheeks, wiping away a few tears that you could not keep back. Rafe had never been too comfortable with the display of emotions, and he was pretty sure that it was the first time he had actually seen you cry. And he knew how much you had always carried for animals, how you petted every stray cat or a dog on the street, and how you hated any form of violence against them. 

The pulsating and aching feeling in his chest at the sight of your tears made him want to drop everything, or rather, eliminate everyone who had upset you, and just hold you in his arms. 

“Aw, look at you.” You heard that annoying voice behind you back again, pulling you out of the bubble in which you fell, and turning around, you saw that Kie and JJ were no longer there. Your eyes instantly rolled back as Ruthie looked at you with her usual fake sympathy, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go back to your side of the island, you’re not one of us. Don’t even know why Rafe bothers to bring you here when you’re just another dirty toy to—“

Rafe left your side before she could finish her sentence, looming over her with the most furious expression you had ever seen on his face. Everyone and everything seemed to fall silent for a moment, and you held your breath, unsure what he would do. “Wanna say some bullshit about her? Try to do it right in my face and see what happens.”

“You’re not seriously protecting the pogue. She’s not on our side.” Her smile faded, her eyes now nervously looking between Rafe and Topper, who was standing behind her back. 

“C’mon, Rafe…” He started, but quickly shut his mouth as soon as Rafe turned his head towards him with a silent threat. You felt your heartbeat quickening as the atmosphere started to get even more intense. Everyone around you also started arguing and saying God knows what, but Rafe was awfully calm, and it frightened you even more. 

You moved closer to them as you made your way through the warm sand, until you were able to place a comforting hand on your boyfriend's back. He was so tense under your touch that it amazed you how the hell he was not shaking because of it. The only times you had ever seen him behaving that way was when people whispered something about his father behind his back.

“It’s okay, Ray.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and sliding your hand down his back to take a hold of his bicep. 

“You’re lucky that I don’t hit women. But if I hear a single word about my girlfriend again, you will regret it, I promise you." Your stomach flattered from the way he protected you, from the way his friends opened their mouths in shock at his words. Even Topper and Kelce were too stunned to speak, sending each other weird glances. “Control, your crazy bitch, Top.” 

As if nothing had happened, Rafe stepped back, throwing a protective hand over your shoulders and guiding you away from the group. He was silent for a whole walk towards his truck, only stopping near the passenger door and turning you to face him. 

His worried blue eyes were almost shining under the bright and hot sun and you saw words forming in his head and sitting at the tip of his tongue. You waited another minute, while Rafe was focused on your necklace, thinking. His hands found a place on your waist, rubbing circles into your skin, until he finally took a deep breath and looked up. 

“You’re right.” He said simply. “I’m not this person anymore. That shit with racing with pogues was fun and all, but I didn’t like what happened today.” You half smiled, nodding and encouraging him to talk. “If—if I want to be like my dad, I need to have my priorities straight. No more of this bullshit, no more fake ass people, yeah? You’re the only one who's been here for me for a long fucking time. You’re the only one who I can trust, baby.”

His hand cupped your cheek, eyes focused solemnly on you, before he lowered himself closer to you to place a kiss on your lips. 

“This is the right decision. You’ve overgrown them, you’re a better man now. And i’ll be here for you whenever you need me, I promise. I guess it’s just us now." Your body sagged against his, too wrapped in the comfort of his presence to even care about anything else. Your lips brushed against his, making Rafe groan.

“Just us, baby.”

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Why do I have to sit out here while you try things on? I've seen you naked a fuck ton of times, but I can't be in the bathroom with you while-"

The door opens, revealing you in a new, red lingerie set that had just gotten delivered. "This one?" You ask, hands on your hips as you do a slow little three-sixty for Toji.

"Oh," he utters, a low chuckle following. He can't contain the smirk on his face as he eyes you up and down, taking in the entirety of the gorgeous sight you offer. "Come here, pretty mama," he says, beckoning for you to come closer to where he is on the bed. "Let me touch. See if you're comfortable in this."

You laugh and make your way over to him. "You're gonna tell me if i'm comfortable?"

"If it's rough on my hands, then I know it doesn't feel too good on your soft skin. Now, come here." His hands reach out, pulling you by your hips to stand between his legs. He hums, satisfied, as one hand rests on your ass, squeezing, while the other occupies itself with the front of your lacy underwear, just feeling up the material. "This is pretty soft. I could tear it off easily, too," he says, teasing you by tugging on the garment.

"Aaand that's enough from you." You pull his hands off of you and head back to the bathroom. You almost laugh at the way you can feel him watching you as you walk away.

You change out of that set and into the next nightly article— a silk, black slip dress. The door opens and this time you do giggle when Toji's attention is already on you.

"How's this?" You do another little spin to display your outfit change and nudge at one of the thin shoulder straps, teasing Toji by pushing it the slightest bit down. You see his hands reach out for you, signaling for you to come and let him grope you, again. "Mm-mm," you hum. "You know silk is soft."

"But I need to check your panties," he argues. Anything to have you in his hands, again. "What if the texture is too harsh on you?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I wouldn't be wearing panties under this. Not wearing any now..." you say, a sultry hint in your tone, as you lift the hem of the short dress the slightest bit. Toji's eyes are devouring the slow reveal of your pretty skin, following the end of the smooth dress as it goes higher and higher. He's only able to blink with disillusion, when you let the material slide back down before he gets to see what you were teasing. "...and I won't be wearing any for its official debut."

"Fuck... you look so good, ma. Wanna touch you."

"Nope. There's one more." You pull the strap of your slip up and smirk, as if taunting him for not getting to touch you. He sighs when you turn around and scurry off to the bathroom again. The crotch area of his sweats is getting uncomfortably tighter and you walking away just makes him miserable.

The last getup took a little longer to put on than the other two, due to the sheer stockings and the garter belt, but it was all worth it in the end, because even you couldn't deny how good you looked.

You open the bathroom door and peek your head out to see if Toji's waiting, though his impatience doesn't leave you wondering for long.

"Don't tell me you're shy," he teases, in hopes of baiting you into revealing yourself quicker. "What, are you completely naked?"

You take a step out, instantly feeling a rush of nerves when you're in Toji's view.

"Oh, shut the fuck up..." He mutters to himself, absorbing the hellish sight of the little number you changed into.

You take a few more steps away from the bathroom, feeling your cheeks grow warm as Toji gawks at you, unable to pick his jaw up from the floor. You decide to tease him by pointing at yourself, then at the bathroom, insinuating whether you should go back in and change.

"No, no. Bring your fine ass over here." Even his posture straightens during his attempt to bring you closer. If you had gone back inside, he would've started sweating.

"Yeah, come here, sweetheart," Toji purrs, once you're in arms reach. "Do that little spin for me." You comply and spin slowly like you did the last few times, giving him a view of everything. "Fuck, you want me to die, huh?" He murmurs, smirking at the sound of the giggles he lures out of you. He pulls you in close, his hands resting on the backs of your thighs, his face pressed into your tummy. You tangle your hands in his hair, smiling down at him as he kisses your soft, warm skin, over and over. When he looks up at you with those precious green eyes, he has the most endearing, lovestruck look on his face.

"Gonna eat you out 'til you fucking cry."

"Yeah?" You ask, cupping his cheeks as he stares on. You click your tongue and laugh bashfully when he hums affirmatively.

"Let's test run this one today, hm?" Toji suggests, pressing more kisses onto your stomach, trailing them lower until his lips meet the waistband of your garter belt.

"Now?"

"Right now. Unless you have somewhere else to be," he says, fiddling with the thin, satin strap that rests on your thigh.

"You know I don't," you say, coursing your fingers through his hair.

"So, you're gonna let me at you, then?" He asks, standing up from the bed, towering over you in a single second.

"I'm all yours," you respond. That devilish little grin on your face was the final shove needed for Toji to push you onto the bed and pounce on you. "Ah-ah-- If you rip this off, you're banned from all of this..." you drag your fingertips over your lips, the gesture transitioning to your hand gliding down your neck, your chest, your abdomen, finishing off by splaying over your panties, "...for a week."

"You wouldn't," Toji says, challenging your threat, but when you simply hum and shrug in response, as if to say 'try me', he ends up doing as you say, and carefully stripping you.

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.