#s: chaos incarnate

[nino-rox]

Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader | S

Warnings: NSFW Gay Sex, Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Male reader, Top Stiles Stilinski x Bottom Male Reader, degradation, raw (please use protection !)

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

NOT PROOF READ !

—

{A/N: Not proof-read! Have fun Pookies <3}

The thundering bass of the rave wrapped around Stiles like a living thing, vibrating through his chest, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Strobe lights flashed like lightning across the crowd—a blur of sweaty bodies, neon accents, and wild energy that surged with every beat. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and smoke, and it felt like chaos incarnate.

But none of that mattered to Stiles.

Because Y/N was here.

And holy crap, he looked good.

“Scott!” Stiles hissed, his voice barely cutting through the music. He grabbed his friend’s arm, nearly dislocating it in his urgency. “Scott! Look.”

Scott stumbled slightly, squinting in the direction Stiles was pointing. “Is that… Y/N?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s Y/N,” Stiles confirmed, his voice cracking slightly. “I knew he was lying. He said he was too busy, right? Those were his exact words. Too busy. But now he’s here, and—oh my God.”

Scott glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Maybe he just didn’t want to come with us, man.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, do you see him?” Stiles stammered, gesturing wildly toward the figure leaning casually against the bar. “Look at him! He’s a whole—he’s like—Scott, he’s a walking thirst trap.”

“Dude,” Scott sighed, already tired of this, but Stiles wasn’t listening anymore.

Y/N was there, drink in hand, the pulsing neon lights painting his skin in shades of purple and red. His dark button-down was halfway unbuttoned, hanging loose around his torso, and Stiles’ eyes zeroed in on the exposed lines of his collarbone, sharp enough to draw blood. His sleeves were rolled up, the veins on his forearms faintly visible in the light. But it was the shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs—a sheen of sweat glistening faintly—that made Stiles’ throat go completely dry.

And then, the jeans.

They were impossibly, unfairly tight, hugging Y/N’s thighs in a way that made Stiles’ brain glitch like an old computer. When Y/N shifted his weight, Stiles’ eyes darted, unbidden, to the curve of his bubble butt, and a very inappropriate thought hit him like a truck: That’s not fair. No one’s butt should look that good in jeans. I could probably grab—

“Stop staring at his ass, Stiles,” Scott muttered, elbowing him hard.

“I’m not—okay, fine, maybe I was,” Stiles said defensively, snapping his head up to find Y/N’s face instead.

Only to find that Y/N was looking right at him, a sly, knowing smile curving his lips. Stiles’ heart stuttered violently, and Y/N gave the faintest tilt of his head before turning back to his drink.

“I’m dead,” Stiles whispered, running a hand down his face.

“You’re embarrassing,” Scott corrected with a smirk. “Let’s just say hi before you combust.”

As they pushed closer, the details of Y/N became sharper. Stiles could see the faint flush to his cheeks, the way his hair looked messily perfect, as though he hadn’t even tried. His posture was lazy, his body loose and relaxed in a way that screamed confidence. Stiles wanted to touch him—trace a finger down the bare column of his throat, drag his teeth against that stupidly perfect collarbone. Mark him, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N had turned toward them until it was too late.

“Hey, guys!” Y/N called, his grin wide and inviting. The music muffled his words, but they still hit Stiles like a punch to the chest. He had that lazy slur to his voice, the kind that said he’d already been drinking, and his smile was slightly crooked, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Hey!” Stiles blurted, far too enthusiastically. “You—uh—you’re here! You said you weren’t coming!”

Y/N shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink before leaning forward slightly, voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Plans change.”

And then—he winked.

Stiles froze, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. Scott, mercifully, stepped in to save him. “We were just gonna look for Allison,” Scott said, his tone amused but casual. “You and Stiles have fun.”

Scott gave Stiles a quick thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd. Stiles didn’t even have time to glare at him because Y/N stepped closer, his body brushing against Stiles’ arm.

“Come drink with me,” Y/N said, reaching out to grab Stiles’ wrist.

The contact burned in the best way possible—Y/N’s palm was warm, his fingers rough and strong. Stiles’ heart nearly leapt out of his chest as Y/N tugged him toward the bar, weaving through the crowd with a casual ease that made Stiles’ brain sputter.

They ended up with shots in their hands, Y/N grinning like he’d won something. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass, his fingers brushing Stiles’ again in a lingering, deliberate way.

Stiles swallowed, his eyes locking onto Y/N’s. “Cheers.”

They downed their drinks, and Stiles coughed, the burn of alcohol scorching his throat. Y/N laughed, leaning into him as they both stumbled slightly. The motion brought their faces close, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Careful there, lightweight,” Y/N teased, voice low and warm.

“Careful yourself,” Stiles shot back, trying to sound confident even though his brain was short-circuiting.

The music shifted, deepening into something heavier, darker. Y/N turned toward him, his grin softening as he tilted his head. “Dance with me.”

Stiles barely had time to process before Y/N’s hands were sliding around his neck, their bodies aligning as though they were made to fit. Stiles’ own hands found Y/N’s bare waist, his fingers brushing over the smooth skin. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off Y/N.

They moved slowly at first, the beat thudding like a heartbeat beneath their feet. Stiles’ gaze dropped again—Y/N’s shirt was long gone, tossed somewhere near the bar, and all that was left was miles of skin and muscle, flushed pink from the heat and alcohol.

Teeth marks, Stiles thought helplessly. I want to leave teeth marks right there.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the nape of his neck, drawing him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. Stiles could feel Y/N’s breath on his lips, warm and faintly sweet.

“You’re staring,” Y/N murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Stiles didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the music. “No,” he whispered. “Not really.”

Their movements slowed, more swaying than dancing now, the space between them nonexistent. Stiles tightened his grip on Y/N’s waist, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against the bare skin. Y/N shivered slightly under his touch, and Stiles grinned, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the corner of Y/N’s jaw.

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on Stiles’ neck tightening.

“I should’ve dragged you here sooner,” Y/N murmured, his voice soft but charged.

Stiles smirked, letting his hands slide a little lower, teasing the edge of Y/N’s waistband. “Better late than never.”

Y/N didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned in, their lips hovering dangerously close, the tension between them so thick it felt like it might snap.

And Stiles was perfectly fine with that.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips firmly against Y/N, his grip on the other boy’s waist tightening and pulling him closer - till they could completely feel each other. It was electric, the way they fit together, their bodies moving instinctively.

As Y/N’s hands held Stiles face, their tongues intertwining in a dance of its own, a feeling of euphoria rushed through him, like nothing else existed. Just the two of them, their breaths mingling and hearts pounding together in sync.

It was perfect.

When they finally pulled away, both boys were flushed, breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes. The intensity between them was palpable, and as they slowly began to regain their composure, they couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"That was... unexpected," Stiles remarked, chuckling slightly.

"You're telling me," Y/N replied, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

Stiles bit his lip, glancing up at him. "So, are we doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles smiled, leaning in and gently pressing his lips against the other boy's, before whispering, "Let's get out of here."

They left the club, their fingers intertwined and their hearts beating rapidly in anticipation. The air was cool and crisp, and as they basically ran down the street to Stiles’ jeep. The tension between them was growing with every passing moment, and it wasn't long before they wouldn’t be making it do bed.

Pushed against the jeep, Stiles Stilinski and Y/N, kissing hungrily. Y/N was pinned against the car door, their tongues fighting for dominance. They were both moaning loudly, and it was obvious that the sexual tension between them had grown too much.

"We're not going to make it to the bed, are we?" Y/N murmured against Stiles's lips, his voice breathy and heavy with lust.

"Hell no," Stiles growled, pulling y/n off the car, hurriedly slamming the jeep’s back door open. They fell into the backseat, their limbs tangling, and the next thing they knew, they were kissing again.

It was passionate and messy, the air between them filled with nothing but heat and desire. They were both panting and moaning, their hands roaming each other's bodies, exploring every inch. Stiles took a moment to pause and just admire Y/N … in his car … he was so ready to ravage that body.

“You’re drooling sexy,” Y/N said as he winked, sending Stiles a smirk.

Stiles wasted no time in dragging his lips down the other boy's neck, pushing the other on his back. His skin was warm and soft, and as he reached the collarbone, he bit down, drawing a loud moan from y/n, whose hands snaked their way grabbing & tugging at Stiles’ hair.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed into y/n’s neck, running his hands over y/n's bare chest and torso.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chest, and Y/N squirmed beneath him as the other’s tongue flicked across his nipple. He then moved to the other, sucking and nibbling. Y/N arched his back, letting out a string of whimpers.

"God, Stiles..."

Y/N bucked his hips up, desperate for some friction, but Stiles held him down, pressing him further into the car seat. His mouth continued its trail downwards, stopping to nibble at y/n's hip bones, biting, bruising and - marking.

Y/N’s already had a fucked out expression, one that Stiles was coming to love.

Y/N’s hands sneaked under Stiles’ t-shirt, roughly yanking it off.

“You’re sure getting needy,” Stiles said smirking as he dragged his tongue across Y/N’s v-line again, placing gentle kisses on the burning bruises, licking occasionally - making y/n arch his back his pleasure and pain.

"You're so good with your mouth," Y/N moaned, his eyes shut tight as his fingers tangled in Stiles' hair.

"Oh, trust me. You haven't seen anything yet," Stiles muttered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N let out another moan as he felt Stiles' fingers hook on the hem of his boxers, sliding them down painfully slow. Once they were discarded on the floor, he immediately turned the other around, gently smacking his ass.

Y/N gasped, a moan escaping his lips as the pain slowly turned into pleasure, making him rock his hips back, his cock rubbing against the leather seat.

"Fuck your ass is so juicy,” Stiles growled as his hands squeezed Y/N’s ass, spreading them apart. He leaned down, blowing gently against his hole.

"Please," Y/N breathed, his body shivering. "Stiles, please."

Stiles smirked and licked a wet stripe along the crack, tasting Y/N, hearing him moan loudly.

"Oh my God," Y/N panted, his fingers gripping the car seat. "Please, Stiles."

"Begging already, huh?" Stiles whispered, his voice dripping with lust. "You're so fucking sexy."

Stiles leaned forward again, this time letting his tongue slip inside. Y/N's legs shook, and he let out a long moan, his cock leaking onto the seat.

He continued to fuck the other with his tongue, his finger slowly creeping up the crack, teasing his hole, as his other hand grabbed y/n’s dripping cock.

"You taste amazing," he groaned, stroking the other.

"Fuck, Stiles, I'm gonna cum," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles pulled away, his lips red and swollen.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he said, his eyes glinting.

He flipped y/n around, pressing his lips against the other cock deep-throating it hungrily. Y/N's body arched, his eyes rolling back.

“Fuck STILES Oh MY GOD!” Y/N squealed arching his back as Stiles continued furiously bobbing his head, his finger gently massaging Y/N’s hole.

"Shit, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Y/N screamed, but Stiles had other ideas.

He quickly pulled his mouth away from the other, leaving him a whimpering, horny mess, as he pushed a finger into his hole.

"Please, please, I need to cum," he begged, his eyes pleading.

"You'll get to," Stiles promised, leaning down and sucking on his nipple.

Y/N was practically sobbing, his body convulsing. "Please, fuck me, please," he begged, tears streaming down his face.

"You're so fucking hot," Stiles muttered, pushing another finger inside.

Y/N cried out, his whole body shuddering as he came hard, his cum spraying all over his stomach.

"Fuck, that was hot, and I haven’t even gotten started yet," Stiles breathed, his cock twitching.

"Stiles," Y/N gasped, his chest heaving. "I need you to fuck me."

Stiles smirked, his hand running along the other's length.

"You're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" he teased, pressing his fingers into the other's entrance.

"Please," Y/N begged, his face flushed, with the most fucked out expression every, the kind that made Stiles’ hard on HURT even more.

Stiles pulled his fingers out, and pushed them in repeatedly, thrusting, and curving his fingers. Y/N was writhing and panting, his cock already hard again, his prostate sending waves of arousal through him.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer," Stiles growled, unbuckling his pants as he licked his lips.

Y/N got up, grabbing stiles arm pushing him down. Straddling him and rubbing his ass on his raging hard on.

"Fuck me, How are you so huge,” y/n said panting as the other positioned himself.

"You're the one who's going to take all of this," he growled, grabbing y/n by the hips.

Stiles bucked his hips, his tip prodding but not entering the other's hole.

"Fuck, stop teasing," Y/N said, his voice trembling.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his fingers digging into the other's flesh.

"Please, please, I need it, I want it, fuck, please, Please let me ride you! I want you I want you so bad," Y/N whimpered, his legs shaking.

Stiles gave him a wicked smile and slowly bucking his hips, entering the other with his tip, and slowly letting himself fill the other.

"Ah, fuck, you're so tight," Stiles moaned, his hands gripping the other's waist.

"Ah, ah, ah," Y/N whimpered as he felt the other fill him up, stretching his walls, his body tensing.

"Oh my god, fuck, you're so big," Y/N groaned, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"God, you feel so fucking good," Stiles grunted, his fingers digging into the other's hips, spanking his ass as hard as he could.

Y/N moaned, his eyes rolling back, his body shivering.

"Please, please, harder, fuck me harder, oh my god," he whimpered, his voice a low whine.

"I'll give you harder," Stiles grunted, spanking the other, as he began thrusting into the other with full force.

"Fuck, you're such a slut, aren't you?" he groaned, his nails raking across the other's back, unconsciously drawing blood.

"Oh, fuck, please, yes, fuck me harder, harder," Y/N begged, his body tensing, his cock throbbing.

"That's right, beg for it," he growled, spanking the other again.

Stiles’ hands moved all over y/n’s body, as if he was making a mental map of every inch of him - and now it all belonged to him. His fingers gently played with Y/N’s nipple, causing him to squirm.

"Fuck, you're so hot, so beautiful," Stiles murmured, his thrusts growing more erratic, y/n struggling to keep riding at such a pace.

"I'm gonna cum," Y/N panted, his body trembling, his toes curling.

"Not yet, not yet, I'm not finished with you yet," Stiles grunted, his grip tightening. As he pushed y/n onto his back.

"Wait, what, are you gonna-"

Before he could finish, Stiles was pushing the other's legs apart, his tip brushing against his hole.

"Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes," Y/N moaned, his body arching.

"Such a good little slut," Stiles said, grinning down at the other, his cock throbbing, as he entered the other's hole.

"Yes, yes, oh my god," y/n panted, his hands gripping the leather seat.

Stiles thrust deep and hard, his tip brushing against the other's prostate, causing him to scream, his whole body spasming.

"You like that, don't you?" he grunted, thrusting deeper, harder.

"Yes, oh god, yes, please, please, fuck, don't stop, don't stop," y/n begged, his body shuddering, his legs trembling.

"So tight, you're so tight, fuck," Stiles moaned, his hips slamming against the other, his balls slapping the other's ass, his grip on the other's hips almost painful.

"Harder, harder, fuck, fuck, please, fuck, oh my god," Y/N cried, his face twisted in pleasure, his cock dripping, as Stiles slammed his prostate with his thick 10 inches.

"Such a slut," Stiles grunted, his nails digging into the other's thighs.

"Yes, fuck, I'm your slut, fuck, I'm your dirty whore, please, I'm your fucking slut, fuck me, use me, oh my god, please, fuck, oh god," Y/N whimpered, his words incoherent, his mind spinning, his whole body shaking.

"I'm gonna cum," Stiles growled, gripping the other's hair, as he bit down hard sinking his teeth into y/n’s neck again -

| his thrusts growing erratic.

"Cum in me, cum in me, please, fuck, I want it, I want it," y/n begged, his legs wrapping around the other, pulling him closer, his hands clutching the leather seat.

"Take it," Stiles growled, thrusting his full length deep into the other's tight, hot hole, as he shot his load inside.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, oh god, fuck," Y/N panted, his eyes rolling back, his legs quivering, as the other filled him, his whole body shuddering with orgasm.

They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them panting, sweaty, and breathless, their bodies glistening in the dim light and sweat.

"Holy shit," Stiles finally managed to say, still not pulling out of the other, his cock still twitching, his breathing ragged.

"Yeah," Y/N panted, his eyes still unfocused, his face flushed.

"That was..."

"Fucking amazing," Y/N finished for him, grinning, his hair matted, his body drenched.

"Yeah," Stiles said, his chest still heaving.

"Yeah," Y/N agreed, his breathing beginning to steady.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Well, we could always go again," Stiles said, smirking.

"I like the way you think," Y/N said, laughing softly.

(Author’s Note: RINSE AND REPEAT BITCHES ! Thank you for reading ! This was originally written for my Stiles x male oc reader Story: ANOMALY. So please don't be shocked if I reformat and edit to put this smut into ANOMALY! THANK YOU FOR READING )

CHECK OUT ANOMALY ! From my master list in bio!

[slasherparty]

Hey! Some beej and a very affectionate s/o would be cool uwu creepy trash man needs love

oh i’m always down to let the juice loose >;) 🪲🧃

beetlejuice 🪲 x affectionate reader 💭

bj’s first reaction to so much loveydovey attention is over-the-top exasperation. “What is this, a Hallmark movie? Come on, toots, you’re gonna ruin my street cred.” but he doesn’t push you away — in fact, he leans into it, grinning like the smug undead bastard he is.

he tries to freak you out, to test just how much you’re willing to deal with just to love up on him. one day, when you hug him, he lets his rib cage pop open to see your reaction. “Oops! Looks like you broke me!” he wheezes through laughter, his bones rattling back into place. when you just poke him in the chest and tell him to behave, he’s so baffled he forgets to gloat.

despite his initial yuckitude, he begins to mirror your affection in chaotic ways. if you kiss his forehead, he grabs your hand and kisses every fingertip with exaggerated flair. if you snuggle into him, he’ll toss a ghostly blanket over the two of you and declare, “My favorite takeout order — el burrito del amor!”

he treats your kisses and hugs like challenges, trying to outdo your tenderness with absurd, over-the-top gestures. a bouquet of flowers springs to life in your arms, hissing and snapping at you. a serenade involves ghostly backup singers and an impromptu dance number.

ghosts whisper about how beetlejuice, chaos incarnate, is soft for someone who’s alive. there are bets about how long it’ll last. meanwhile, he’s busy carving your initials into the peeling wood of a purgatory bench with a knife that he insists is symbolic.

he gets jealous in the most obnoxious ways. someone hits on you, and suddenly he’s looming behind them, his face splitting into a manic grin. “Nice guy,” he says, in a voice dripping with false sweetness. “Real polite. Be a shame if something happened to him.” they always run, and bj looks pleased with himself.

eventually, bj starts seeking out your affection, but in his own beetlejuice way — dramatic and a little ridiculous. he’ll flop onto your lap with a groan, saying, “Oh no, I’m dying again — only a makeout expert can save me!”

for all his sharp edges and twisted humor, beetlejuice starts to show up when it matters. to everyone’s shock, it turns out all that sappy crap works on him. he doesn’t promise forever — it’s not his style. but there’s a quiet determination in the way he keeps coming back, dragging all his mischief and madness with him, like a stray cat who’s decided you’re his.

thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[blacklegsanjiii]

Sorry if this bothers you but:

Fem!ASL x Fem!Sanji. Just think about it.

It doesn't bother me, I love this. However I think the amount of chaos would somehow be greater than previous ASL x S incarnations.

Ace is already crazy but now she is really just like Rouge. Insane and wilder somehow. Far more violent as a way to overcome her father's name, she'll be greater than him.

Luffy is Luffy no matter the gender.

Sabo is even more unassuming and therefore no one thinks she can do no wrong, except her sisters, Garp, dadan and Sanji. No one else believes she can commit atrocious acts like she has. But she does. Constantly.

Then they all start dating Sanji and Zeff is rethinking his view on threatening women. All three of these feral girls are dating Sanji and fight for her all the damned time. She's busy! She has a job! Leave her the fuck alone so she can work!! But he also sees how utterly devoted to her they are, and maybe having a group of girls for the eggplant to be around ain't such a bad idea.

They eat a lot though, and they're Ds which is an issue. At least the Eggplant ain't fucking around with a group of boys though. Thank gods for small victories Zeff guesses.

How well the Strawhats cope is a different matter.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Apologies if you did this one already!

Mini-headcanon for an MC whose familiar is the same animal as their LI?

I just had a vision of two sneks sneaking around the shop and two adorable kitties following MC and Portia around... and soooo many dogs surrounding MC and Lucio and needed to hear your thoughts on it lol

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC's familiar is the same as M6's

Julian: he is finally, finally learning the care and keeping of a raven and Malak is both overjoyed and royally pissed that this didn't happen sooner. the ravens do occasionally swap places unannounced

Asra: well, it's a good thing they've made enough snake sweaters to fill a closet since there's two danger noodles needing them! Faust is teaching it how to hold knives, carry hearts, and commit crimes

Nadia: excellent, she's already well-versed in owl care and happy to have a point to bond over with you. that said, she worries they may get frustrated with having to share everything, or feel less special

Muriel: look. if he has to go through the discomfort of begrudgingly learning the joys of companionship, so does Inanna. they're in this together now. secretly relieved that she gets a new friend too

Portia: what's better than one cat? two cats!! there is so. much. cat hair. everywhere. it's all cutesy snoozes with the two of them curled up together until the evening zoomies strike and then it's madness

Lucio: Mercedes and Melchior are handfuls on their own, it's impossible to control them together and with another dog (or dogs) in the mix, it's chaos incarnate. they do howl together, every night

[mazeinthemiroh]

In desperate need of how SKZ would spoil their girlfriends and the gifts they’d get for them like…I feel like lixie’s love language is gift giving so he’s the type to drop half his paycheck on his s/o😩✋🏾

how stray kids would spoil their s/o

genre: fluff

warnings: none

please like and reblog if you enjoy! feel free to request anything <3

bangchan

not only will channie spoil you

he will literally refuse you buying ANYTHING

i just keep thinking of that one clip when he and felix were arguing about who got to pay for stuff at the convenience store... oh the chaos...

like he's so petty about it but it's like a need for him

he needs to buy you stuff

let him buy you stuff!!!

it's just a tendency for him. ingrained in his personality for sure; not something he can control

lee know

he honestly doesn't really think about it at all

in his mind, what's his is your

you want his money? take his freaking money lmfao

spoiling you and treating you to things comes as second nature to him and something he doesn't take much consideration to

it just feels right to buy you stuff you want, and he doesn't give it a second thought tbh

it's just really not that deep to him 🤷

changbin

this man has his wallet out permanently istg

just waiting to pay for things, credit card ready to swipe asap

he's always buying you stuff

just because

like there is no reason for it

maybe he likes being a provider, sure. or perhaps he likes you depending on him to an extent

idk whatever is going through this man's brain, i just think it's in his nature to want to spoil his loved ones

hyunjin

hyunne likes indulging your hobbies

if you are a bookworm, for instance, he will spend not only his money but his time carefully picking out books for you to enjoy

or if you are an artist like him, he will buy you all sorts of paints and pencils and sketchpads. you name it, he's getting you it!

also he has expensive taste, so when he wants to get you a fancy gift he is not stingy with that credit card of his

with him, if he's in love, why should he limit that love? if one way to show love is to get something you've been wanting for ages, why shouldn't he?

han

he would much rather he spend money on you than the other way round

not for traditional reasons or anything like that. more that he feels guilty, like he's not giving enough

he's a very generous soul but sometimes in relationships, he likes to just sit back and relax

and then he feels like he's not putting enough effort in so he over-compensates by spending a tone load of money on you

you reassure him that he is fine the way he is and doesn't have to do that but now it's become a habit he very much enjoys

felix

you are so incredibly right anon

i mean for felix is feel like all love languages fit him because he is basically the human incarnate of love but yeah

gift giving is one of them

felix loves buying gifts i know i have said this so many times in every single felix related content i write but he just can't stop buying stuff for other people

he loves spending money in general, so what better way to do that than spending money on gifts for the person he loves most?

seungmin

he's quite sensible with his money and only usually really buys something if he needs it

but spending money on you is a bit of a different story

he doesn't limit himself nor does he ask if you actually need that item you've been wanting to be. if you want it, you got it.

will literally ask for your wishlist and buy you everything off it, i'm not exaggerating

he's not one to beat around the bush, our seungmin! he goes straight to the point, as he should 💅

jeongin

jeongin is a reallyyyy good gift-buyer

he's perfectly balanced, really. he likes getting you gifts here and there, some of them are personal and others are expensive. he likes to get both kinds of gifts so that your heart is touched but also you get something a little fancy from him too <33

much like felix, he likes spending his money. and he feels he isn't being wasteful with it when he is buying you stuff because it makes you super happy aww

[say-hi-intrepid-heroes]

i have a funny not serious theory based on @chronicallyaddled 's recent post about the seat directly to the right of Brennan in Dimension 20.

i think brennan puts his favourite player/pc in that seat every season (or at least the one he thinks he can have the most fun with)

Fantasy High: Murph/Riz - the PC that drives the mystery forward, also one of the most experienced and least unhinged players at the table

EFTBK: Ify/Markus - honestly the only chill point in that entire campaign, a reliable player because he'll always act in his own self interest, very useful as a DM to have

TUC: Ally/Pete - Vox Phantasma, kinda the catalyst for anything happening in this campaign, a perfect fallback PC if something needs to Happen

ACOC: Zac/Lapin/Cumulous - religious bastard or monk, either way very objective in a high-emotions season, semi-removed from the family at all times and able to steer the party in a smarter direction

The Seven: Izzy/Ostentatia - chaos incarnate, not scared of breaking the rules, great for a season with lots of new/inexperienced players

ASO : Murph/Barry - similar to Riz, also a fairly straightforward PC and a player who is reliably less chaotic

Neverafter: Emily/Ylfa - a cornerstone fairytale pc, the perfect hero?/villain? character, very in the theme of the season, a reliable and skilled player who can be either funny or heartbreaking (perfect for the horror season on a comedy show)

DaDQ: Jujubee/Twyla - in a cast of inexperienced players, jujubee consistently brings the chaos necessary for D20. she's the perfect player for chaotic goofs in that season

Mentopolis: Hank/the Fix - 100% will match Brennan's energy every step of the way, will also likely bring conflict bc of that

[novaursa]

Could you write Aerion with a Targaryen reader who matches his freak? I think it would be interesting to see him with someone just as unhinged as he is lol. The reader could be a sister or cousin, it's up to you how they're related.

Thank you ❤️

Burning Through the Night

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You and Aerion have a “fun” night out in the city that turns into a scandal.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: This is the last request that will be posted today.

King’s Landing pulses with life beneath you, the streets humming with the energy of the crowds as they go about their business, unaware that the dragon stirs. You stand atop the highest balcony of the Red Keep, the wind catching the edges of your silver-gold hair, a wild grin tugging at your lips. At your side is Aerion, your brother in blood and spirit, his own smirk mirroring yours. There is a spark in his violet eyes, one you’ve come to know well — the spark that signals trouble. The kind of trouble that only the two of you can stir together.

"You look as if you’re about to set the city on fire," you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

"Not yet," he replies, the edge of danger in his voice. "But we could. Should we?"

The question is half-jest, half-truth. With Aerion, you can never tell. He’s always been like wildfire — beautiful and destructive, with you as his perfect match, both flame and fuel. Where he goes, you follow, and where you tread, chaos follows close behind.

"Come on, Y/N. Let's see if King's Landing can still handle the Targaryen fire," he says, grabbing your hand.

You don’t resist. You never do. Together, you descend from the Red Keep, moving through secret corridors, slipping past guards who know better than to question the Targaryens. Before long, you find yourselves in the heart of the city, hidden beneath cloaks, though your silver hair still glimmers in the moonlight.

The streets are alive with tavern laughter, the scent of roasted meats mingling with the stench of the docks. The people are oblivious to the storm that has entered their midst — the storm that is you and Aerion.

You pull your hood tighter, trying to blend in, but your eyes flicker toward Aerion, who already looks bored. The son of King Maekar and the dragon-blooded Prince, playing the part of a commoner is never enough for him. You know that soon enough, something will catch his eye, and the mischief will begin.

It starts in the tavern, the first one you enter, Aerion buying drinks for everyone, a kingly act that draws attention. Your eyes follow his every move, his every laugh and gesture. His presence is magnetic, commanding the room with an ease that makes your heart race. You can feel it too — the eyes on you, the whispered words, the glances thrown in your direction.

You’ve always known what you and Aerion look like together — like gods among men, like fire and fury incarnate. There’s a thrill in it, the way people stop and stare, unable to look away, even if they want to.

It’s when Aerion, flushed from the wine, pulls you into the center of the tavern that the real scandal begins. With no care for the eyes upon you, he takes your hand and spins you, pulling you close, his mouth near your ear.

"Shall we give them something to talk about?" he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart races, but you know what he’s doing. You’re always part of the game, always part of the dance. With Aerion, you’re free — free from the expectations of court, free from the careful watch of the Red Keep, free from everything except each other.

Your answer is a smile, and that’s all he needs. His hands are at your waist, and you’re in his arms, moving through the tavern like it’s your personal stage. The music rises, and so do the gasps of the patrons as they watch you, a pair of dragon-blooded royals, tangled together in something far more intimate than a simple dance.

You’re aware of the scandalous way his hands linger at your waist, the way his mouth brushes against your hair, and you know the whispers that will spread from this night, but you don’t care. Not now. Not with Aerion.

The night spills into the streets, the two of you laughing, your bodies alive with the thrill of it all. You and Aerion, hand in hand, running through the city, lighting up the dark corners with your presence. There’s a wildness in him tonight, something untamed, something that only you can match.

By the time dawn breaks, King's Landing will be buzzing with rumors — rumors of the Targaryen siblings, of their wild night in the city, of their brazen disregard for propriety. But as you slip back into the Red Keep, your cloaks hiding your identities once more, you know that none of it matters.

Because for you and Aerion, the world outside is just that — outside. Here, in the fire you share, you are invincible. And no scandal, no whispers of the court, no disapproving glares from your family, can change that.

As the doors to your chambers close behind you, Aerion’s hand lingers at the small of your back, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar glint.

"They’ll be talking about us for weeks," he says, voice low, amused.

You smile, leaning into him, your hand resting on his chest. "Let them," you reply, your voice a soft challenge. "We’ll give them something more to talk about soon enough."

Aerion grins, and for a moment, the fire in his eyes burns just for you.

[thekingofwinterblog]

Franken Stein - Anime Vs Manga - Foils

As I've noted before, one of the more facinating things about comparing the later Soul Eater Anime vs the later Manga part is seeing and comparing the ways characters and themes follow similar lines, sometimes with wildly different outcomes, or quality of execution.

And one of the more interesting examples of this is how each incarnation handles Dr Franken Stein's descent into madness, and ultimately rejecting the abyss in it's own ways.

Both rely heavily on foils and contrasts, with the Anime using Stein's lovelife by contrasting his feelings for Marie Mjolnir with his deeply unhealthy attraction to Medusa, while the Manga uses the character of Justin Law to showcase why Stein ultimately rejected total madness.

Both have the same themes, but uses wildly different means to tell their story.

The anime's biggest difference here is that it actually has Stein fall to madness, while in the manga despite all temptations, and just how close he dances at the endge he never falls in.

This by it's very nature changes Stein's story to one of recovery, rather than temptation.

Because Anime Stein gives in, and the anime is not shy about illustrating just what a terrible choice doing so is.

The anime is also different in that it very much builds upon already established character and storylines in order to tell it's tale.

The anime takes the plotpoint of Crona betraying Stein to Medusa, and uses it as a springboard to further both Marie and Crona's characters as they deal with the aftermath of that choice.

This ultimately would likely not have happened if Crona had not fallen back into obeying Medusa again, and so Thematically, Crona's fate and redepmtion is tied to Stein's.

And while Crona is deeply, deeply regretful, Marie loves Stein and so deeply, deeply angry at both Crona and Medusa, while also wanting to reacue Stein.

However, this is just one side of the story, because Stein's actual fall is also rooted in the other character motivation that this direction uses to tell this tale.

And that is Medusa and her genuine, and toxic attraction to Stein.

Stein and Medusa ultimately are very similar people, both love taking things apary, both love chaos, and both are brilliant minds.

Their attraction to each others qualities are genuine... But that is all it is. Attraction. There is no love involved here, as neither actually cares about the other as a person.

These two only compliments the other in that they bring out the absolute worst aspects about the other. It is a relationship built on perverse attraction to their love for destrution and hedonism, very much a mirrior to Maka and Crona, who ends up being very important to this section of the story.

It is also a relationship built upon being the easy road. Whereas all the healthy relationships in the series are built around having to take the hard road with your loved ones, even when it hurts, medusa represents Stein just giving in to his madness, to jump off the abyss because he sees something destructive, tempting and interesting there.

Medusa additionally takes this a step into even further depravity by adding body possession into the mix, adding a third party into this mess, one withouth any capacity for concent... Which is made even worse by the fact that the person in question is a child.

Watching medusa and how much joy she takes in having twisted Stein to her will, it is crystal clear that she not only understands just how fucked up this entire thing is, but she REVELS in it.

It is frankly one of the most disturbing things in shonen anime and manga fiction period, and though thankfully it does not go all the way to the logical and disguisting endpoint, it still leaves the viewer both disguisted, disturbed and impressed just how EVIL Medusa really is.

And on the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Marie Mjolnir.

Whereas Medusa represents everything wrong about Stein's personality, Marie represents the opposite.

She represents Stein's caring side, his loyalty to his side and students, the man who was brave enough to stand alone against Medusa to buy his students time.

Hers and Stein's relationahip was one of genuine love, and understanding, not simply built on nothing but attraction and shared similarities.

Quite the the opposite, Stein and Marie could not be more different... And yet they love each other anyway.

I'll also note that the Anime portrays Marie and Stein's relationship in a different light than the manga does. In the manga, the entire point is to hammer in just how unlikely that these two people could ever fall for the other, while the Anime has the same premise but focuses on something else, namely how well this fits into Soul Eater's themes of different people coming together despite all their many, many differences.

When Stein ultimately makes the choice to go back to Marie, it doesnt feel like it's an unlikely choice, but instead one feels that it's the right one. It feels natural, that these two souls that fell away from each other once more found the other.

They are different people... But so what? They both have the bravery to gice this another shot, because they care about each other.

Also, just a bit of speculation on my part, but we never actually learn how Marie lost her eye in the phsyical world, but it shows up here, when she and Stein reaffirm their bond. That augfests to me that Marie probably lost the eye in circumstances that in some way meant something deep and profound between these two, given how important it seems to Stein.

If so, and especially if her losing it was Stein's fault in the first place, and mayhaps the reason they broke up, would add even more weight to her choice to gice this another go, forgiving him for his mistakes which deeply hurt her personally.

But again, this is total speculation.

Ultimately the Anime take on Stein is one that is defined by this contrast, the parallels and mirrors of Medusa and Marie, and Stein's ultimate choices between them.

Meanwhile, the Manga's foils is not between two differen people close to Stein, but instead about Stein himself as a mirror and foil to Justin Law.

Now let me be blunt. Justin Law is a very boring villain. There is very little compelling about him directly... But there is something compelling about the contrast between him and Stein.

Justin fell to madness because despite his rigid adherence to justice, honor and being a good person, he completely, and totally rejected any and all human bonds, with the only ones he made being made by complete accident, and ultimately he, in his madness, rejected even these.

He had no one to support him or draw strength from in his time of need, and so he fell to madness.

Meanwhile, Stein, despite being far, far more naturally inclined and much closer to madness from the get go, ultimately does not jump over the edge in the Manga... And the reason for that is his relationship with Marie Mjolner.

Ultimately Stein despite all his flaws devotes himself to Marie and helping her avenge her dead ex boyfriend.

And ultimately these two end up reconnecting their love just the anime, even to the degree that they get much further along in their reknit relationship than their manga counterparts.

However there are some massive differences between the two adaptions in this regard.

While the anime plays them getting back together again as a natural thing, the Manga instead plays up just how unbelievable and insane it is that these two somehow managed to reknit their relationahip, to the point where Marie actually protests that Stein is not her boyfriend, even as she is pregnant with his child.

I do actually like this take too... But I do prefer the Anime version, in large part because we actually get to see The critical turning point between Marie and stein, while the manga has their lighting the old flame happen offscreen.

It also helps that while the thematic differences between stein and Law are solid, Law is not a particularily interesting character, nor do him and Law have a deep connection.

Medusa is, and does have that connection. She is a delightfully EVIL and TWISTED villain, and her relationship with Stein makes the climax of Stain's arc, if much less of a spectacle, a much more emotional and thematically satisfying affair.

And thats even withouth factoring in the fact that this fight's outcome is actually about Crona, Maka and Medusa. Stein's fall and recovery is technically the sideplot, buy damn if it's not a great one.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! 🤍

For my second request, I'd love to request a college student! Tony Stark or a young! Tony Stark (after college) story for your Marvel Holiday Special, whichever one you prefer to write for.

I'm thinking of the prompt [ 8. First Christmas Together  – Share a special first holiday celebration with your character, complete with shared traditions and sweet moments. ] for him and Fem! Reader, with lots of cute moments such as buying/decorating a tree together, going to a Christmas market, exchanging sweet, thoughtful gifts, making peppermint hot chocolate, etc. (I understand if you can't fit all of this in; please feel free to pick and choose which ideas you'd like to write about the most.)

Thank you so much, and I'm looking forward to seeing all the stories you'll gift us this holiday season! 🤍

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's the first Christmas for you and Tony in your shared apartment and you are really excited: will it be a complete disaster or the best Christmas ever?

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff

ᯓ★ me when soft men and Christmas

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The biting December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the door swinging closed with a quiet thud behind you. Snowflakes drift lazily from a slate-gray sky, dotting the ground with a fresh layer of white, and the smell of pine and roasted chestnuts lingers faintly in the air. The shopping plaza is bustling with life, from bundled-up couples carrying oversized bags to kids chasing each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. Beside you, Tony Stark, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveys the scene like he’s about to conquer it.

“You realize,” he starts, cocking an eyebrow at the giant inflatable Santa looming above the store entrance, “this is all part of a grand capitalist scheme, right? They’re counting on saps like us to drop a small fortune on plastic snowflakes and gaudy lights.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as you step closer. “You say that now, but I saw how excited you got when I mentioned a tree. Don’t try to pretend you’re above it.”

“I’m excited because I’m picturing us building some kind of robot that lights the tree for us. Or—ooh, one that launches ornaments like tiny projectiles. Think about it: automated Christmas chaos.”

“Or we could just have a normal Christmas like normal people,” you suggest, looping your arm through his and steering him toward the store entrance. The warmth of his body seeps through the layers of your coat, and you feel a spark of giddiness bubbling in your chest. This isn’t just any Christmas; it’s your Christmas together, in your new apartment. The thought alone is enough to make your heart skip.

Tony hums noncommittally, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the automatic doors slide open. “Normal’s overrated. But fine, I’ll humor you. Lead on, holiday spirit incarnate.”

The store is a sensory overload of glitter and color, every aisle packed to the brim with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A soft instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” plays over the speakers, adding to the festive chaos. Tony lets out a low whistle as he takes it all in.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. This is…a lot,” he says, plucking a sparkly green bow from a nearby shelf and holding it up. “Tell me you don’t want me to wear this.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you reply, snatching it out of his hand, “but now that you mention it…”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your stomach flip. “You know, I’d do it for you. I’d make it look good, too.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you steer the cart down the first aisle. It’s stocked with strings of lights in every color imaginable, and you pause to inspect a box of classic white ones. Tony, naturally, zeroes in on something completely different.

“Multicolor. Obviously,” he says, holding up a box of lights that blink in erratic patterns. “This screams fun. And by fun, I mean mildly seizure-inducing, but hey, memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But I was thinking classic. White lights are elegant.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going for classy,” Tony says, resting an arm casually on the cart’s handle. “But come on, we’re young, living in sin, and this is our first Christmas in our place. It should be fun, not…a Martha Stewart catalog.”

You laugh despite yourself, considering his point. “Okay, fine. But we’re compromising. White lights for the tree, multicolor for…something else.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees, tossing the box of multicolored lights into the cart with an air of triumph. “This is how we build a healthy relationship. Compromising over Christmas decorations. Dr. Phil would be so proud.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, willingly cohabitating with me. Who’s the real winner here?”

You shake your head, but the warmth in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to be annoyed. Instead, you grab his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Come on, Stark. Let’s find a tree.”

The tree section is overwhelming, with rows upon rows of artificial evergreens of varying heights and degrees of realism. Tony takes it upon himself to test the sturdiness of each one by shaking them, earning a few disapproving looks from nearby shoppers.

“This one looks like it could survive an earthquake,” he says, gesturing to a six-foot tree with perfectly symmetrical branches. “What do you think?”

You inspect it critically, running your hand over the faux pine needles. “It’s nice, but…is it too perfect? I kind of like the ones that look a little…messy. More natural.”

Tony steps back, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. “You want messy? Oh, I can find messy. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come pre-infested with fake squirrels or something.”

“Fake squirrels?” you echo, laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“What can I say? My imagination is a gift.” He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning to scour the rows for the “perfectly imperfect” tree. The simple gesture sends a warm glow through you, and you find yourself marveling, not for the first time, at how easily he makes you feel cherished.

After some debate—and a bit of mild bickering—you settle on a slightly uneven but charmingly full tree that Tony immediately dubs “Frank.” The name sticks, and by the time you’re wheeling the cart toward the ornament aisle, you’re both brainstorming ways to make Frank the star of the apartment.

“Obviously, Frank needs a killer topper,” Tony says, scanning the shelves. “Something that says, ‘I’m the king of this Christmas.’ What about this?” He holds up a comically oversized star, glitter raining down from it as he tilts it from side to side.

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s a little…much.”

“That’s the point,” he insists, but you shake your head, and he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You pick. But if you pick something boring, I reserve the right to judge you.”

You smirk, holding up a simple yet elegant angel with golden wings. “How’s this?”

Tony eyes it for a moment before nodding. “It’s got class. I approve.”

“Good,” you reply, adding it to the cart. “Now let’s talk ornaments.”

Tony immediately gravitates toward the more unconventional options—a hamburger, a miniature disco ball, a tiny rocket ship. You can’t help but laugh as he piles them into the cart with zero hesitation.

“We’re going for eclectic, right?” he says, grinning at your expression.

“Eclectic is one way to put it,” you reply, picking up a box of glass baubles in varying shades of red and gold. “But I think we need a little balance.”

“Sure, sure. Balance.” He waves a hand dismissively before adding a dinosaur ornament to the pile. “Like this guy. He’s green, he’s festive, and he’s clearly balancing the holiday spirit with prehistoric flair.”

You groan, but it’s impossible to be annoyed with him. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks. By the time you make it to the checkout line, your cart is an eclectic mix of classic and quirky, much like the two of you.

As the cashier rings up your items, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and amused. “You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a store.”

“Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Even more fun than that time we got kicked out of IKEA?”

“That wasn’t fun; that was an adventure,” he replies, grinning. “This is different. This is…nice.”

His words, simple as they are, make your chest ache in the best way. You reach out, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It is.”

By the time you get everything loaded into the car and head back to the apartment, the snow has started falling harder, the flakes sticking to the windshield as the wipers sweep them away. Tony hums along to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio, and you can’t help but smile at how relaxed he looks, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his knee.

When you finally arrive home, the two of you haul your bags and the boxed-up tree upstairs, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. The apartment is warm and cozy, the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you lit earlier filling the air. Tony stretches out, his head resting in your lap as he looks up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Ready to turn this place into a winter wonderland?” he asks, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the two of you set to work, turning your shared space into something magical. Every ornament, every string of lights, every silly joke shared along the way feels like a promise—of love, of laughter, of a future together that’s as bright and colorful as the tree now standing proudly in the corner.

Tony sprawls out on the floor, an open box of ornaments beside him, his legs kicking lazily as he examines a particularly garish one: a glitter-covered pineapple. He holds it up to the light, squinting as if he’s inspecting a fine piece of art. “This one,” he declares, pointing at the pineapple and then at you with the seriousness of a presidential speech, “needs prime real estate. Front and center. It’s the kind of ornament that demands attention.”

You glance over from where you’re untangling a string of lights, your hands already glittery from the process. “It’s hideous. If it’s going on the tree, it’s going in the back where no one can see it.”

“Hideous?” Tony gasps, clutching the pineapple like it’s a wounded comrade. “This is a conversation starter. It says, ‘This tree belongs to people with taste and a sense of humor.’”

“It says, ‘This tree belongs to people who lost a bet,’” you counter, tossing a rogue light bulb into the trash pile.

He drops the ornament into the box with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch. “You have no appreciation for the avant-garde. Next, you’re going to tell me my disco-ball ornament doesn’t make the cut either.”

“Oh, that’s going on the tree,” you say with a smirk, plugging in the lights and watching them flicker to life. “I have to draw the line somewhere, but even I’m not heartless enough to deprive you of a tiny disco inferno.”

Tony grins, clearly victorious. “That’s the spirit. All right, let’s light this bad boy up.”

The two of you tackle the tree together, winding the lights around it in haphazard loops. Tony insists on controlling the rotation of the tree while you maneuver the lights, which leads to a fair amount of bickering, punctuated by his constant reminders to “watch the top—Frank’s got dignity, you know.”

“You named it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping over a stray ornament. “You’re not allowed to treat it like it’s a fragile piece of Renaissance art.”

“I named it because I care,” he replies loftily, holding the tree steady as you stretch up on your tiptoes to loop the lights higher. “And because I think Frank deserves respect for the sacrifices he’s making to be part of our inaugural Christmas.”

“He’s a fake tree, Tony.”

“Fake doesn’t mean he’s emotionless,” Tony quips, grinning at you. “I mean, look at me. A solid 50% of my charm is artificial, and I’m still delightful.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finally secure the last strand of lights. “Okay, fine, Frank. If you’re sentient, blink twice.”

Tony leans in close to the tree, squinting at the lights with mock intensity. “Was that a blink? Did you see it?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you pick up a box of ornaments. “Now let’s get to the fun part.”

Tony takes an unceremonious dive into the box, emerging with the hamburger ornament in one hand and a golden bauble in the other. “Burgers or boring?” he asks, holding them up like they’re dueling gladiators.

“Both,” you say, plucking the bauble from his hand and placing it carefully on the tree. “It’s called balance, remember?”

He makes a face but hangs the burger ornament on a branch anyway. “Fine, but I’m putting it next to the dinosaur for thematic consistency. Carnivores stick together.”

“Carnivores?” you repeat, laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“Hey, someone has to,” Tony says, standing back to survey his work. “Look at that. A prehistoric picnic. The tree’s already a masterpiece, and we’ve barely started.”

The decorating continues in a flurry of glitter, laughter, and occasional sabotage. Every time you carefully place a glass ornament, Tony finds a way to “accidentally” bump into the tree, sending it wobbling precariously.

“Oops,” he says innocently, steadying the trunk. “Guess Frank’s not as sturdy as we thought.”

“Keep doing that, and Frank’s going to end up on the curb,” you warn, pointing a candy-cane-shaped ornament at him like it’s a weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tony replies, his grin widening. “Not with all the blood, sweat, and glitter we’ve poured into this.”

“You’re testing me, Stark.”

“Oh, I live to test you,” he says with a wink, before dramatically hanging the pineapple ornament directly in the center of the tree. “There. Perfection.”

You groan, but you’re laughing too hard to argue. Instead, you reach for the tree topper—the angel you picked earlier—and hold it up for inspection. “Ready to crown Frank?”

Tony salutes you, stepping back to give you room. “Do it. Make him majestic.”

You climb onto the arm of the couch for a little extra height, balancing carefully as you place the angel on top of the tree. Tony’s hands hover near your waist, ready to catch you if you wobble.

“There,” you say, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “What do you think?”

Tony tilts his head, his arms crossed as he surveys the tree. “I think Frank’s looking sharp. A little eclectic, a little classy. Just like us.”

You smile, nudging his side. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “So, what’s next? Stockings? Mistletoe? A twenty-foot inflatable snowman for the balcony?”

“Stockings, yes. Mistletoe, maybe. The snowman? Absolutely not.”

“Buzzkill,” Tony mutters, but he’s grinning as he grabs a pair of stockings from one of the shopping bags. “Do we hang these by the nonexistent chimney with care? Or do we just toss them wherever and hope Santa’s GPS works?”

You snatch the stockings from him, rolling your eyes. “We hang them on the wall, genius. Like civilized people.”

As you arrange the stockings Tony rummages through another bag, producing a tangled mess of garland. He holds it up triumphantly. “What do you think? Wall art or trip hazard?”

“Knowing you? Both.”

He laughs, draping the garland over his shoulders like a boa. “You’re no fun. But fine, I’ll keep it classy. Where do you want it?”

After some debate—and an accidental garland lassoing incident—you manage to string it up along the window, adding a cozy, festive touch to the room. By the time you’re finished, the apartment feels transformed. The tree twinkles in the corner, the stockings hang proudly on the wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle still lingers in the air.

Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “All right, decorating queen. Come admire our masterpiece.”

You join him, tucking your feet under you as you lean against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the lights on the tree blink and twinkle.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual, “this actually turned out pretty great.”

“You sound surprised,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m not surprised,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I don’t know. It’s nice. Having this. With you.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and you tilt your head to look up at him. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his brown eyes warm and earnest.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your hand finding his. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand, his usual smirk returning as he glances at the tree. “Although I still say the pineapple should’ve been the topper.”

You groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Guess that makes me irresistible.”

“Or maybe I’m just a saint,” you reply, grinning up at him.

“Either way,” he says, settling back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, “this is shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.”

And as you sit there, the soft glow of the tree lighting up the room, you can’t help but agree.

The snow falls gently, blanketing the cobblestone streets of the Christmas market in a powdery white. Strings of twinkling lights are draped between booths, casting a warm glow over the bustling scene. The air is rich with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and sweet pastries, and the faint hum of Christmas carols played by a live quartet in the distance adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

You clutch Tony’s arm as the two of you wander through the market, your boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted ground. He’s wearing his favorite dark coat, the one that hugs his shoulders just right, and a red scarf that you gave him last Christmas. The scarf is slightly askew, and it makes him look effortlessly charming in that disheveled way only he can pull off.

“You know,” he says, his breath puffing out in little clouds, “this place is like a booby trap for wallets. Everywhere you turn, something’s glittering and saying, ‘Buy me! Buy me!’ It’s diabolical.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on his arm. “It’s a Christmas market, Tony. That’s kind of the point.”

He grins, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, well, just remember, you’re in charge of stopping me from buying a chocolate fountain or a solid gold Santa.”

“Solid gold Santa? That’s oddly specific.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a booth for it somewhere. Maybe next to the artisanal hot chocolate stand.”

As if on cue, you pass a booth selling gourmet hot chocolate, complete with toppings ranging from whipped cream to crushed candy canes. Tony slows, glancing at the display with obvious interest.

“Should we?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Tony, we’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already caving,” you tease, pulling him away gently. “Let’s at least make it past the first aisle before we start buying things.”

“Fine, but I’m circling back for it,” he says, shooting the booth a longing look as you guide him onward.

The market is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Every booth offers something unique: hand-carved wooden toys, blown glass ornaments, cozy knit scarves, and even quirky items like soap shaped like reindeer. Tony, naturally, gravitates toward the most absurd finds.

“Look at this!” he exclaims, holding up a ceramic frog wearing a Santa hat. “Tell me this isn’t peak holiday spirit.”

“It’s…something,” you admit, trying not to laugh. “But do we really need a festive frog in our lives?”

“We don’t need it, but we deserve it,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really going to deny Frank the Frog a warm, loving home?”

You snatch the frog from his hands, placing it back on the display. “Frank the Frog will have to find a family that appreciates him more than we do.”

“Cold,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as you move on. “Heartless. And here I thought you were the soft one in this relationship.”

You glance back at him, smirking. “You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you,” he replies, falling into step beside you again. “I also know you’re going to want to buy something completely impractical any minute now. And when you do, I’ll be ready to gloat.”

“Fat chance,” you say, but you can already feel your resolve slipping as you pass a booth selling intricately detailed snow globes. One of them catches your eye—a small, delicate scene of a snow-covered village illuminated from within. You reach out to pick it up, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside.

Tony sidles up next to you, a smug grin on his face. “And here it is. The impractical thing.”

“It’s not impractical,” you protest, cradling the snow globe carefully. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s also one more thing for me to dust,” he teases, but there’s no bite to his words. He leans closer, examining the globe with genuine interest. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s pretty cool. But do we really need it?”

You hesitate, your fingers curling around the base of the globe. “Probably not,” you say reluctantly, setting it back down. “But if I’m not allowed to buy the snow globe, you’re definitely not allowed to buy Frank the Frog.”

“Deal,” he says with a laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next aisle. “We’ll save our money for something really ridiculous.”

The snow continues to fall, soft and steady, as you explore more of the market. Tony insists on sampling every food item in sight—gingerbread, roasted chestnuts, candied almonds—and you can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up with each new bite.

“This,” he says, holding up a stick of caramel-dipped apple slices, “is how you do a Christmas market. Pure sugar, zero regrets.”

“You’re going to crash so hard later,” you warn, nibbling on one of the apple slices he offers you.

“Worth it,” he replies, his tone entirely unapologetic. “Besides, I’m burning calories walking in circles and fending off your bad taste in snow globes.”

“Watch it,” you say, swatting his arm lightly. “Or I’ll let you buy something ridiculous just to prove a point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replies, grinning. “You’re too responsible for that.”

“Don’t test me,” you warn, though you’re smiling too.

Eventually, the two of you come across a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one painted with intricate designs. Tony picks up one shaped like a tiny sled, examining it with a critical eye.

“Okay, this one’s actually pretty cool,” he says, holding it out to you. “And it’s functional. In an emergency, we could probably use it to deliver tiny presents.”

You laugh, taking the ornament from him. “I don’t think it’s meant for that, but it’s cute. Should we get it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “Frank the Tree deserves at least one classy ornament.”

“Classy? From the guy who wanted to buy a glittery pineapple?”

“Hey, I contain multitudes,” he says with a shrug, handing over cash to the vendor.

With the ornament carefully tucked away in a bag, you and Tony continue your stroll through the market, the lights twinkling above you like stars. He keeps a running commentary on everything you pass—mocking the price of hand-knitted mittens, marveling at the craftsmanship of a miniature nativity scene, and cracking jokes about a booth selling gourmet dog treats.

“Do you think they’d let us try one?” he asks, holding up a bone-shaped biscuit labeled ‘peanut butter delight.’

“Tony, no,” you say, laughing as you drag him away.

By the time you reach the end of the market, your hands are full of small treasures—a bag of candied almonds, the sled ornament, and a knit scarf that Tony insisted would “complete your winter aesthetic.” The snow has begun to stick to your hair and his, and the cold is starting to nip at your cheeks.

“This was a good call,” Tony says, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as you head back toward the entrance. “Although I’m still not sure how we managed to resist buying the frog.”

“Self-control,” you reply, leaning into him. “A concept you’re not usually familiar with.”

“Hey, I’ve got self-control,” he says, feigning offense. “I just choose to apply it sparingly.”

You laugh, your breath puffing out in the cold air. “Well, I’m proud of us. We didn’t blow our entire budget on useless stuff.”

“Not entirely useless,” he corrects. “The sled ornament is both decorative and practical, remember?”

“Right,” you say, grinning up at him. “It’s a critical investment.”

He smirks, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. “Exactly. And anyway, the best part of the market wasn’t the stuff we bought. It was spending the evening with you.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you pause for a moment, looking up at him as the snow falls softly around you. The twinkling lights of the market reflect in his eyes, and the grin on his face softens into something more sincere.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, though your voice is full of affection.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you gently, the cold of his lips quickly warming against yours.

The two of you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the magic of the market, the snow falling around you like a scene from a movie. It’s one of those moments you’ll tuck away and remember years from now—simple, sweet, and perfect in its own way.

As you pull apart, Tony grins, slipping his hand into yours. “Come on, let’s go find that hot chocolate stand. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” you agree, your fingers lacing through his as you head back toward the market, ready to end the evening on a sweet note.

The smell of something burning wafts through the apartment as you step out of the bedroom, pulling on your favorite fuzzy socks. It's a warm, cozy kind of Christmas Eve, with snow falling softly outside and the apartment glowing with fairy lights. Except for one thing—the scent hanging in the air doesn’t scream “cozy Christmas.” It screams, “Tony Stark’s been unsupervised in the kitchen.”

“Tony?” you call, heading toward the source of the smell. “What’s going on in there?”

“No need to panic!” his voice answers, though it’s far from reassuring. “Everything’s under control.”

You round the corner into the kitchen to find him standing at the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. There’s a pot on the burner, filled with what can only be described as a charred, lumpy mess, and a thin haze of smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling.

“Under control?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your definition of control?”

Tony glances at the pot and then back at you, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. “It’s a minor setback. I was…experimenting.”

“With what? Kitchen sabotage?”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter as though the mess behind him doesn’t exist. “For your information, I was attempting to make homemade peppermint hot chocolate. Thought I’d surprise you. But apparently, chocolate has a vendetta against me.”

Your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile. “Let me guess. You burned it?”

“Burned is a strong word,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’d say it’s more… caramelized.”

You peer into the pot, wrinkling your nose. “Tony, this isn’t caramelized. It’s cremated.”

“Details,” he replies breezily, but you can see the frustration behind his teasing tone.

You sigh, stepping closer and nudging him aside gently. “Okay, chef, move over. Let’s salvage this disaster.”

Tony steps back, his arms raised in surrender, watching as you turn off the burner and grab a fresh pot. “You’re really just going to take over? No faith in my culinary prowess?”

“I have faith in many of your skills,” you reply, dumping the ruined chocolate into the trash. “Cooking? Not one of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But in my defense, it’s chocolate. You melt it, you stir it, you drink it. How hard can it be?”

You grab a bar of good-quality chocolate from the pantry and start breaking it into pieces, throwing him a look. “Clearly harder than you thought.”

Tony chuckles, watching you work. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My moment of weakness.”

“A little,” you admit, your lips curving into a smile as you measure out milk and pour it into the pot. “But mostly I’m wondering how you managed to mess it up so badly. Did you even melt the chocolate?”

“Define ‘melt,’” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shaking your head as you stir the milk over low heat. “Okay, new rule: You’re not allowed near the stove unless I’m supervising.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests, hopping down from the counter and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his breath tickles your ear. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Your heart softens, and you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze. “It does,” you say, your voice gentle. “But maybe next time, start with something less…flammable?”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “All right, teach me, master chef. How do we make the perfect peppermint hot chocolate?”

You laugh, handing him the whisk. “First, you don’t burn the chocolate. Now, stir the milk gently while I add the chocolate pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, adopting a mock-serious tone as he starts whisking. His movements are a little overdramatic, and the milk splashes slightly, but it’s endearing.

“Gentle, Tony,” you say, biting back a smile as you add the chocolate. “This isn’t an arm workout.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he quips, his grin unapologetic. “I’ve only got one speed: full throttle.”

The chocolate begins to melt, turning the milk a rich, velvety brown. Tony leans in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration. “Okay, this part’s kind of fun. It’s like alchemy.”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “The alchemy of not burning things.”

As the hot chocolate comes together, you grab a bottle of peppermint extract and hold it up. “Now for the magic ingredient. Just a couple of drops.”

Tony watches as you add the peppermint, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. “Smells amazing,” he says, his tone genuine. “Almost makes up for the fact that I nearly burned down the apartment.”

“Almost,” you agree, giving the mixture one last stir before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

As you pour the hot chocolate, Tony wanders over to the counter, his movements casual—but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can question it, he points upward.

You follow his gaze and spot a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “When did you—?”

“Earlier,” he says, his grin widening. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You shake your head, setting the mugs down and stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice softening as he leans in.

You meet him halfway, his lips warm against yours despite the cold air outside. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, and when you pull back, his eyes are brighter than the Christmas lights strung around the room.

“Mistletoe is definitely your best idea today,” you say, your voice teasing but full of affection.

“Better than cremated chocolate?” he asks, feigning surprise.

“Much better,” you reply, laughing as you hand him his mug. “Now, let’s see if this is worth the trouble.”

The two of you settle on the couch, blankets draped over your legs as you sip the hot chocolate. It’s rich and creamy, with just the right hint of peppermint, and you can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“This is perfect,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See what happens when you let me help?”

He nudges you playfully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the hot chocolate queen. But next year, I’m making it on my own. No supervision.”

“You’re never living this down, Tony,” you reply, grinning up at him. “But nice try.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, the snow falling outside and the warmth of his arms making it the perfect end to the day.

The apartment is quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace video looping on the TV and the faint hum of Christmas music in the background. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from the tree lights, the perfect backdrop for the growing pile of wrapping paper at your feet. It's Christmas morning, and for the past half-hour, you and Tony have been exchanging gifts, both of you trying (and mostly failing) to keep your emotions in check.

Tony’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the pajamas you picked out for him—flannel pants and a red shirt that says “Official Cookie Tester.” His hair is a mess from sleep, and he looks so boyishly excited every time he hands you a new box that you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

Your own pile of gifts so far includes a pair of earrings that match the necklace he got you last year, a first edition of your favorite book, and a framed photo of the two of you from your first vacation together, one of his rare sweet gestures that never fail to make your heart swell.

“Okay, your turn,” you say, handing him a flat, rectangular box with a silver bow.

He narrows his eyes at it playfully, shaking it gently. “Feels suspiciously light. Did you get me socks?”

“I’d never waste good wrapping paper on socks,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Just open it.”

He flashes you a grin before tearing into the paper, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees what’s inside. It’s a custom leather-bound notebook embossed with his initials—a thoughtful, elegant gift you’d spent weeks planning.

“I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately,” you explain, watching his face closely. “I figured you could use something a little more…official.”

Tony runs his fingers over the cover, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. Then he looks up at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He clears his throat, a telltale sign he’s feeling emotional, and sets the notebook carefully aside before grabbing a box from behind him. “All right, your turn,” he says, handing it to you with a slightly smug expression. “Let’s see if I can top that.”

You laugh, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a delicate bracelet inlaid with tiny gemstones, each one sparkling in the light. It’s understated but stunning—classic Tony.

Your breath catches as you lift it out of the box, and you glance up at him. “Tony, this is—”

“—just a little something,” he interrupts, brushing off your awe with a wave of his hand. “Figured you could use more jewelry to match your impeccable taste.”

You set the bracelet down carefully and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.”

He hugs you back, his hand warm against your back. “Love you more,” he murmurs, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

When you pull back, you swipe at your eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, before I cry and ruin the moment, I think it’s time for the last gifts.”

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Tony says, his grin returning as he reaches for a small, sloppily wrapped box on the coffee table. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You hand him a box of your own, equally poorly wrapped, and exchange a knowing look. “You first,” you say, gesturing to his gift.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips into the paper with an enthusiasm usually reserved for high-stakes projects, and when he finally pulls out the contents, he freezes. His hand lifts the small ceramic frog in a Santa hat—the one you’d teased him about at the Christmas market.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“Way,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I couldn’t let Frank the Frog end up in someone else’s house. He belongs with us.”

Tony stares at the frog, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. Then he looks at you, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and affection. “You are ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you bought this.”

“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He sets the frog carefully on the coffee table, like it’s a priceless artifact, and then leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering. “You’re the best,” he whispers. “Seriously. This might be the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, though your cheeks flush at his words.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing to the box in your lap. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

You laugh, unwrapping the box, and the moment you see what’s inside, your laughter turns to a choked gasp. It’s the snow globe from the Christmas market—the one with the tiny snow-covered village you couldn’t stop staring at.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice wavering.

“I did,” he replies, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Figured if I couldn’t have Frank the Frog, the least I could do was make sure you got this.”

You lift the globe out of the box, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

“Tony…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t start crying,” he warns, though his own eyes are suspiciously bright. “You’re gonna set me off.”

You laugh wetly, shaking your head as you set the snow globe on the coffee table next to the frog. “I can’t believe we both bought the stupid things.”

He laughs too, leaning back against the couch with an incredulous shake of his head. “We’re a mess.”

“A perfect mess,” you correct, leaning against him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Agreed. And now Frank and the snow globe can live happily ever after. A Christmas miracle.”

You snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice smug but affectionate.

You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, I do.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, he grins. “Best Christmas ever?”

“Best Christmas ever,” you agree, snuggling into his side as the snow falls softly outside, and the room fills with laughter and love.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[Key]

-💕means it has sexual content/Implied sexual content..

-💔means it is an angst fic

-😍means it is a family fic

-💘means it is an angst fic with a happy ending.

-🚫means it contains a Trigger Warning.

-➤

─ ★

─ ★Dorian "Zib" Zibowski

Zib in a Rut blurbs-💕

Men who moan

"i can hold the whole world in my hands"

─ ★Sedegewick "Wick" Sable

Wick in a rut blurb-💕

Men who whimper

"i can hold the whole world in my hands"

─ ★Calvin "Freckle" Allen McMurray

Freckle in a rut blurbs-💕

Freckle with a clingy s/o

─ ★Rocky Rickaby

Rocky in a rut blurbs-💕

want a romantic Rocky x male!reader

"i can hold the whole world in my hands"

Men who moan.

Rocky as a girl dad

Rocky with a shy!fem reader.

Rocky noticing his S/O is in heat

Rocky with a clingy s/o

Comforting an insecure reader

─ ★Viktor Vasko

Viktor in a Rut blurbs-💕

"i can hold the whole world in my hands"

Viktor in a relationship with a crybaby!Reader.

Viktor sharing the reader with Mordecai

Viktor having a child that's a runt

Viktor with twin girls

do Viktor x reader, like where his wife is pregnant

Viktor being late to his daughters birth

Teasing Viktor until he snaps💕

─ ★Mordecai Heller

Mordecai in a rut blurbs-💕

"i can hold the whole world in my hands"

Mordecai sharing the reader with Viktor

Mordecai having a child that's a runt.

Mordecai Heller x pregnant!Reader

Mordecai having a child who is just chaos incarnate like Rocky.

Second time's the charm

Mordecai with a pregnant reader

Comforting an insecure reader

─ ★Nicodeme Savoy

Nico rut hc's

─ ★Images I happen to like!

-➤- 1:

-➤- 2: Humanized Mordecai and Viktor

-➤- 3: Baby rocky and Freckle, baby mordecai

-➤- 4:Valentines cards

-➤- 5: Valentines cards { Pt2}

-➤- 6: Humanized Zib / Zib { i love him so much }

-➤-7:Viktor in a suit 🥰

-➤-8: this and this...no words

[chungledown-bimothy]

I didn’t mind K2 that much, but that nat 20 was supposed to be Kristen’s. And it would’ve been better if it was

i think that's what most of my k2 issue boils down to- she took a lot of moments that could have been huge for kristen, both good and bad.

this being of chaos incarnate getting clutch roll after clutch roll, to me, flies entirely in the face of "chaos isn't cute", which is a huge and important thing kristen really needed to learn.

over and over again, k2's chaos was rewarded, and i find that extremely frustrating.

[strangerpsychofficeparks]

Time to play Guess the Fandom!

This fandom began by focusing on six protagonists (less so nowadays, when things have branched off to focus on other characters and plotlines). There have been many earlier incarnations/versions of this universe, but this post is focusing on the most popular incarnation that began approximately 15 years ago.

Character 1 is crazy smart and gifted, getting their powers primarily from this intelligence. Not initially a team player, 1 does have a close and trusting bond with a personal assistant of the opposite gender. 1 initially seems to focus on their own achievements, but their development throughout the franchise created a selfless hero who will do whatever it takes to help others. (1 is typically seen by the writers and fans as the central character of the franchise.)

Character 2 is down to earth, blond, and known for their traditional values. 2's main ability in terms of actual "powers" is raw physical strength, though they're often looked to as the moral guiding force on the team.

Character 3 is confident and sticks by their loved ones, even when they have hurt Character 3. This character is a tad boastful at times, and they're known for controlling weather, flying, and traveling insanely quickly through a multicolored method in the sky that's impossible to miss. Though they seem like the "dumb jock" of the group, they're actually quite smart if you pay attention.

Character 4 is an expert in their field who mostly wants a peaceful and private life. 4 seems pretty shy and mild-mannered, but you do not want to see them get angry. Over time, this character has developed a support system and grown more comfortable in their skin.

Character 5 is a softie with a deep love of family. Though 5 lives with children, their signature move is shooting projectiles with an iconic weapon.

Character 6 seems like just another pretty face but actually uses her appearance and feminity as a weapon when need be. 6 also loves her feisty younger sister despite some fights they have had.

A chaos god serves as a primary villain for the franchise. After betraying and causing problems for the main heroes, he is eventually redeemed through his friendship with one of the main characters.

There are also six stones of various colors that maintain balance in this universe. Because of this, fans of this franchise attempt to match each of the six characters with the stone that most matches that character's role on the team.

Did I just describe the MCU or My Little Pony?

[skaruresonic]

IMO, Sonic being Maria's reincarnation could be a cute idea in isolation, but it risks taking away Sonic's agency and identity by revealing him to be the spirit of someone else, making it easy for fans to just see him as Maria in a hedgehog's body rather than his own being. Not to mention it gives SA2's lore even more extra priority over the rest of Sonic's expansive history.

Have you ever played Silent Hill 3? They treat reincarnation in much the same manner. Heather Mason is Alessa Gillespie's reincarnation in the sense that they share the same soul and even some of the same memories, but Heather doesn't define herself as Alessa. They remain two separate entities in spite of the link.

---

making it easy for fans to just see him as Maria in a hedgehog's body rather than his own being.

How am I making it easy for them when they do that anyway? At least this idea makes more sense than most iterations and doesn't require wishing the disability away.

Obviously I'd never call it iron-clad canon, but the idea has such a powerful thematic allure that it's difficult to ignore. It really resonates with who and how Sonic is as a person. I'm not nearly objective enough to snub my nose at the fanfic fuel.

Don't get hung up on the "reincarnation" part. He's still Sonic. He doesn't define himself as Maria because Maria no longer exists. That's the whole point. Sonic is all about looking toward the next adventure and taking action when you can, not dwelling on the past. He is the embodiment of the hope that she wanted to bring to humanity, as cool and blue as the planet she admired.

I'm not saying Sonic literally is Maria. Think more thematically. Think about the kind of wisdom he offers when he tells Merlina to appreciate life in the limited time we have. Maybe he's been there. Think about the empathy he displays when he says sealing Chaos away won't solve its anguish and turmoil. Maybe he's seen this before. It doesn't necessarily have to detract from his person because he is ultimately the one doing and saying these things.

Plus, I just think the idea has the potential to be as funny as it is poignant.

Maria dies by gunshot, so her spirit's like "fuck this, next incarnation I'm going to be SHREDDED" and pours all of its stats into strength and speed. This time I'm going to dance circles around bullet fire.

Oh, my immune system was weak? Next time it's going to be so strong that sniffing flowers makes my hay fever act up.

Oh, bitchass Ivo is threatening the planet? He's going to hear boss music by the time I roll up, lmao

[fleetways]

OKAY! It’s time for the Chimera Baby Lore Post!!

🌼 How did you come up with the OC's name?

In both a meta and non-meta sense, Chimera Baby’s name is probably the most notable part about them. The name Chimera Baby is a reference to m-flo and LiSA’s Tripod Baby, ft in the game Shadow the Hedgehog. For over 6 months that was her official non-official name, as I couldn’t decide on a name for her. I received over 15 name suggestions, but in July I ran a poll at which point she was dubbed Mira!

As it turns out, Mira happens to be the name of a binary star system. Two stars in a dance doomed to end in supernova—rather fitting for a chimera character, wouldn’t you say? I like to imagine Shadow was the one to name Mira something meaningful and space-themed like that, meanwhile Sonic named the other child something totally arbitrary (“His name is Mochi because he's white lol”)

On that note, I’ve also decided Sonic calls Mira “Chili” exclusively, because its silly and he would. So Mira, Chimera Baby, CB, and Chili are all names she goes by!

🌸 How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

I like to depict them anywhere from baby to teenager, but in their most recent incarnation I’d say they’re somewhere between 15-17

💖 Do they have any love interest(s)?

At the moment no. She’s generally too aloof and off putting for anyone to approach her with romantic intent, but maybe in the future….

🍓What is their favorite food?

Strawberries and Triangle Chao Fruit

⭐️ What do they do for a living?

💥 Do they have any hobbies?

Besides combat training, CB enjoys the occasional outdoor activity. Sometimes her friends goad her into a game of soccer (which she is an absolute beast at), but she generally prefers solo sports such as archery, rock climbing, or hiking. Sometimes her brother convinces her to fish with him, but she finds it pretty boring (but would never turn him down)

💃 What do they do best?

Mira excels at hand-to-hand combat. As the reigning champion of Chao Karate, Mira takes their martial arts training very seriously. They also possess exemplary control over chaos energy, and incorporates this into their technique. While they may not be as fast as their fathers, they make up for it with not just raw power, but an extremely disciplined technique.

Her skills also happen to make her an amazing breakdancer, but she’ll break your face if you ask her to demonstrate.

☀️ What is one of your OC's best memories?

A tie between making her baby brother laugh for the first time and the time she drew first blood for the first time in a fight with Shadow

🌧️ What is one of your OC's worst memories?

The aftermath of almost drowning as a child after she saved a chao friend.

✍️ Is their current design the first one?

For the most part—I did redesign their shoes because originally they were rocking some McDonalds drip.

💡What originally inspired the OC?

This post i made ^^

Basically its a mix of me poking fun at the phenomena of Sonadow fan-children all looking kinda similar, and this plush reminding me of actual chimerism in animals and wanting to create a character with that characteristic! Over the months my ironic love for her has grown into genuine fondness—so while she remains primarily as a parody, she’s also a character I’m having fun exploring concepts with <3 Much like both Shadow and Sonic the Hedgehog, you can take her as seriously or not seriously as you wish!

👾 What genre do they belong in?

PS1-era graphics Jet Set Radio game

🏳️‍🌈 What is your OC's gender identity and sexuality?

Non-binary and trans (you decide what direction). And she’s bisexual bc i love bisexuals <3

🍃How many sibling does your OC have?

One little brother Mochi—he is a perfect angel who is also her closest friend. She adores him, but you wouldn’t know from seeing them interact.

⚠️ What is the OC's relationship w/their parents like?

So I mentioned that Mira was reared in a chao garden, where her dads basically only visited once every couple days if not longer (Sonic and Shadow are not very attentive parents, go figure). However, this was honestly a perfectly fine arrangement as I headcanon mobian children don’t need the same level of parental contact as human children (Hell, Cream is kind of an outlier FOR having a present parental figure in her life).

That being said, I imagine Shadow spent more time with her when she was really young before stepping away, which made her really latch onto Shadow more than Sonic during that time. Especially seeing as Sonic is the most laissez-faire parent ever but simultaneously was the type to abandon her on a floating platform in midair with a trail of badniks so she can learn how to homing attack.

Much like her father before her, her latent Black Arms genes have caused her to develop a burning desire to destroy Shadow—a fact that Shadow seems strangely indifferent about. While this fact has pretty much wrecked their previous relationship, there are circumstances where Mira will put aside her goal and work with Shadow against a common enemy or towards a common objective (of course, this doesn’t stop her from trying to stab him in the back during these operations).

Her relationship with Sonic has remained mostly the same, with Sonic treating her much more like a friend or little sister than a daughter. They have lunch together at least once a month, and usually she’ll go to him for advice on any social interaction matter—conversations that have become much more frequent now that she’s begun to make friends.

💗 What do you like most about the OC?

I think I popped off with her design—chimerism is such an interesting concept and I loved balancing her two sets of genes without making it seem too busy. I also love her dynamic of trying to kill Shadow and how you would think her growing up in chao garden basically alone would have contributed to that, but that's not the case at all she’s just like that <3

‼️ Who is your OC's arch-nemesis or rival?

Shadow the Hedgehog is her self-proclaimed nemesis, but she makes a fair share of enemies and rivals wherever she goes due to her punch-first-ask-questions-later attitude. One notable rival is another OC of mine named Sauvik the Badger—another cold and brooding anti-hero much like her. Sauvik and Mochi are something of a team, but being a protective big sister she wants him to stay away from her brother. This generally leads to a fight that Mochi is inevitably forced to break up.

⏰ How long have you had the OC?

She was created in January of 2023!

—

That’s all! Feel free to ask any other questions and remember to vote for her here!

@sonic-oc-showdown

[therealslimshakespeare]

From Sarge’s kids I think I’m (as of now) excited to learn more about Daisy. She’s got a lot of Elvis in her and she witnesses Elaine go to hell and back to help him beat his addiction and although she’s independent I hope there’s gonna be someone who will be able to do the same for her or stand by her. Not to mention she’s got a twin who they come off as polar opposites (what with Rosalee being a huge Daddy’s girl) and her comments towards her older sister Ella’s marriage - I get the feeling there’s a lot to unpack there.

I think sometimes Elvis felt like he was too much to love and I see a lot of his personal insecurities in Daisy, she even is a popstar like him and that’s a lot of people loving you with maybe them feeling like they aren’t really known for who they are deep down.

I am so happy to hear this, I’ve got a little started on each kid’s own fic (I want one for each like I had for Jesse, just to establish them and then let loose with the intermingling) and I really think hers is compelling. It’s been truly a blast to get to know her and I’ve gotta be honest she may be the most Lisa-like of any Sarge kid in many ways, partly because she’s so Elvis incarnate. It took awhile but me and my scheming buddies have cooked up a good partner for her and she will always have her family as backup and even her godfather Marlon. I think she will, as you said, be publicly adored but can be rather offputting one on one, even though she desperately needs connection. I think eventually, and not after too long, all these relationships get far better, and Daisy finds her little nook in the family easily. She is the one to go to for the zero bullshit takes or help hiding a body. Loyal and fierce that one.

And here, since you made my day asking about her, have a little random snippet I’ve written about her first big debut recording which came from her rehab scribbles and, unfortunately for the family members her lyrics feature -becomes a sensation.

Era: 1978-9ish??

Warnings: moderate…mentions of past divorce, infidelity, a daughter sorta writing a hit tell all? remincence of a one off threesome and Elvis having straight man panic for it (I’m afraid this couple is polyamorous central I’m the 60’s but nothing explicit) big ole family chat with the grown kids, chaos as can be expected…

What about Wendy?

“Daisy Mae!” Elvis bellows her full name because the crime warrants it, and from behind him, her voice answers, not in person from her place sprawled on the couch but behind him, coming through the stereo in a clear cadence that his creative side must acknowledge is skilled and evocative. What Elvis doesn't find so praiseworthy is his Dear Daughter hanging the family laundry out for all to see with lyrics like:

—“So I'll lock the window and turn on the AC, You'll throw your rocks, and you'll scream that you hate me, But it gets old being forever 20, And what about my wings? What about Wendy?”—

out on a clothesline for all the world to commentate on his failings and his marriage.

The music video coming out tomorrow on MTV, teased as featuring a fresh faced Daisy in a montage of her mother’s most iconic looks -including that secretive wedding gown so few of the nation ever saw, rather hammers home the not so subtle point. As far as Elvis is concerned this is about as disloyal as it gets.

And he is having none of it.

“It’s art, Daddy.” Daisy murmurs, utterly unphased by the hurricane of wrath she can match once she gets that cup of coffee Rosalee is making her.

“Is this how you see us?” Elvis demands and Jesse winces to the side, things had been going so smoothly after Danny was born but lord, the Presley’s just can’t manage to be calm for long, Daisy had to record that stupid black book she scribbled in during rehab and, my does it have some choice takes on the events of the last decade. “This how you see your childhood?” Elvus goes on, “Where we loved ya like no one’s ever loved any kids and gave ya everythin’ and-“

“-and slammed a buncha doors in between.“ Daisy shrugs, not meaning to be cruel, but it’s the truth and she’s never had her sibling’s affinity for the affection that the rest of the kids take as blood money for the insanity they got put through. Daisy doesn't hold a grudge against anyone for her childhood, in fact, she’s thankful for the writing material. But she’s not gonna be sorry for writing shit as it was.

Which was mama playing a haggard Wendy while Daddy flitted in and out of the window at whim like Peter Pan.

“Girl,” her daddy begs her to understand as he takes his seat next to her on the sofa, big ringed hand familiar and pleading on her bony knee, as if somehow this appeal of his will lock the song back into her diary and out of the radio -or maybe he doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, he’s gotten lax about that after the divorce, maybe he really is seeking after his child’s good opinion this time when he continues, “I’m all for art’n’shit but have I not taught ya nothin’ bout-“

“Daddy, ya didn’t even write your own songs.” Daisy gently tries to get him to see the difference in their art but Jesse gasps out in horror:

“Daisy!!” like she just shot their father instead of stating the truth. Which is kinda her problem with her family, they can’t take straight facts.

“Alright, alright then,” Elvis simmers a bit but his tone is restrained as he presses his point, “so ya write from the heart and ya wrote about life, I get ya. So then why’d you call mama Wendy when, w-w-when she’s -she’s my Tinkerbell?”

“You’d rather I used your pet little name in public?” Daisy scoffs at his muddled logic and feels bad for the first time after -soon as his brow furrows in genuine hurt. Daddy loves mama, he loves her again like a new man and Daisy doesn’t get how that works but it’s the truth and she’s got no fight to pick with the truth. It makes her admit with a shrug, “I used it ‘cause Marlon always says she’s Wendy.”

You could hear a pin drop the way everyone’s chatter in the living room stops, even the coffee maker stops spluttering in the distance and it’s highly likely Jesse isn’t even breathing as everyone’s head’s swivel, Daddy’s slower but more intent than any, to look at Elaine where’s she sits in the white arm chair, blanket cast over her where Danny fell asleep while nursing. She’s as white as the rocker she sits in.

“Oh does he now?” Elvis rumbles and Daisy feels the unintentional bite of his nails on her knee.

“Well yeah, he does and -always has.” Daisy insists as if the past and present existence of Brando’s opinions on Elvis’ wife makes shit any better, Daisy knows it the second she lets it out that it’s not exactly balm on the scab.

Her voice doesn't make anyone look away from mama and her perfect, frozen face, carefully neutral and soothingly disinterested in the topic.

“That man has only ever called me, Elaine.” mama laughs an airy, dismissive little thing and the bite of Daddy’s rings on Daisy’s knee loosens their grip. “And if he thinks i'm a Wendy -he should say it to my face.” she jokes and Jesse predictably lets out a pained laugh of solidarity.

“-A-a-and w-who the hell did ya get to sew all those recreated outfits, girl?” Daddy is suddenly back on the original topic with a burst of renewed incredulity at her gall and Daisy knows she can use this to her advantage, get him arguing about fashion, tailors and supporting local folks instead of berating her for her lyrics and-

-Ella watches as Elaine’s stiff face smoothes into relief and she lays her head back against the rocker’s cushion and closes her eyes against the hubbub that’s no longer pertinent to her. Not for the first time Ella wonders if mama is as burdened as she is with thoughts and feelings married women shouldn’t have, they really shouldn’t. Marriage should cure a woman of them but Ella had them all alone on the ranch with her husband gone and Mama had Marlon and his lingering looks and her frozen face whenever his name gets mentioned and mama who is staring up at the ceiling like she’s no longer in the room with them at all.

“Peter Pan, Peter Pan, little lost boy actin’ like a big man,” only Marlon could have made that rhyme sound like anything but a goad, only Marlon really saw what Elaine saw when Elvis was sated, pliable, sweet as a newborn and pretty a sin. “Those producers who’ve got him playin’ tough n’ shit don’t know his appeal, they just don’t get it. Goddamn Peter Pan.”

And he had run his fingers over Elvis’ face, catching his drooping eyelids and pulling them down and over his nose to those cherub lips. And Elvis’ eyes hadn’t opened again till next morning when he woke in angry panic.

Elaine stares at the ceiling and feels Danny shift against her breast, snuggling closer, and she wonders if Elvis ever recalls that night like she does. Ever replays it a million times.

Wendy, Wendy Wendy.

Marlon thinks she’s Wendy, Marlon’s told her own daughter that. But never her. No. He’d just raked his hand through the wrecked coiff of Elvis’ gelled hair and admiringly called him Peter Pan. And Elvis, being Elvis in the state of freshly loved and freshly praised, never balked at it before drifting to sleep in their muggy tent.

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, he never called Elaine that to her face.

Elaine catches Daisy’s eye next time she looks away from the ceiling, an odd moment of recognition. Funny how each child knows a part of her, but it’s the inner workings of Daisy’s curious, generous, honest self -a heart so very like Elvis’ own- that can look back at Elaine and smile at her, while knowing her fully, faults and all. It’s not so bad having grown daughters as a friend, Elaine decides as she watches Elvis flail backwards against the couch to laugh at his daughter's good natured dig at his unmodified wardrobe.

It’s good not to be his only Wendy keeping him young anymore.

Song based on: Wendy by Maisie Peters

Tags:

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|

————————-

@mydarlingelvis

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@suraemoon

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@jaqueline19997

@queenheartz

@starryschoolgirl

@elvisalltheway101

[stay-mon-army]

Cuddles and Chaos

Word count: 1,359 words

Warning(s): None that I can think of?

Pairing: Fuma/Yuma/K/Nicholas x gn!reader (mostly platonic)

Note: I wrote this for a Lune friend that I made whose birthday is today! I wanted to say thank you for accepting me so quickly and sharing your crazy thoughts with me! This isn't my best work, but I wanted to write you a little something special! I hope you can see my vision here! I hope even more that you had a wonderful birthday and that you know that there are people out there who get really excited to interact with you, even when they're small interactions! <3

Living with a group of boys would sound stressful to anyone, but in reality, it was a joy you couldn’t imagine living without. You had four roommates who were all boys, and unlike the lies about cleanliness, the stereotype that boy roommates are chaos incarnate was completely true – at least it was about your roommates.

K was probably the calmest of the four about 80% of the time, but it was all a ploy. He acted like a sweet, calm, gentle giant, who listens to jazz music and lights candles, but in reality, he was the quiet mastermind. He would secretly encourage all the other boys to be their most problematic selves. You were convinced it was mostly for the plot – he would often be found laughing while you fumbled to fix whatever new situation was arising from the fallout. He was lucky you loved the sound of his laugh or you would’ve throttled him by now.

Yuma was the biggest instigator – he loved getting a rise out of you and would often push buttons, cause little inconveniences, and all around created chaos in the hopes that he would be able to get your attention for just a little while longer. He was exactly like a cat in that regard; if it wouldn’t make a terrible mess, you’re convinced he would have started knocking things off the counter and shelves if it meant you’d look at him a little longer. Not that you needed much encouragement to do that, seeing how his smile was enough to blind the sun itself. You were lucky to have such gorgeous roommates.

Nicholas was a similar breed to Yuma, although on the calmer side for sure. If Yuma was an orange cat, Nicholas was the black cat of the house, no doubt. You could often find Nicholas lounging just on the fringes of whatever activity was going on, watching and waiting for his moment to strike. Don’t get him wrong, he loved to laugh and spend time with all of you, but nothing was more hilarious to him than getting a rise out of one of the boys or you. He often picked fun, making jokes about someones mistakes or bickering over useless things, as though he loved watching others get worked up further and further. He would always make it up to you though; he was a cuddler and a gift giver, meaning you would often find little trinkets and gifts left in your room seemingly at random, and fighting off his random attacks of love was a nearly impossible feat.

Fuma was the only genuinely quiet one. He didn’t tend to fall for Nicho’s attempts at verbal back-and-forth and he was basically the dad of the group – always making sure everyone is fed, happy, unharmed, and entertained. He could disappear for hours at a time playing his games, face glued to his switch screen. When you weren’t sure where he was, he was either there or hidden away in his room, watching the newest anime on the TV in his room. Sometimes, if you were real lucky, he would invite you in to watch along with him, curled underneath the piles of Pokemon plushies that the man seems to hoard. The only downside to Fuma was that if you managed to get him talking? He would not. Stop. Talking. You swore, he almost didn’t need breath! He could talk your ear off for hours, and getting him to stop or trying to run away will only result in pouting, childish sulking, and a lot more talking.

Nevertheless, the boys were all sweet at heart and wanted nothing more than your attention. Everyone in the house had their own room, so you were able to get some alone time away from the chaos whenever you needed, and the boys were good about listening to you when you shared what you did or didn’t need at any given point. They were all relatively clean, helped contribute to food and rent, and were truly hilarious to watch go at each other.

One of your favorite parts of living with the boys was the monthly game and movie night that you all had. You would all congregate in the living room with blankets, pillows, games, movies, and your energy. You would play games until you got too tired or (more often) you had to break up the biggest argument about cheating or slander.

Tonight was one such night, so you had spread out blankets and pillows to create a giant bed on the floor for the chaos to happen upon. You had snuggled down amongst the comfort with your favorite drink, sitting back to watch your favorite boys. Usually, you would jump right in the action as well. However, a tough day full of annoyances at work and unnecessary drama left you horribly drained of energy to keep up with the energetic balls of chaos you called your roommates.

Instead, you rested back against Fuma’s wide chest; your head slotted perfectly against one shoulder as his hands ran shapes across your legs and waist. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss against the crown of your head or whisper some sweet-nothing into your ear. You wonder how you haven’t fallen asleep yet – that is, until a new piercing shriek fills the air.

Ah yes, your other lovely boys.

You watch as Yuma launches himself across the game board at Nicho. K howls with laughter, falling onto his back with the force of it. Yuma is sprawled across Nicho’s body, pretending to wrap his hands around Nicho’s neck while Nicho thrashed and shrieked.

You can feel the rumble of laughter from Fuma behind you as he pulls you tighter back against him. You take a sup of your drink to hide your smile.

Finally you speak up, getting the boys attention, Yuma doesn’t move from on top of Nicho, both simply turning their heads to face you. K sits up, brushing away tears and swallowing small giggles.

“Let’s call it a tie and move on to movies, okay?” You suggest, reaching over to pluck a random discarded movie off the floor.

“Only if I get head pats this time.” Yuma pouts, blinking tears into his eyes for prime puppy dog eyes.

“You always get head pats.” K lightly pushes Yuma’s head. Yuma’s head whips around to scowl at K, who sticks his tongue out at him.

“Yes, you can get head pats. Now calm down.” You laugh at the antics, especially as Yuma turns to cheese at you, flashing his snaggletooth at you.

Yuma bounds over, slamming down beside you to press his face against your thigh. The moment your hand that isn’t holding your drink touches Yuma’s hair, you can feel the vibrating hum that Yuma releases. K stands, takes the movie that you have since dropped back beside you, and goes back to the tv to put the movie in. Nicho crawls over after Yuma, laying on your other side to lay his head against your other thigh. He uses his head to push Yuma over slightly who glares at him, before laying back down on your lap. When K finally sets up the movie and turning off the lights, he settles behind Nicho, back by Fuma. He lays his head on Fuma’s other shoulder. He reaches out his hand, unapologetically grabbing your drink from your hand, moving it out of the way so he can hold your hand instead.

You settled in for the movie, warming up under the weight of your roommates cuddled against you from all sides. You couldn’t imagine living your life without every single one of the boys surrounding you – they made you laugh, helped you forget any of your problems, and were possibly more obsessed with you than you were with them. Tired and comfortable, all 5 of your ended up falling asleep before the movie ended. That was how most of these nights ended, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You couldn’t wait for the next game/movie night were hopefully you would have more energy to engage in their hellish chaos.