#and maybe then i will stop coming up with aus that i probably will never write anything for

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay! part 4 is here! still no dinner scene but hey, who doesn't like a telemachus and athena moment? huh? huh?

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

*later that day* *telemachus walking around the palace ground and speaking with athena about poseidon & also tomorrows family dinner*

telemachus: so, you said lord poseidon is your uncle, right?

athena: *under her breath to herself* unfortunately

athena: *to telemachus this time* he is indeed my father’s brother.

telemachus: what does he like? what’s his favourite food? does eat with you and the other gods on olympus?

athena: *not expecting to play 40 questions about poseidon*

athena: HU- *coughs* why do you want to know? i thought you studied the gods when you were younger?

telemachus: i mean yeah, but those are other people’s words. what better way than to ask his actual family?

athena: *regretting this conversation, but answers because it is telemachus asking*

athena: if you are looking to strike a conversation with him, i can say for certain he will be interested in anything about his kingdom, the sea.

athena: as for food, i’m sure you know we gods, do not require mortal food for sustenance.

telemachus: *confused and stops walking*

telemachus: *turns and looks up at athena* but you ate breakfast this morning with us? and other meals?

athena: *stops walking also and laughs a little at his confused face*

athena: *ruffles telemachus’ hair* yes i did. we can find it enjoyable, whether it be an offering, during a feast or with…

athena: *stops ruffling his hair & smiles warmly at telemachus* family.

telemachus: *smiles*

telemachus: *continues walking*

athena: *continues with him*

telemachus: so, you still never said what his favourite food was?

athena: *shrugs* i don’t know, fish?

telemachus: *laughs* well we certainly have plenty of that!

*both continue talking and walking together*

*a short while later*

telemachus: ok so even though he does have a place to live on olympus, he doesn’t live there? how come?

athena: the sea is his domain, i would expect he feels more comfortable being always part of it. he knows everything that is happening on and in it then.

athena: also, i’m sure that having my father be king of the gods while also being his younger brother, is not something he would personally want to be around all the time.

athena: i think if it were my younger brother…

athena: *imagines ares as king of the gods* *shakes the thought immediately away*

athena: *waves hand in front of her in dismissal* never mind that thought.

telemachus: *eyebrow raised in confusion* uh ok.

athena: as i was saying, my father, while he is a great & wise king of us gods, occasionally having to sometimes deal with his...

athena: *thinks to the lighting shaped scars on her face and body*

athena: …games, does not always end up good for those who play them.

telemachus:

telemachus: so, he just prefers living in his palace under the sea basically?

athena: pretty much, yeah.

athena: maybe you could save some more of your questions for my uncle at dinner tomorrow?

athena: trust me, i’m sure he’d love to talk about himself.

telemachus: yeah, i’ve got so much to ask him!

telemachus: not just about himself, but how he and my father came to be such good friends!

athena: *laughing to herself as she knows the truth of said friendship*

athena: oh i too would like to know…

athena: *has a thought* little wolf, you’re helping your mother and the palace servants plan everything for tomorrow, correct?

telemachus: yeah i am!

telemachus: actually, i probably should go and find mother to discuss things.

athena: *gently holds his arm before he can run off* before you go, i believe it would be best if we sat your father and my uncle right next to each other don’t you think?

athena: i normally know your mother and father would sit together as king and queen, but this is a family dinner, is it not?

athena: *grins* friends should be with friends.

telemachus: *holds hand up for a high five* that sounds like a great idea athena! that means you’re next to me, right?

athena: *hive fives and then smiles at telemachus* of course.

telemachus: *smiling back* okay, i’ll go and let mother know!

telemachus: *waves before heading into the palace* bye ‘thena!

athena: *waves back* goodbye telemachus.

athena: *now to herself* oh tomorrow will be fun indeed.

[tavsianus]

Sea Creature Buggy AU

He was caught in a fishing net in the middle of the sea so Roger pirates thought he was a castaway from a shipwreck and this is how he joined the crew.

Buggy neither confirms or denies that.

He is a fast swimmer, can hold his breath underwater longer than anyone else (as far as they know) and has no problem jumping into the sea even when they are in the middle of a storm.

Suffice to say, this always gives a heart attack to Roger and Rayleigh. And buggy always gets "the fist of love" after. This never stops him, tho.

He loves the water, the sea creatures and trying to drown Shanks for funsies.

The crew doesn't like to be anywhere near him when they swim because he can and absolutely will grab your ankle and drag you deep down.

They know he isn't a human exactly (because red nose and blue hair, come on??) but have no idea which race he probably belongs to, either.

He isn't a fish-man either, for that matter.

When they fight with an enemy ship, he will absolutely try to push them into the sea so that they'll drown. His favourite activity, to other's horror.

His mother is a sea goddess. She has a human form (big giant lady in the sea) but usually lives as a whale-like creature deep underwater. She has hair like waves, too. She doesn't usually meddle with the environment or with the people on the earth but if you mess with her babies, she fill f you up (*Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves* anyone?? Sharp teeth/slit pupils/wild waves??) She can also get transparent/liquid-like.

No one knows what his father is. He looks human enough, tho, and still lives underwater like his wife. Buggy got the red nose from him. He is flashy, too; like father like son.

(Rumors of a man that abandoned humans to be with the "ocean", mayhaps?? Like a folklore/legend??)

He has alot of sisters and brothers, too. They don't leave the ocean like their brother Buggy does but still have the same "drowning for fun* habit. They look like small fishes most of the time and turn human-like but not so much like Buggy/Mother because they are young and unexperienced. Some people mistake them for mermaids. They will definitely help Buggy with whatever he wants because brother = fun most of the time.

His father hates the fact that Buggy lives with humans but can't do much about it. His mother is chill and doesn't get mad. Her babies can do whatever they want. He would kill Roger and his men if they try anything anyway.

They would eat humans without a second thought if given the chance. The only reason that doesn't happen is because they live deep in the ocean and humans rarely come there.

The babies like to push ships and overthrow them, sometimes banging and scratching it with their "human" hands to see the bewildered expressions of the sailors. They get even more shocked when they look down to see a bunch of blue haired and red nosed brats looking up to them, giggling/laughing.

When Shanks sees them for the first time, his hearts goes *bump-bump!* and he goes too close despite knowing better and gets pulled to the sea. Buggy has to bring his ass back to the shore before he actually dies.

Mother and Roger definitely have a talk but about what no one really knows. He refuses to say anything even to Rayleigh. Father doesn't even look at the crew and stays behind.

When they ask Buggy what he is he just shrugs.

I have no idea how they would meet just yet. Maybe Buggy gets hurt and they come to the rescue? Or his siblings get captured? Maybe someone attacks Mother??? So many options 🤔

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)

Hi guys. So. Crazy Story. The crisis that stopped me from working on my banner art actually catapulted me into writing this drabble finally! (Also the wonderful @ancha-aus was also a life-saver and helped me hammer out a few plot points for this installment <3)

Currently my only context for this drabble is that Error is tiny, and ran away from home because Geno moved to Reaper's kingdom to make money to send back home, and Fresh spent too long away on his trip. Error was expelled from his magic academy and came home to an empty house, so he left! Now he's been on the road for about a month? Nightmare has been ruling for about 6-ish years now, almost 7.

(Hello @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hi guys!!!)

     The town was bustling. 

   Error had been through a lot of towns since he’d left. Big ones, small ones, ones he was convinced weren’t even towns at all, just a few barns in a general closeness to one another who decided they needed to call themselves something besides the outskirts. Those people had been particularly hostile to his passing through.

   And, lately, they’d been really weird. People staring at him when he’d walk on the streets, or pass by shops. When they saw he had money from a different kingdom (he didn’t even realize he’d left his own, but he figured it meant he was on the right path) they’d squeeze their faces like they bit a lemon and hastily take his coin. Like it was cursed, or something. They were lucky it wasn’t cursed, honestly. He could probably figure out how to do that.

    This town, though, was filled so full with people that he imagined they couldn’t look at him weird if they wanted to. 

   People were riding horses, chatting in the streets, all sorts of stalls and merchants were peddling goods, and he was almost positive he could hear music lifting down the street over the general drone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run into a place so busy. He’d always been told to stick to the side, out of the way, out of danger. 

   He didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Though, he did skirt the crowds. The mass of people seemed all too willing to bump shoulders or elbows with each other in the early morning sun, and the last thing he wanted was to have his magic act up in a crowd. He’d done well so far. 

   Every booth, every merchant, every passerby seemed jubilant, ebbing and flowing. It was like some sort of party. 

   That was, until, Error spotted it.

   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 

   It was an amphitheatre. 

   Geno had taken him to see one once. Or, at least, the ruin of one. It hadn’t been too far from their home, and it was pretty abandoned and lonely. Plants had crawled up its walls, stones had fallen off in chunks, animals seemed to have deemed its high windows a perfect spot to build nests. It had been breathtaking, and ancient. 

   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 

   The walls were all in-tact, stones, an easy to look at grey, smooth and covered in little intricate carvings. Spells, he had to imagine, in some language he didn’t know. Curtains hung over the huge arched entrances, and heavy gates seemed to be lifted, the spikes at the base loomed over the heads of every passerby. 

   He couldn’t help but marvel. Was this a restoration, or maybe it was new. Some sort of imitation. Regardless, he found that his feet carried him to one of the entrances, which stood largely empty aside from some folks who looked strikingly like guards.

   Two of them stood, long spears in-hand. They both stood stock still as Error approached, and didn’t move a muscle as he passed them. They were strange, definitely different. Not at all the town guard he was familiar with. 

   The inside of the theatre was even more impressive. Rows and rows of stands seemed to line up either side. Huge tapestry hung from the high arches past those seats, and down the runways of the bleachers, all a bright teal and dark navy blue. They seemed fancy, and much newer than the curtains which had hung in the entrance. 

   Beyond the walkway where he stood, was a set of stairs which led down a level or so, before it leveled out into an open space. Sandy, and very flat. It seemed like there were people there, too. A much smaller crowd, but still a crowd nonetheless. 

   Error was almost amazed he’d not been stopped by someone yet. Whatever was going on seemed important, and so far in his experience, people did not like him sticking his nose into important business. 

   With that in mind, he decided he’d stick to the entryway for now. He leaned his bag up against the wall and watched from a position where the sun still shadowed his form. He was often grateful for his miscolored bones. It made hiding in the dark a whole lot easier. 

   It took a bit for him to really process what he was watching in the morning light. 

   There were four people sat on a sort of raised box toward the front of a stage. A huge stage, raised up off the sand with wood slats. They had a long-table before them, and quills and ink jars in-hand. Well, three were sitting. One was standing. But the point is, they were all watching the stage very attentively. 

   On-stage there was… basically nothing. Only a simple backdrop Error had to imagine was there at all times, because it looked like it was coated in sand, even from the distance where he stood.

   A person would enter the stage, the people sat on the box would speak to them, and then there was a flare of magic. Another. Another. And then they were dismissed. 

   It wasn’t until he really bothered to think about what magic was being cast that he realized those were extremely simple spells being used. Levitate, Create Water, Mimicry. Or Flame, Gust, Light. All just three easy spells, and then they were off-stage. That was taught magic. It gave him memories of his entrance exam to his school. He’d been way overqualified to get in, Geno taught him after all…

   But, no, this didn’t feel the same. There were plenty of people who seemed to stumble at spells they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t muster a simple breeze. Then others who were very old and obviously skilled. Obviously they found the three spells to be child’s play. Like Error would. This was no entrance exam, so what-

   “Hey, pipsqueak, what are you doing there in the dark?” A voice startled him, and it took all of his willpower to avoid jumping away from its origin. 

   Error twisted rapidly, just in time to avoid the thrust of an elbow in his direction. 

   There was a monster there. Three, actually. Two lizards, both bright green and tropical, and one who looked more like a dragon. The green one closer to him must have spoken, because he laughed at Error’s flinch. 

   “Why are you bothering me?” Error shot back haughtily. 

   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  

   “Oh, so we’ve got a feisty little small fry here? Thinks he’s scoping out the competition?” The dragonish one hissed, voice deep. 

   The other green one tittered a giggle, “So cute! I can’t believe the King really decided to let just anyone try out for Royal Mage.” 

   Oh…

   The lizard before him seemed to take this silence as a weakness, and reached out quicker than Error could react. A flick to the middle of his forehead. 

   Error winced and pulled away, back and into the arena. He grit his teeth and clutched his skull, where at the same moment the lizard jumped back and shook their hand in the air a bit. His magic had reacted poorly again, and while it was better than it used to be, it still stung like 5 wasps touching down and stinging the same point all at once. 

   “Little freak.” Was all the monster hissed, before he fled. His two friends moving on behind him in confusion. Approaching the line to the stage. 

   Error stood there in the sun for a moment, rubbing at his forehead until the pain was more of a numb static. 

   If anything, he appreciated the little run-in with those wanna-bes. Now he knew exactly what this was, and why it had felt so familiar to him. 

   The Mage Trials. 

   Geno had to go through them, and he’s been very thorough about his every single detail while doing it. Even though he was the best mage Error had ever known, he’d still stressed and wrote page after page of plans and spells and had placed them into a folder that felt thicker than an encyclopedia. Geno had always been the only one of them who bothered studying. Fresh couldn’t go to school anymore, and Error… Well, Error didn’t need to. 

   Thinking about it, Geno had been very quiet about it, but Error had looked into his folder a few times. Just out of curiosity. It’d been split into three rounds, something Geno had said was standardized. The first was a test of someone’s basic magic skills, the second were more complex spells which the mage has practice in, and the third, the one that had given Geno the most grief, was the personal spell round. In the last one, there were no restrictions to what someone could do, so long as they had done the work themselves, and that it mostly used magic. 

   If he was right, and he usually was, then this was the first round. Eliminating those with nothing but a hope and a prayer in their pocket before they got embarrassed before the one looking for the Mage in the first place. In this case, whoever this kingdom’s king even was. 

   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 

   This was how he’d prove himself. 

   The line was already starting to get longer, and he didn’t want to be here until nightfall in a queue. He dusted off his scarf, his shoes, his bag, and set off into the bright sun to secure his place in this contest. No prep. No warning. Just with his raw skill and what he’d learned so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

.

   Finally. 

   Error felt like it had been hours in the warm sun before he was finally up next. 

   He’d been watching, of course. Watching as the people before him were passed or failed. It was just as he’d expected, and he couldn’t help but be a bit giddy as the two green lizard who’d bothered him earlier both failed. Though their dragonish friend had passed, it was still enough of a victory for him.

   Along with that, he noticed that the three people sat were all in robes of nobles. Something the wealthy and lofty would think to wear in a blazing hot arena all day. The one standing, though, was wearing all black. A hood was over his head, but Error thought he might be some sort of cat-monster. Very stone faced, very still. The only time Error had seen him move was seemingly to veto whatever choice the other three were making. He thought it was interesting. 

   That didn’t matter, though. 

   Based on what he’d seen, these people wouldn’t have any qualms with his magic. He was much better than half the people who’d already been passed, and knew he could keep him calm up on the stage. It’d be just like his entrance exam. 

   He watched as the monster who’d gone before him, a skeleton who was twice his height and twice as animal-ish, bowed gratefully to the people on the boxes, the evaluators, and exited. She’d passed fairly easily, Error thought. Though, her focus seemed elsewhere based on how shaky the hold on her last flame had been. 

   “Next!” 

   The call was shrill, and Error had heard it over a hundred times already today, but this time it bounced in his ears as he lifted himself up the steps and strode onstage. 

   If he’d thought about it, he would’ve tried to find a place to stache his bag, but it was too late for that, and frankly he didn’t trust it not to get stolen once it was out of his sight. Not with how busy the city seemed. 

   When he was stood in the center of the stage, he looked out across the way to the evaluators. They seemed closer up here than they did when he was on the ground. Interesting. 

   “First spell,” The person on the far left called, though Error could tell now that it was a voice projection spell. So they didn’t strain their vocal chords, “ Levitate.”

   That was simple. One of the first spells he’d been taught as a kid. 

   His eyes skimmed briefly, there had been a few props on stage that he only noticed once he was closer that were meant to be used with this sort of spell, but Error wasn’t for that. Instead, he muttered the words under his breath, outstretched a hand, and felt his magic reach out around him. Beyond the stage. 

   There… There was a barrier of some sorts, pushing back against his magic, between himself and the evaluators. He furrowed his brow and urged his magic forward. He didn’t have to break through it. He just. Had to- His magic felt like it was looping and wriggling like a worm through the dirt, but when it broke through on the other end, it felt so much more clear. He could feel a potent magic there, something raw and wet, like the air before a storm. 

   That didn’t matter, though. None of it did, because he was on a mission. His magic finally found its target, the stacks of ink bottles which the middle evaluator had just before their parchment. The magic latched on, and Error finally allowed himself a grin as he tugged his hand upwards. They floated calmly into the air, three of them, and did a quick spinning motion, before settling back down just where he’d found them.

   He didn’t catch the looks on the threes faces, but he had to imagine they were priceless. He was more focused on letting the spell dissipate and preparing for the next. 

   It took a moment, before, “Second Spell,” They said, “Create Water.” 

   Another easy one. 

   Error held his hand out again, though this time his palm faced the sky rather than the ground. At the mutter of his words, he could feel the water manifesting. Tiny droplets leaking from his fingers and into the air above his open palm, where he let it gather into a nice, easy sphere. 

   It hovered, and for this one he could see the nods from the three evaluators. The fourth, the cat monster, didn’t move an inch. A good sign. 

   Error, after a breath, moved the orb of water and simply set it on the stage floor. If he had to release it, he didn’t exactly want to get his clothes wet. That orb tended to shoot outwards when he released it, and the water would go everywhere. 

   “Third spell,” They must’ve been contented with his simply setting down the water, for they continued, “Flame.”

   Ah, one of his favorites. He was never very good at it, of course, but it was certainly very fun. If nothing else it’d be a taste of his raw power.

   He rolled up his hanging sleeves, quickly using strands of string to wrap them in place, before he picked back up the water orb in one hand. With the other, he faced his palm toward the side of it, and spoke the words for the flame spell. 

   The heat gathered in his wrist, and all at once shot out of his palm, like a cannon blast. The heat was intense, and Error laughed quietly to himself in pure elation as the fire did exactly what he was hoping. All at once, his glasses fogged, and a burst of steam blew past his face, off to the exiting side of the stage. He’d evaporated his orb, no longer needing to risk someone seeing him fumble with it and soak himself. 

   He let the fire die after a few second, and quickly grabbed the hem of his scarf to wipe down his glasses from the fog left behind on their surface. 

   The moment the red rims were back on the bridge of his nose, the voice spoke up again. 

   “Name?”

   Error cleared his throat, before calling back his name in response. Just the first one, the last one didn’t matter anymore. 

   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 

   “Age?”

   Error hadn’t heard them ask anyone else for their age, but he figured they’d noticed. How strong and talented he was at such a young age. 

  He puffed up his chest when he announced, “Twelve!” to the arena. 

   There were a few muffled murmurs from the line, but Error was too busy grinning across the way at the evaluators as they seemed to talk amongst themselves. 

   He was ready to hear the word that would mark him to continue. The next part was tomorrow, after this round was concluded and the king arrived. He’d heard about it in the line while he was waiting. 

   One of the evaluators lifted their gaze back to him. Opened their mouth.

   “Disqualified.”

   That.

   Huh?

   Error must’ve visibly glitched at the response, because one of the evaluators seemed to flinch. Ever so slightly. 

   “How come?!” Error called back, reservations immediately fleeing his mind.

   How could they disqualify him? He hadn’t heard them do that to literally anyone else so far today. 

   The evaluator on the far right spoke up, “Too young. Now please move off the-”

   Error might’ve let his mouth speak before his mind, if he hadn’t seen the way the mysterious cat monster seemed to slink forward. A simple tap to the evaluator’s side and they stopped mid-sentence, attention drawing to the person. 

   He waited with balled fists. Hoping, against it all, that this person was using his mighty veto powers to get him his passing review. 

   “The Knight wishes to speak to you further.” They said, when the person, the Knight, took a step back. “Exit the stage.” 

   Mm. 

   This was his chance. This was his moment. He was being allowed to move on, he was sure of it. It had to be. 

   He practically scrambled off the stage and down the steps, and found that the Knight had closed the distance very quickly. He gestured silently for Error to follow him off to the side of the arena, seemingly outside of the voice spell’s range, as the noise of magic and calling for the next viewer seemed all muffled and contained. 

   Something Error noticed about the guy, now that he was right beside him walking along, was also that he wasn’t a cat monster. No, he had some sort of mask shaped like a cat. Black spots painted on black fur, with piercing white eyelights hidden in the darkness cast by his black hood. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, so Error would’ve had no idea what kind of monster he was, if he hadn’t left his hands uncovered. They were grey and grimy, but they were most certainly bones. 

   The other thing he noticed, was the magic. That damp, airy magic was no-doubt from this guy. It practically enveloped the both of them until they were stood in the shade of the wall separating bleachers from arena floor. 

   “You said you’re twelve?” He finally asked, shifting on his feet to look at Error. 

   The last thing he noticed, which only happened once he was able to look past the aura, was that. Well. He was a bit taller than this guy. Not by much, but there was certainly something stark about having to look a bit downwards to meet his eyelights. 

   “Yes, I am.” He claimed proudly, still convinced this was to be his ride to the top.

   The knight seemed to skim him with his eyes. Surely taking in Error’s clothes, his bag, his glasses, the weird bones. Though, it didn’t feel pervasive. 

   “Impressively strong for a kid,” He praised loosely, “And probably talented in spells if the nerds were any indication.” 

   His voice was quiet and raspy, but Error had no problem listening to it. This strong and very cool guy who was called a ‘knight’ was praising him. This was much better than getting yelled at by his professors. Much. 

   “Does that mean I passed?” He asked impatiently. 

   He needed this. He needed this. 

   The guy’s eyelights lingered on his face a bit, and it was then that Error finally noticed how virtually unreadable this guy was. Impossibly quiet, posture unmoving, all facial features shrouded in shadow and covered by masks?

   “I’m not sure what kingdom you’re from, but you’ve got to understand that the folks up there didn’t say no because you’re bad. They said no because the king made a new decree. “No soul under the age of 16 shall be put to work under the crown.” They’ve gotta take it seriously, just like everyone else has to follow the new rules about their own shops and businesses.” He said evenly, eyelights never leaving Error’s face. “You’re a couple years too early is all.” 

   It felt like he’d been shoved into a ditch, and he could already feel his right hand starting to tremble with the beginnings of a glitch. He was furious! How could they possibly say no to him because of some stupid rule about his age? 

   “No!” He exclaimed, trying to bite back the distortion on his voice, “I’m not going to just walk away. If I could just move on to the next round, they’d see I’m different! I’m not some weak little baby!” 

   He clenched his fists, driving his jittering one forcefully into his pocket. 

   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 

   “They’ve already seen that.” He said easily. “Listen to me. Error, right?” 

   Error hesitantly nodded. 

   “Error, ‘m sure that if my Lord saw you in action, he too would agree that you are very strong and resourceful.” The knight said, and Error hated that it sounded earnest. “But, he set that law into place for very good reason. If by any means those folks back there were to let you through, to pass you, and you made it before the king next round? They’d have committed treason, and I’d have their souls on the end of my bone in three seconds flat.” 

   His voice was hard and serious, and Error held strong as a loud crack echoed out beside the knight. A bone raised from the ground, sharp and jagged on the end, absolutely radiating magic. 

   “Do you really want their blood on your conscience, just so that you get sent away by the King anyways?” The knight offered. 

   Error hunched his shoulders a bit, and he felt his static worsen as he let his eyes linger on the bone. Yes. He muttered inside his head. He wanted to scream it at the man before him. Tell him that this was his one golden chance to prove himself. 

   But to who? He would ask, and Error wouldn’t be able to say it. It’d be a wasted sentiment and wasted time and wasted lives just for his temper tantrum. 

   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 

   He stood there, feeling a familiar shame creep up his spine. The knight made no move to leave, though he did let his bone disappear. The ground looked untouched from where it had split out of. Just more sand. Sand that was getting into Error’s bones. That he’d have to clean out later. Swinging in his hammock, lonely and moping. 

   “Heh,” The chuckle was almost inaudible, and Error was almost ready to let his distress turn back into rage, but, “Better kid than I was.” The Knight mused into the open air.

   He seemed to shift his stance again, and Error took a half step back. 

   “You’ve got your life ahead of you, kid. Don’t let this keep you down. Take the road less traveled by or whatever.” He said then, waving a hand loosely before him. 

   Error stared at him, trying to even his breath, before he had an idea. 

   “The other two rounds will be here, right?” He asked, voice still harshly stuttering and screeching. The Knight seemed unbothered.

   “Yeah. Planning on sticking around to watch?” The knight questioned, though it felt more like a warning. 

   Error nodded in agreement without hesitation. “If these geezers can get the job, I need to see what kind of tricks they have up their sleeves.” He agreed. 

   That earned another little chuckle, before the knight looked back to the stage. 

   Up in the center was a new mage, a human who seemed to be making a pretty wild wind that was whipping the sand around, bothering the people in line behind him. Error heard the knight make a scoffing noise, before turning back towards the stage.

   “Go hang around somewhere else for a while, why don’t you? I have to go make sure those nerds don’t pass that guy.” 

   Error didn’t even get to say a farewell before the Knight was off. 

   It seemed like every stride he teleported a bit further, building speed until he stopped cleanly up on the pedestal. Just in time for the sandstorm to die down. 

   Error didn’t want to walk away from this, he didn’t, but staying would only waste his time. It only took a few more seconds, to watch the knight nudge the evaluator and hear the muffled call of ‘fail’ ring out across the arena before he was turning tail and moving out of the sandy paradise, back into the bustle of the living city. 

.

.

.

   It was impossible to miss it. The sounds of celebration as the monarch entered the town. 

   Error could see the royal carriage from his perch, an old temple tower that had at some point lost its bell. It seemed untouched, birds nests and cobwebs, so he’d set up a hammock and a little makeshift shelter inside using his strings just before night fell. 

   He’d snatched some food from the town as dusk was setting in, and he’d been comfortably whittling away the dark hours, working hard on his plan. 

   With the King officially in town, that meant the second round would be starting up shortly, taking the numbers of who would be in the third round down by hundreds. He hoped the king was stingy about it. He hoped that dragonish monster would stumble on his spell and turn someone into a frog. 

   The thought humored him, and he cackled quietly to himself from his makeshift room. 

   The sun was high again, and he was only a part of the way through. His spells required a lot of his magic to be woven into them, and while it was much much faster than what he’d heard was the usual, it was still difficult to make. 

   Weaving the blue strings from his sockets, to his fingers, around his fingertips, and into the shapes he needed. It was monotonous, and boring by all accounts, but with every strand there was a new flow of power. A new pump of adrenaline into Error’s soul as he recognized his creation becoming more potent. Intent, intent, intent, every loop and knot was filled to the brim with it. His frustration sat at the core. Much more volatile and destructive than his usual intent, but it would serve him well if he wanted this plan to go well. Around it was his determination. The strings woven in with a sense of stubbornness which refused to let go, like a snake swallowing its prey whole. This would compress the first layer into a proper state. Let it coil and coil and coil until it burst. It’d be big, and loud, and send out that message he so desperately needed to be heard by the king. 

   Skipping the second round would probably hurt him in the long run, but… That knight had said he’d have to kill those people if he showed his face in round two. So, he’d just appear in round three instead, and make up for missing the second one. A final act, of sorts. 

   He’d have to be at this all day to make the time crunch. The orb was hardly as big as his palm, not nearly big enough. Though, he had wasted time making the shelter and finding food. He’d just have to skip a couple meals to make up for it. He didn’t really need to eat that much anyways, he’d known that for years. He just tried to make an effort when he smelled something tasty. 

   He knew he could manage. 

   It was late in the night when Error finally started on the outer layers. Those which would be filled with his patience, so that the potent insides would not be sensed as he moved with it among the many magic users. 

   The town had begun to line the streets with torches and party as the stars arrived. No doubt celebrating those who would be at the third and final round tomorrow. The ones who would be competing to become the new Royal Mage. 

   To Error? Every single moment down there was dedicated to him. They just didn’t know it yet. 

.

.

.

   The morning came, and Error only had a few more layers. 

   By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky above, he had finished it, and carefully tucked it into his backpack. He unraveled the strings and carefully wrapped them, shaping them, changing them into a thin net with long ends. This was shoved into his jacket sleeve, the ends clutched tight in his hand. 

   It took him hardly any time at all to get to the arena, and he was early. 

   Good.

   He settled himself up in the stands, as close to the stage as he could get. Many people seemed to be staying outside the arena, sticking to the streets, but there was still enough of a crowd in the bleachers that Error had to be careful as he worked his way along the edges. He needed to be closer. Closer…

   There. 

   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 

   From here, he could see the line to the left, and he could see the people who had finished lingering on the other side. None of them spoke to each other, only standing about, icily, waiting for the rest to finish so they’d know which of them was chosen, and who was not. Error had to imagine that these folks were just as lame and boring as the seniors from his old academy. No fun at all. 

   He waited, so, so patiently, for the next few people. The last few. 

   Though he couldn’t see the spells themselves, he could certainly feel the pressure coming off of them. The control that they’d need to balance it. How much it might’ve drained their energy to do it just once. He was attuned to that sort of thing, he had to be. 

   His assessment was that all of these last few folks weren’t bad, but they were no match for Error’s raw talent. 

   Each spell cast seemed to tick away at Error’s patience, until it finally happened. The last mage went on-stage. It seemed there had been 15 of them. 

   He’d have to make 16, then. 

   It felt like a blur as he jumped the rails and let his strings carry him across the open space, much to the shock of the few who had been watching the competitors from around him. The blue lines snatched at the wooden supports of the stage, and he swung right over top, landing a bit messily in the center of the stage.

   He didn’t have time to look at everything. All he knew was the crowd was much larger than last time, that there was a shout of ‘Hey!’’ from somewhere to his left, and that the box across from the stage now held only three people. Monsters. One Error recognized, the knight in shadows who’d spoken to him. The other two he didn’t know, but he had to assume the one in the middle, tall and imposing, and dark, with an eyelight the same colors as the tapestries, was the King he was looking to impress. That was all he needed to know. 

   “M’lord, my name is Error!” He called out across the sand, and in one motion he shrugged the bag off his shoulders and used his strings to tug the orb out of its canvas body. “I want to prove that I’m more capable than any of the adults who just went before me! I could be your mage!” He would be the mage. 

   The orb sat cradled in Error’s hand for only the briefest moment, before it was inside the little net he’d made. He swung it in circles. Again. Again. Again. 

   He had to be fast. He had to do this quick.

   Error spent one last moment, extending his reach through his strings, muttering words and igniting an intangible spark. 

   For a brief moment, he watched as the King seemed to ease forward. A hand now raised, seemingly calling off his knights, who had been almost in motion. 

   He released the orb directly upwards, momentum carrying it up. 

   Up.

   Up.

   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 

   Error watched it rise above him. 

   Only. 

   “Shit.” 

   His calculations must’ve been off. He must’ve added a layer too many, or maybe he released it a swing too soon. But he could tell that it wouldn’t clear the top of the arena. 

   Maybe if he had a few more seconds he could’ve used strings to boost it. He could’ve sent a magic gust to lift it further. 

   Not the case.

   He watched as the orb detonated, just like it was supposed to. 

   The wave moved horizontally through the air, and swept across the air above the arena so quickly that it sucked the sand from the top layer and threw it against the tall walls. Error’s footing slipped, and he stumbled to his knees on the stage as the wind whipped and tugged the heavy curtains into the air current as well. 

   It was an almost invisible force, Error had to imagine anyone without a solid grasp of magic would entirely miss it as it spread out. 

  He winced as it finally reached the edges of the arena, where he had just barely managed to fall short of clearing. 

   As the magic passed over the stone and mortar, he saw as it fell. Not in chunks, but crumbled like dust into fine particles. The upper half of every arch at the top of the grand amphitheatre, turned pitch black, then wasted away. 

   He hadn’t meant for it to come in contact with anything. It wasn’t supposed to do anything but harmlessly wave over everyone’s heads. As a show of his strength. That was all.

   Error could only think back to when this had happened before. When he’d accidentally exploded Geno’s favorite mug while metering the strength of his strings. When he’d broken the wheel of a carriage passing through the woods with a wayward slingshot blast. When he’d broken all ten of the large windows in the lecture hall of the academy when he failed to complete a spell the way it was written. When he’d done it too well.

   As he rose to his feet, he half expected the nagging voice of his older brother to be there, chastising him for not being more careful, before taking him home and making him dinner. 

   It wasn’t that, though. 

   He watched out across the sand. The king had his head tilted only slightly, looking up at Error’s lofty mistake. At the clean cut where stone now met unbothered air. His knight, the one in all black, was leaned ever so slightly towards him. They must’ve been speaking. Or, at least, the knight was. 

   About Error, he had no doubt. 

   He stayed in place, watching, swaying a bit with the residual force of his own spell lingering in his fingertips. Every instinct which told him to run and to hide were smothered and stamped out by the ligering fact that he had nowhere to go. Without his brothers, there was no one to help him. He knew it. 

   Even in front of this crowd. These mages. This King and his knights. He couldn’t bring himself to move offstage. Some part of him, deep down, childishly wanted the King to announce that he was impressed. To parade him offstage and let him experience what Geno had. Let him know why Geno left. 

   The King’s single eyelight swam back over to look at Error in the silence. 

   Error felt like the world had stopped. 

   It hadn’t.

   There was a clattering of armor and rustling of fabric, suddenly loud in his ears, and he had no time to react as everything came rushing in all at once. 

   Hands. Heavy, gloved hands. Two sets, two hands each wrapped one of his upper arms, and immediately lifted him off the ground. Into the air. 

   Pain flooded into his bones from his soul, like twin lightning strikes, trying to singe the bone and the magic in its core. The pressure wasn’t much, his mind knew that, but his body usually didn’t listen to him. He tried desperately to hold it in. The rampant part of his magic that had been hurting him since he could remember. That made it hard to touch anyone. To shake hands. To hug his brothers. 

   “Let go!” He pleaded, though he wasn’t sure if his voice made any sense. Fresh always told him they couldn’t tell what he was saying when his voice got too bad.

   More pain. He kicked his legs at the open air, and tried to muster control over his strings, just for a moment, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus. 

   And all at once it stopped. 

   Error’s feet were on the ground again, though that promptly became his knees again as he swayed and wavered in the sudden aftermath of his active magic dying down. Receding back into his soul. Because it didn’t need to ‘protect’ him anymore.

   He spotted then, as his vision returned to something aside from the gloves or the sky, that the King was no longer in his throne. In fact, there was a heavy, encompassing, magical weight behind him now. Somewhere very, very close-by.

   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 

   “We are taking a recess.” Announced a booming voice. Very nearby. It was deep, and felt almost the same as the projection spell from two days prior. Then, more quietly, “You will leave the boy to me. Go ensure no one was injured, then manage the crowd. I’ll make my choice tomorrow at sunrise.” 

   The second bit felt quieter, an edge to the tone that Error didn’t quite like. Considering he must be the boy in question. 

   It was a moment, a few muddled ‘Yes, my king’ s, before Error found a pair of boots stepping before him. His head swam as he looked upwards. 

   The King, he figured that had to be him, was dark. Very dark. Like a living, dripping, shadow. Magic seemed to be all he was made of, an aura radiating from him. Dripping off his back into long slimy worms, twitching as they sat near the ground. He wore a fancy cape, too. One with huge gold clasps on his shoulders, one was shaped like the moon. 

   Error looked to his face last. In hindsight, something that could’ve been very, very bad. He was met with a dripping face. Skeletal. The place where his right socket should’ve sat was covered in that dark substance. The other hollow, with that bright cyan orb staring right back at him. 

   “Can you stand?” His voice came easily, and Error braced himself. 

   Could he?

   He had to, he didn’t want to be touched again. 

   Error took another breath, and managed to rise silently to his feet. 

   “Good,” the King said once he was standing, “Follow me.”

   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 

.

.

.

   Error found himself in an odd position. 

   He’d been given time to sit and recover from his magic’s outlash, and now he was sat in a room beneath the bleachers of the arena alongside the King and that knight he’d met before. The other one was guarding the door, he thought. 

   It’d been silent for a while, and it was almost expected when the silence was finally broken. 

   “You said your name is Error, correct?” The King asked, and Error gave a nod of yes. He forced himself to meet the King’s gaze.

   “Dust says that you’re only 12, and our people disqualified you in the first round. Is that right?” 

   Error nodded again. 

   “And Dust even explained to you why you were disqualified?” 

   Another nod. It seemed he’d at least made an impression on the knight. Dust. 

   The King tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyelight holding Error’s tightly. 

   “Then, I’ll ask, what brought you to think this was a good choice? To try and become Royal Mage above any cost it might bring?” The king asked, and Error was surprised to find it was a shockingly gentle tone. “Your home, your family, your life. You are so young, why put it all on the line like this?” 

   Oh. 

   It was almost funny. Was this whole thing because the king was some sort of charitycase? So disillusioned by his perfect life that he couldn’t even think of the hardships any random kid could go through? He almost grinned at that, barely keeping his mouth from twitching in a mix of frustration and humor.

   “I wanted to prove myself,” He muttered, “And besides, becoming the Royal Mage would be great.” 

   He waited, waited for the King to inhale, to say something, before, 

   “I’m an orphan.” He spat, finally. “Family abandoned me, house is left behind, expelled from school. I don’t want to keep wandering.” 

   It was basically the truth. This was his big break. His one last chance before he became a hated little vagabond. Maybe even a criminal. Maybe he’d have to go on the run for the rest of his life, live as a nomad. Join a caravan. Those people got stopped a lot though, kingdoms didn’t like them. He’d probably explode some city’s bakery by mistake and get put in jail for-

   “Wait!” Error suddenly exclaimed, breaking free of his thoughts, “Am I in trouble? Am I going to jail??” He asked then. 

   His worries slammed to a grinding halt and he stared wide-eyed at the two before him. Geno had always told him not to go making his big stuff near town, because if the guard caught him he wouldn’t be able to bail him out. He’d end up in jail. Of course, it’d never happened back then because he was always fast enough. Always smart enough to get out of dodge when he broke something or made poor decisions. Here? Here he hadn’t run when he had the chance. 

   The King stared at him, his one eyelight nearly mirroring Error’s in surprise at the question. 

   “I mean,” he started, “You’re young. If I wont let you work for me, I wouldn’t dare put you in prison either.” The King stated, “Though, you did do quite a bit of damage to the theatre.” 

   Error watched him break eye contact finally and look over his shoulder to the Knight stood there. He’d been silently watching Error too. 

   When he had no insight, The king seemed to heave a sigh, and the shadowy extra limbs which draped around him twitched. 

   “You’re sure you have no family? No home?” the King asked him again, and Error nodded.

   The king muttered something under his breath, and shot the Knight another look. The knight shrugged. 

   “I… Will not employ you. Though, I do see talent in you, Error.” the King said carefully, a bit slower in his words than he had been up until now. Almost… unsure. “I will, however, extend to you the title so that you may conduct…” He waved a hand before himself, as though searching for a word, “ You may conduct independent research. If you accept, of course.”

   “You would be free to resend your acceptance at any moment, no strings attached, and may take any work you complete along with you, and any pay you receive would be given to you after your 16th birthday, if you stay that long.” He added, “I’ll have to rewrite the contract, but-”

   “I accept!” 

   Error couldn’t help himself. He was so excited he could puke. The last thing he’d expected was to pull this off. This shitshow of a scheme actually got him the job? He could scream. He could jump up and down for joy. He didn’t, he sat eagerly and tense in his seat instead, but he could’ve. 

   The King seemed to hesitate, for a few breaths, before relaxing. He stood, and offered a hand out slowly to Error. 

   Error stood too, grinning. He could manage this one. He could do it. 

   It was brief, but he grasped the King’s hand and shook it firmly.

   “Dust, will you help Error locate his belongings, and escort him to wherever he is staying tonight? I’ll send Cross to swap with you a bit later. We’ll reconvene in the morning just before sunrise.” 

[thormanick]

All the Kavetham/Haikaveh ideas I don't have capacity to currently write, a very detailed list:

(Which I am humbly placing here before you. Be warned: this post is an incredibly long one!)

1. Fatui!Kaveh AU, where the night before the meeting happens between Kaveh and Alhaitham at the tavern, Kaveh gets a deal from Fatui representatives to work on a huge project in Snezhnaya. Kaveh is sceptical about it, but decides to accept the offer during the dialogue with Alhaitham (seeing himself as a burden, Kaveh decides that he will cause more trouble to Alhaitham than the Fatui, thus he decides to accept their offer even if it seems too good to be true). He tells Alhaitham about his decision to leave for Snezhnaya, and so the two relatively amicably/peacefully part their ways (not without Alhaitham testing Kaveh's reasoning a bit, but Kaveh's resolve remains strong).

And so, Kaveh leaves for Snezhnaya, where he gets to work on several huge projects for the next several years under Sandrone. Most of them are related to construction, engineering and reverse-engineering of Khaenri'ahn and Khaenri'ah-inspired technology, and he gets barely any time to work on his personal projects (he's overworked and exhausted and doesn't get much time and opportunity to be creative; however, the payments are good and he's on his way to getting out of debt, which is practically the sole reason driving him forward. The projects get progressively more complicated and, in a way, unhinged - engineering military equipment is alright, but working with the remains of Khaenri'ahn technology, dead gods and such proves to be... mentally taxing. Everything happens very gradually though, so Kaveh does not immediately notice the true scale of where the Fatui are ready to go to achieve certain goals). Kaveh doesn't really like the work environment of the Fatui, but he does his best (the Harbingers creep him out whenever he gets to see them on a rare official occasion (he might specifically dislike Pantalone because the Harbinger keeps picking at him for his debt, given a chance), but Sandrone's a decent boss who is somewhat encouraging and invested in his work and personal projects. She might be especially interested in Mehrak's existence and operation). Overall, everything goes quite smoothly for Kaveh, even if he doesn't feel quite at home in Snezhnaya and is aware of how dangerous the Fatui can be. He does not consider himself to be paranoid, but the other shoe has to drop at some point - and that happens when the new Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru gets to visit Snezhnaya on a diplomatic mission (aka: Kaveh reconnects with Alhaitham & Co for the first time in what feels like forever). The situation gets complicated when Kaveh realizes that Sandrone encourages the reestablishment of his connection with Alhaitham specifically - and she never encourages an action if she doesn't directly contribute from it.

Feelings, emotions and shenanigans ensue.

TLDR: Kaveh's doing his best despite being restricted in his ways of work, prevented from realizing most of his creative projects and slowly but surely building emotional walls around himself because Fatui and Snezhnaya; Sandrone being a kind of decent boss with sorta good work ethic but horrendous morals who is not exactly a good influence on Kaveh's idealistic tendencies and guilt complex; Fatui being contextually horrifying but kinda normal coworkers if you don't look at them too close; Alhaitham trying his best as a political figure (Nahida help him) while also trying to get Kaveh to return home with him (because he misses him); the main conflict revolving around Kaveh and his life choices with Sandrone and Alhaitham being kind of foils to each other (with Sandrone gradually destroying Kaveh's idealistic morals and playing on his guilt to get the most out of his potential as an innovator, and with Alhaitham actively trying to resolve Kaveh's guilt and show him that, despite their arguments, Kaveh's idealism still has place in the world and can co-exist with other philosophies). There might or might not be some macguffin-esque Deshret relic that both Akademia and Fatui hunt for that eventually brings the whole crew back to Sumeru. Kaveh might or might not get a chance to meet a fragment of Deshret's spirit within the mentioned relic. But there definitely will be a happy end for everyone here (Deshret will make sure of it).

2. Calamity!AU. The new Cataclysm comes, enveloping all Seven Nations, and so Sumeru does its best to survive. The cities are ruined, and the people gather together in random places to survive. Alhaitham gets to live within one of the settlements, established by the Akademiya. While trying to survive the first wave of the new Calamity, he is also looking for Kaveh; after an argument between the two the architect left for an expedition to the Desert, right before the new Calamity began. Unfortunately, the news comes that his group should have been around Tunigi Hollow - one of the spots in Sumeru where the first wave of the new Calamity hit the hardest. There is no concrete information on whether Kaveh's group survived or not. Alhaitham, not loosing hope, does his best to find any information on Kaveh's whereabouts, but due to Sumeru becoming extremely dangerous to traverse and disjointed as a result of the new Calamity, the search stretches out for almost a decade.

One day Alhaitham helps a caravan, traversing the forests to get to one of the settlements, to fight off the monsters. Unexpectedly, Kaveh turns out to be one of the members of the caravan. Their reunion is almost cut short by the caravan's need to keep going, but Alhaitham convinces Kaveh to join him instead. The two return to the new Sumeru city settlement, where Alhaitham lives and works under the watch of Akademiya and Lord Kusanali. It appears that during his years of travels around the destroyed Sumeru Kaveh learned new ways of architectural construction that would be more efficient against the monsters, born by the Calamity. He also seems to behave quite differently, hardened by the experiences of the past years. Alhaitham proposes for Kaveh to stay with him in the city, and Kaveh accepts. The feelings, new routines, dealings with the changed versions of each other and attempts to find new pace of life in the new world ensue.

TLDR: The world might be ending and impossible to live in, but even so each new day is brighter when the person one loves is by their side.

3. Another Cataclysm!AU, where Kaveh and Alhaitham get assigned separate missions in the grander scheme of things created to prevent the coming of a new Calamity. The plan succeeds and the world remains safe, but not without heavy losses: amongst many others, Kaveh does not survive while carrying out his mission.

Decades pass as Alhaitham goes through his grieving process. Eventually, one evening on the anniversary of the Calamity's prevention, Alhaitham wanders to a place he and Kaveh used to visit together. A Ley Line disruption occurs, and he gets to see a glimpse of Kaveh through it. They have a conversation; the Ley Line apparition (a memory of Kaveh) is convinced that Alhaitham is from the future, and so they talk a lot about the Calamity, whether it was prevented, and about each other's futures. Alhaitham can't bring himself to tell Kaveh that he does not survive the Calamity, but he does tell Kaveh that his architectural legacy lives on. Kaveh commends Alhaitham on his achievements (though not an acting grand sage for a very long time, Alhaitham kept playing an important role throughout Sumeru's history, helping to keep it safe).

Eventually, their time runs out. Ley Line disorder starts gradually disappearing. Alhaitham urges Kaveh to be careful and stay safe, knowing that the Calamity (on Kaveh's side) is yet to come. Kaveh laughs and tells him that on his side, Alhaitham just told him the same words after they finished the debriefing session, related to the Calamity. He says that he was feeling very nervous, but that seeing future-Alhaitham made him convinced that they are on the right path.

And so, the Ley Line disorder disappears. Alhaitham spends some more time at the spot before returning home. Despite painful memories having been brought up, his heart feels a bit lighter.

TLDR: closure comes unexpectedly, takes many forms and does not erase the pain in an instant, but, nevertheless, it heals.

4. AU! where Kaveh and Alhaitham are both magical birds that can transform into humans (and half-humans).

They live together in the depths of Sumeru forest - a domain of a long lost God of Wisdom. Kaveh's feathers are rumoured to bring blessings, while Alhaitham's feathers, on the contrary, are said to bring bad luck or even curses. Humans, living at the edge of magical forest, kinda worship them, but also prefer not to interact with them, primarily because Alhaitham is not happy when others trespass on his lands, and because searching for Kaveh is extremely hard (he's often off working on his projects deep within the forest), and the magical forest is very dangerous on its own. So, the humans build their cities outside of the Sumeru forest, and Alhaitham and Kaveh peacefully live together in the depths of it.

Despite Kaveh and Alhaitham living together for a long time, their opinions on humanity are diametrically opposed: Alhaitham barely tolerates humans, finding them to be reckless, meddling, cowardly and deceitful; Kaveh, on the contrary, finds humans to be creative, inspiring, free and beautiful in their own way. Throughout the years, Kaveh manages to build somewhat of an amicable relationship with the humans, living at the edge of the forest: he learns more about their traditions and arts, while the humans receive his guidance and blessings in various matters of living, craftsmanship and arts. Eventually, Kaveh's knowledge and magical powers catch the eye of Lord Sangemah Bay, who resides in and governs one of the bigger settlements at the forest's border. She makes a deal with Kaveh that, despite providing him with valuable (in his eyes) experience of working with humans on some of his grandest architectural projects, costs him a lot - meaning he has to give away lots of his blessed feathers, which makes his remaining magic much weaker (and generally undermines his health for a bit). Alhaitham is not a huge fan of such approach (in his eyes, Kaveh is wasting his powers and time for nothing, endangering himself), and so a conflict between him and Kaveh breaks. As a result, Kaveh flees their home, secluding himself while he's focusing on other projects he finds curious. Kaveh keeps working with humans, and though Alhaitham certainly keeps an eye on Kaveh's wellbeing, he does not make it easy for humans to reach him. So what if there are new random magical seals, obstacles, almost-traps and riddles appearing here and there when people try to get to Kaveh? It's a magical forest, things happen! (Kaveh knows that Alhaitham does this on purpose, and Alhaitham knows that Kaveh knows, and it leads to them indirectly, and then directly bickering and arguing. The magical forest quite possibly grows very tired of them. Their friends Tighnari and Cyno certainly do, but alas.)

The new equilibrium, found by Alhaitham and Kaveh, is challenged once more when Kaveh leaves to the Lord Sangemah Bay's city to direct yet another one of his grand projects. They do not see each other for a long while. Despite all the challenges, Kaveh's relationship with Dori gradually grows stronger - the two value their partnership - and Kaveh ends up making friends amongst humans. However, not everyone is happy about Lord Sangema Bay's growing friendship with the "deity of blessings" personified. As some people come to despise her for her wealth, influence and ever growing power, so do they come to despise the bird of paradise.

When the project is complete, the time for celebration comes. Kaveh gets to attend a feast by Dori's side as a guest of honour, and is invited to stay the night in her palace before returning to the forest. Kaveh agrees: he's been spending all his days and nights at the building site, and resting a night before returning home would be nice. As the night goes on, however, Kaveh begins to feel weary and unwell - the new type of wine he was served did him no good. He excuses himself early for the night and, as soon as he gets to his bed, he's out cold.

After an undetermined amount of time (in what appears to be the middle of the night), Kaveh wakes up because of immense pain in his back.

As he gradually comes to his senses, he has a horrible realization: one of his wings was cut off when he was asleep. Alerting the guards and Dori yields no results: the intruder escaped, presumably with Kaveh's wing, and there are no traces of them left. While Kaveh gets immediately attended to, he goes in shock and, eventually, loses consciousness.

When the messengers form the city arrive to the forest, Alhaitham receives them reluctantly at first, but as soon as he hears of what happened, he rushes to the city. He ends up taking Kaveh back to the forest, hoping that its healing magic will help restore his wing. However, nothing seems to work: neither spells, nor the powers of nature, not even Tighnari's medicine. Though the wound is slowly healing, Kaveh remains unconscious for days. To get more information on what happened, Alhaitham returns to the city to question Dori together with Cyno (who's also to continue the investigation within the city once Alhaitham returns home), while Tighnari stays with Kaveh.

Though the questioning concludes that Dori knows nothing and is willing to assist in the search of the perpetrator, Cyno concludes that she was not thorough enough in ensuring Kaveh's safety and overall security of the celebration in general, revealing that Dori recklessly cut corners here and there. Furious, Alhaitham leaves Dori his cursed feather, giving her an ultimatum: she has to find the perpetrator and give them to Alhaitham to deal the final punishment. Until then, her city is doomed to slowly crumble into decay and oblivion. Dori accepts the deal.

Alhaitham returns to the forest to look after Kaveh, while Cyno remains in the city to continue the search. When Alhaitham comes back, Kaveh is finally awake. However, he remains extremely closed-off, practically a shadow of himself. The recovery process is slow and challenging, but Alhaitham does his best to support Kaveh in all ways that matter. Kaveh struggles with healing: the loss of a wing affected not only his body, but also his mental state and magic. He cannot transform, he can barely use any of his magical skills, and he cannot fly anymore, which hurts him most of all. It takes a while for Kaveh to get on his feet (quite literally), even longer to finally leave his room. He also feels guilty for being in Alhaitham's care, because he remembers all of the Alhaitham warnings about the humans he didn't listen to, and so lots of internal conflict ensues.

Meanwhile Alhaitham does all he can to try and navigate the situation. He looks after Kaveh's healing process; brings back his blueprints and equipment from Kaveh's place so that he has enough to work with if he wishes; he also (to the best of his ability) remodels their home to make it more accessible to Kaveh. Given that their natural method of moving around their house was flying (whether in form of birds of half-humans), Alhaitham now implements more adjustments for walking or climbing. (When Kaveh feels good enough to leave his room, he's amazed by what Alhaitham managed to achieve. He also helps fix some of the constructions, given he's the one with the experience in architecture.) Alhaitham and Kaveh grow closer, slowly unpacking and mending their relationship, turning it into something new and beautiful.

At the same time, Alhaitham continues to watch the forest borders - to make sure that no intruders interrupt Kaveh's recovery and their peaceful life together. One day he notices an interesting sight: a small, but beautiful shrine appeared right by the forest. He decides to investigate; upon approaching the shrine, he meets Nilou (whom he saw in the palace when he visited Dori). She explains to him that, after he and Kaveh left the city, a group of people decided to organize a shrine, dedicated to Kaveh, to pray for his recovery. Nilou explains that in their eyes it's the least they can offer for all the help that their city received in the past and as amends for the pain they have caused. Alhaitham warns her not to get any closer to the forest, but the action of people leaves a lasting impression on him.

Meanwhile, Cyno's investigation progresses. Cyno writes to Alhaitham that together with Dori they managed to find and capture the perpetrator. Questioning reveals no useful information, but Cyno suspects that there might be more to the attack on Kaveh than they anticipated. To uphold his end of the deal Alhaitham goes to the city to deliver the punishment to the attacker and to undo the curse he put on Dori's city. Before he leaves, Kaveh, scared of what might happen to Alhaitham, sews into his cloak a blessed feather for protection (because Alhaitham wouldn't accept it outright). While Alhaitham is away, Kaveh begins working on a new project: a mechanical wing.

When Alhaitham gets to the city, he is led to the cell where the attacker is being held. Cyno and Dori are by his side for the final questioning. The man - a mere mortal (with strange red-ish eyes), one of Dori's citizens - keeps talking in circles, making less and less sense with each new word. Alhaitham lets Cyno and Dori go before rendering the punishment. When the curse (one of Alhaitham's darkest yet) is finally prepared, suddenly, the tables are turned. The perpetrator attacks Alhaitham, but his movements seem unnatural, almost like those of a puppet. Alhaitham realizes, that the man is being controlled by someone with prowess for strong, incredibly dark magic that seems similar to that of the Desert. The strange puppet manages to overpower Alhaitham in a fight, but cannot harm him (due to the protection from Kaveh's feather). The perpetrator manages to escape, taking with him Alhaitham's cursed feather (they seemed to be pleased to receive it. Alhaitham fears to think what they will use it for).

Dori and Cyno pick up the investigation, with Cyno going straight to the Desert. Dori begins reinforcing the city (her people discover that Alhaithams curse (now lifted) awakened Miasma deep under the ground. The Miasma begins to slowly spread, seemingly in the direction of the Sumeru Forest). Cyno sends back a message, confirming that strong and dark magic seems to be gathering within the Desert, possibly for the purpose of destroying the magical forest.

Alhaitham manages to get back to Kaveh and tell him of what happened in the city. In order to be able to protect the forest together with Alhaitham, Kaveh doubles down on his efforts to create a mechanical working wing. Everything works, besides the golden feathers - they need to be blessed in order to allow the mechanism to work as intended, but Kaveh does not have enough power for it. Alhaitham takes a risk and brings the feathers to the shrine, created by Nilou and other humans, so that they could bless them for Kaveh. (They are short of one feather eventually, and Alhaitham gives Kaveh one of his own, his first blessed feather, to complete the wing.)

TLDR: Kaveh works on restoring his wing and faith in himself and humanity; Alhaitham learns that humanity is not always evil. Dori and Cyno discover that the escaped perpetrator (caugh controlled by Dottore caugh) used Kaveh to get to Alhaitham to gain his cursed feather for completing some sort of ancient ritual to unseal the forbidden knowledge magic deep within the Desert in roder to unleash it on the magical forest, slumbering God of Wisdom and human cities. Kaveh learns to curse his feathers (while opposing Dottore in a final fight), and Alhaitham learns to bless his. Humans and Sumeru Forest continue to coexist peacefully. Alhaitham and Kaveh live together happily ever after.

5. Pacific Rim!AU, where Kaveh and Alhaitham used to be pilots of a Jaeger, but during one of their battles they suffered too much damage. In order to save Alhaitham and what remains of their Jaeger, Kaveh takes most of the damage by severing already unstable connection between Alhaitham and Jaeger's system. Both barely survive the encounter, but meanwhile Alhaitham manages to recover fast, the damage Kaveh has taken leaves him in a critical condition, eventually resulting in him being unable to ever pilot a Jaeger ever again (and putting many new restraints on his usual daily life).

As soon as Kaveh comes to his senses, the two have a huge fight about Kaveh's rash decision, and eventually break off their friendship. They don't see each other for a long, long time.

As the time goes on, Kaveh learns how to live with the changes that his body sustained with the help of his service dog Mehrak. Eventually he takes on a job at one of the Jaeger construction facilities (together with his friend Tighnari), studying Kaiju and creating new Jaeger modifications - though no Kaiju has been seen in the past several years, the world is still afraid of their return.

When the suspicion of the new Kaiju appearance arises, new pilot recruits and ex-pilots are summoned to the facility. There, Kaveh meets Alhaitham for the first time in years. After their fallout, Alahitham resigned from piloting Jaegers, yet now he had no choice but to return to train new recruits (and possibly resume his role of a Jaeger pilot). Now once again the two have to work together as a part of a team in face of approaching danger, trying to resolve their past conflicts and overcome their fears and insecurities along the way (when deep down they simply want to keep each other safe).

TLDR: Kaveh & service animal Mehrak is a neat concept I'd love to see more of, just as a concept in general. I think this one could be an interesting story idea centered mostly around Kaveh's day to day life. Additionally, Alhaitham who used to be only drift compatible with Kaveh but now suddenly discovers he's drift compatible with Cyno. I need more Cyno & Alhaitham camaraderie I think it would do them lots of good (at least in this specific AU setting lol).

6. Oxenfree!AU where Kaveh and Alhaitham are two ex-best friends turned reluctant coworkers (photo-journalist and journalist respectively) working on writing a piece about the disappearances of a group of teenagers that happened at the Edwards Island several years prior (timeline somewhere between the first and the second games). The radio shenanigans ensue, making the two face their past, possible futures and, most importantly, their present. (In Oxenfree tuning into certain radio sequences can temporarily mess up time-space shenanigans, just fyi).

TLDR: I just think that this setting could facilitate some character exploration that would be very fun.

7. Modern MermanKaveh!AU, post-fallout, where it's a little bit more about haunting Alhaitham (and the narrative), than being a merman. Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, Kaveh drowns one day, trying to save someone from the water. Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, he doesn't really die, being stuck in between (existence and death, normal life and the necessity to live in water). Kaveh manages, for quite a while even!

But of course Alhaitham has to come back and turn his world upside down once again.

TLDR: can you tell Alhaitham's quote about drowning stuck with me huh (and I made it literal lol). On a serious note... Idk, vibes??? I want to see the "stuck in the middle" Kaveh, whatever that entails. Some existential explorations. And the development of his relationship with Alhaitham, of course. // Kaveh is a merman unable to fully live the life he used to have, and Alhaitham doesn't know that he survived (for a while), alternatively "let me help to save you from metaphorical and literal drowning" Alhaitham and "I learned to live like this, this is what my norm now looks like" Kaveh.

8. Another Modern MermanKaveh!AU/DrownedGhostKaveh!AU, because I apparently have no self-control (I feel like I should also clarify that whenever I mention a mermaid, I think of them more as of ghosts of drowned people and less as mermaids-mermaids, the half-human half-marine creature ones). This idea was initially prepared for chili/zhongchi but it's been sooooooooooooooooooo long and I still haven't done anything substantial for it so I'm borrowing it from myself for myself and tweaking it for kavetham because I figured it could fit them. So here it goes,

Alhaitham is a scientist/marine biologist that moves from the city to a much smaller port town, getting himself a place in a local partially repurposed lighthouse. Kaveh is a merman, who has been dead for a long while and who's been living within local waters ever since he drowned. Alhaitham leads a very isolated life, going through a rather rough patch emotionally (maybe a badly ended past relationship and relocation from an established group of friends to a remote place brought up past negative emotions related to loss that were bottled up for a while. who knows, not me). Anyways, Alhaitham's not doing too well, but seaside walks help him unwind, even if for a short periods of time. During one of such walks, he finds an old pendant washed ashore. He picks up his find, hoping to do some research on it outside of his work time (because research is his fun-time).

He expects this to be a brief excursion into local history. He does not expect to become haunted by the ghost of a man to whom this pendant belonged to way back when.

Kaveh, in turn, is extremely excited to finally, finally be able to get out of the sea to the surface. He intends to stay ashore as long as possible and, well, if he just so gets to amuse himself by haunting a grumpy marine biologist that refuses to believe in merpeople, ghosts of drowned and other supernatural occurences - who's he to say no?

TLDR: this AU can go two ways (in my eyes): the happy ending way and probably more gothic-horror-story-esque ending. So, Alahitham is cursed to be haunted by Kaveh: for a while he's the only one who can see him, with Kaveh being something akin to a ghost. However, the longer Kaveh haunts Alhaitham, the more human he becomes (others can see him, he cannot phase through walls anymore, etc.). The curse in itself goes something like this: the cursed thing, after being picked up/taken in, cannot be thrown away and will always come back. The ghost, tied to the haunted thing, shall haunt whoever picks the cursed thing (the thing should be tied to the ghost, but may not necessarily belong to them) and drain their life energy. The ghost can become free and human again if the haunting goes long enough and they kill the human who picked the cursed object in the end during a very specific time that doesn't occur too often (proverbial blue moon, idk). If they don't kill the human and decide to let them go, then the ghost will seize to exist and the human will regain their strength. (An alternative option to the ghost dying for a less angsty au: the ghost voluntarily takes back the cursed object and returns to the place where they died, but then they will never be able to haunt anyone ever again. The effect of the curse on the haunted remain, but much weaker).

In this case, let's say Kaveh and Alhaitham stay by each other's side from half a year to a year, idk. They grow closer, eventually becoming friends and maybe more (the usual kavetham shenanigans Kaveh falls first but Alhaitham falls harder). Alhaitham's mental state gradually improves, yet overall he becomes weaker because of the curse (to the point that it becomes a serious concern), which Kaveh blames himself for. The appointed time approaches (both Kaveh and Alhaitham are in on the details of the curse), and Kaveh, seeing it as an opportunity to set Alhaitham free, manages to separate himself from Alhaitham. Kaveh is ready to return to the sea/merge with it (ah yes the classic Little Mermaid influence does anybody feel it lol). However, Alhaitham sees through his plan and arrives just in time to stop him. They have a confrontation. Eventually, they manage to lift the curse (as you can see I have not figured out exactly how this can happen but! it definitely can!) with Kaveh becoming human again and Alhaitham regaining his health. The two continue to live together happily ever after.

The other scenario is practically the same, but it's more ghothic? and abstract (and probably more suitable for the og pairing it was made for, but i'll throw it in anyways). I have not engaged with gothic literature much and thus don't have much experience in how it works/how to write it, but the idea is that Kaveh is more of a projection of Alhaitham's grief than a ghost fo a drowned person (in other words, he's definitely a ghost, but his presence is also much more symbolical). The story follows quite similar beats, except the setting of the curse is a bit different: it's more of a "kill first or be killed" thingy with a deadline. Kaveh earnestly tries to drown Alhaitham at first through various means, but the more time they spend together, the more Kaveh sees of Alhaitham's life and pain and feels sympathetic for him. Despite the curse, Kaveh tires to help Alhaitham in various ways; and it works! Alhaitham gradually begins to feel better; the two grow closer to each other (more in a platonic way).

So now the precedent is that though Alhaitham's overall doing better, the curse still preys on him, hindering his life in various ways that become more and more serious/dangerous (the curse's deadline approaches, and it tries to survive the best way it can through Kaveh's influence on Alhaitham). Eventually, Kaveh lets Alhaitham go, merging with the sea (once again, yes, it was partially inspired by the Little Mermaid). Alhaitham realizes what happened and tries to look for Kaveh, but it is in vain.

Eventually, life goes on.

Bonus Elden Ring AU (because guess who suddenly went on a lore video watching spree): Kaveh is a craftsman and one of the inhabitants of Castle Morne who managed to escape before it was overrun by Misbegotten. He's a follower of St. Trina and Miquella (he doesn't follow Miquella at first, but slowly he comes to suspect that the two are one and the same). After escaping from Castle Morne, he finds his way to Jarburg, where he is welcomed to stay and be the new Potentate.

Alhaitham is from a distant branch of Carian royal family and a scholar at the Academy of Raya Lucaria. Quite possibly explored an area of studies similar to Sellen's. Eventually he separates himself from both Academy and his family, becoming a wandering scholar.

The two meet somewhere nearby Jarburg when Kaveh gets ambushed by the same people who were trying to get to Alhaitham. The two fight them off. Kaveh, trying to help injured Alhaitham, leads him to Jarburg. The two continue living together there ever since (not without hiccups, but they're doing their best).

TLDR: this one is short and very simple because I just started diving into the Elden Ring's lore, but I just. Really wanted to make some AU for them. I also desperately wanted it to be peaceful and happy one despite it being a seeming impossibility for anything dark souls/elden ring related, but one can dream. If I were to make this one darker I'd probably expand on the duality of their two characters here, and how Alhaitham probably used to conjure spells on humans (with gaining knowledge being his sole life purpose for a long time) and has challenges with comprehending the world outside of a framework of pure logic, and how Kaveh gets an increasing tendency of escaping to the dream world/wherever Miquella is in order to alleviate his mental turmoil (maybe he witnessed too much during his escape from the Castle), and how the two have opposing perspectives on the idea of worshipping gods, and- like, there's a lot that can be done. But I also just really really really want them to simply be happy together in a jar village, leading a peaceful life.

That's it for now! Thank you for reading all of this, I can't commend your patience enough if you got to the end of this list!!!✨🎉✨

Maybe in the future I will unpack some of these aus. who knows.

[gromlyn]

as someone who went to a private christian high school this perfectly describes multiple kids I went to school with all I'm saying is private christian high school is the perfect modern au setting if you're looking for a setting that captures systemic abuses of power like westeros

i am pretty anti asoiaf modern aus bc they seem to exist to remove any problematic content. this is why my modern au where larys is a school shooter and alicent is a pro life bible thumper is way better and different. plus american high schools love to reward homophobic and misogynistic repressed hot guy cops so it’s an au where criston always comes out on top

[screampied]

‘ I JUST WANNA HEAR YOU (S)CREAMMM ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. what’s your favorite scary movie? is it carrie? psycho? or maybe nightmare on elm street? perhaps picking up the phone was a bad idea, but you don’t scare easily! or do you?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface geto & ghostface nanami, college au, threesōmes, unprotected, brief phone sēx, roleplay, dirty talk, praise, overstim, implied multiple ōrgasms, spit, manhandling, brēeding, hair pulling, oral (f & m receiving), cowgirl dp.

an. from this ask!

“hello.”

“hello?”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you deadpan, almost as if you’ve seen this movie before. it was around close to midnight. you were the only one sober at some random frat party you got dragged to. everyone besides you were probably wasted or shoving tongues into mouths. sitting up on a cushioned bed, you hold the landline up to your ear. “mean girls two. bye.”

“….girl what? that’s not a—”

you hang up, averting your eyes back towards the tv screen that displayed some cheesy soap opera. about precisely thirteen seconds pass before the landline screeches a loud deafening ring again.

sighing, you answer it. “stop calling this number. prank calls aren’t funny.”

“no.” the voice replies, and it’s very deep—you swear you’ve heard something like it before. a best way to describe it was that it had a gruff pitch to it, baritone running all underneath it. his voice was also a bit sly too. “i just wanna talk to you.”

“bother some other girl. bye.”

“don’t hang up on me.”

for whatever reason, you don’t hang up. his voice sounded a bit stern—you sit up before growing quiet. you’re fully alert now.

“good girl. now, i’ll ask again. what’s your favorite scary movie?”

pressing your back against the comforter, your thighs squeeze together. with another vexed sigh, you say the most random movie that comes immediately to mind. “halloween.”

“pft. basic.”

“wha— you’re the one who asked.”

“oh, doll i’m just joking. but anyway, you like slasher movies, yeah?”

for whatever reason, the more you talked to this total stranger, you start to feel a sudden uncanny stir delve around your stomach. you weren’t scared, yet at least, but it was oddly peculiar. his voice sounds a bit familiar the more you listen to it. with how teasing the caller on the other line appeared, it was strangely intriguing. you kind of didn’t wanna hang up anymore, besides this party you were at was quite … not the best.

“not really. i am a jamie lee curtis fan though, i only watched because i make fun of the deaths.” you mumble.

“hmmm,” the voice hums through the other end. it’s as if he’s pondering what his next choice of words will be to you. “so…you got a boyfriend?”

you were taken aback by how abrupt the change of subject was. the man on the other end laughs at your awkward silence before you finally speak.

“no, and it’s not like it’s any of your business.”

“easy, girl. i’m just curious. besides, what if i wanna ask ya out?”

you grow quiet again before rubbing your neck, you were growing a bit hot.

“whatever. no, i don’t have a … boyfriend.”

“ooh. you hesitated there.”

you grumble. “shut up. i’m hanging up.”

the man immediately replies with a chortle.

“wait, wait. heh, serious though. you never told me your name, doll face.”

with an eye roll, you utter, “why do you wanna know my name?”

“because i wanna know who i’m looking at.”

“what?”

“what?”

each word he spoke breaks through the phone due the deep mess of his voice. a few rough sparks from his dialogue punctures through the soundbox of the device. again, he did sound oddly familiar. you just couldn’t put your foot on it.

the man chuckles before responding in a more sly tone—changing the subject again.

“you know doll, you sound kind of out of breath. call me crazy, but before i called you, were you playing with yourself?”

your legs suddenly squeeze shut, you were wearing one of your borrowed hoodies and shorts underneath. any sane person would have hung up eons ago, but for whatever reason—you felt your heartbeat start to race. the more you listened to the deep voice on the other end, the more you started to grow more curious. what’s wrong with playing around for a little bit? besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen—you dying?

you scoff, thinking this was nothing more than a dumb prank call—you decided that playing along wouldn’t hurt. you had nothing else to do anyway.

“so what if i was playing with myself?”

“i bet you didn’t even make yourself finish, doll.”

his voice, the more it spoke in that rough pitched tone—you couldn’t help but press the landline up to your ear just a bit further. you furrow your curled up brows, lowering your guard a bit. probably foolish, maybe you’d regret this later, but alas, reality wasn’t on your mind at the moment.

“are you saying you can make me finish?” you mutter, growing amused now.

“oh i know i can. i can make you get off from just from my voice alone.”

he was toying with you, but it was too late to back down. you intake a honed breath before humming.

“okay, prove it then.”

he chuckles.

“mhm. take those panties off first. actually no, slide them to the side for me.”

you really felt like you were in a movie, shamelessly at this random guy’s beck and call. as the show played in the background, you press the middle part of your thumb against the volume button to turn it down four notches. the room was practically silent now, the only noises heard were from the blaring beat drops of edm music downstairs. sprawling your legs out, you creep a shaking hand between your thighs.

the voice grows quiet, you finally move your panties toward the side before slouching back against the pillow.

“you must be really bored. talking to a random girl at the m-midnight.” you exhale.

“heh, m-maybe,” he mocks your falter. “but i’m sure you’ll keep me entertained with that cute voice of yours.”

he was so smooth. smooth as if he was prepared for every word that flew out of your mouth. as your fingers glide against your now exposed entrance, you let off a shaky breath.

he was right, out of boredom you tried to play with yourself— yet, that didn’t work out because you could never make yourself finish. your attempt was basically useless. with a frowning pout, you reply. “now what?”

“finger yourself, silly. and i wanna hear, put the phone up against that pussy for me, doll.”

he was filthy.

you felt yourself start to throb before removing the landline from against your ear and placing it right against your doused entrance.

with heavy jagged breaths becoming more irregular, the person on the other line hears the wet sloshes of your cunt up against the phone. again, he grows quiet—it’s almost like you can make out his deep attractive breaths and it makes you pulse even more.

“bet you’re so nice ‘n soaked. sounds so sloppy.”

gnawing on the softness of your bottom lip, your thumb briefly skims past the nub of your clit and you whine. you were already a bit sensitive from before, starting to stroke your fingers against it. bringing the phone back up to your ear, you ease a single finger inside. it feels warm—you were slick, coating your own finger with a nice amount of your obscene arousal. it doesn’t take long for you to start to pant, slithering another finger inside of your cunt before moaning. it fits nicely, nice and snug.

“you sound so pretty. i want you to imagine those are my fingers, pretty girl. can ya do that?”

“y-yeah,” you start to stammer, feeling a sudden spongey texture inside of you—you gasp, not expecting to reach your sweetened g-spot so soon. it was a mere bumpy texture, gloopy gummy walls involuntarily accepting your two slender fingers with an open gesture. “fuck, ‘m still a bit sensitive.”

he guffaws lowly.

“yeah, i bet you are. poor baby can’t even make herself cum.”

you swallow, the playfulness in his voice making your thighs start to tremble a bit. with relaxed fingers stretching throughout your walls, you focus on your breathing. each pant that came out of your hot breaths seemed like it was gonna be your last. after a while, your toes start to curl up in pure pleasure—you moan, feeling a sudden rush of weightlessness nirvana overtake you.

“find your g-spot for me. tell me when you do.”

“i- i already found it,” you whine, a sheaf of nerves that store inside of your pussy pulsating at a rapid speed. your head throws itself back as you’re just moaning melodically. “fuck, why don’t you just come over ‘n finish for me already.”

the voice laughs again.

“yeah? you want me to come over instead? maybe i should use my tongue since your fingers are so useless, dollface.”

at this point, you didn’t really care. maybe making simple rational decisions today just wasn’t in your favor. the eerie voice, each second you spent listening to it the more aroused you became. maybe getting off to a pure stranger’s voice was embarrassing but you were feening. the air felt suddenly thick. so thick you could cut it with a knife. with your bottom lip being chewed on like gum, you briskly shiver. cold, wintry air wafts against your skin and you moan for the nth time. an unforeseen chill runs down your spine before you hold back yet another whine.

“f-fuck, just come ‘n finish for me. i can’t do it. please.”

he grows quiet for a solid good four seconds before replying in a cheeky tone.

“okay. turn around.”

your panting stops and instantly, you turn your head the other way—of course, no one was there. figures, the only things your eyes were met with was the wooden headboard. with a disappointed grimace, pulling your occupied fingers out of your cunt, you turn back around. as you’re about to speak into the phone again, you open your mouth before pausing.

there, you’re met face first with what appears to be some guy in an infamous ghostface costume. he was tall, staggering inches on him before you don’t see one but two. they both had the same getup, ghoulish ghost mask, a long black robe, and the same spectral, tilting head-stance.

one of them takes off a mask and it’s suguru geto, your roommate.

your eyes concisely widen. once he yanks off the mask, his silky well-kept black strands fly loose. no wonder the voice sounded a tad bit familiar. the other removes his mask and it was nanami, two of them—now you really felt like you were in a movie. “you always did say how much you liked scream,” and then you glance at nanami who had a sheepish expression. “don’t be shy now, someone’s gotta help ya finish.”

“o-oh,” you remember, sitting up against the bed. now you were embarrassed. just a few seconds ago, you were getting off to your roommate’s voice. suddenly, you felt even more hot. you did end up talking their ear off about your adoration for the beloved franchise, ranting about your cute little ghostface obsession.

truth be told though, you didn’t know they’d make it a sheer reality for you. the two of them get on the bed towards you before nanami brings a gloved hand to your chin. he strokes your chin softly, and geto moves underneath.

“sorry princess,” he whispers. “suguru wanted to scare you but i told him we should just show ourselves,” and as he’s speaking, you get lost in his soft, honeydew eyes. such gentle compared to geto who was a bit more—crazed. “he didn’t scare you too bad, did he?”

you moan once you feel geto run a thumb against your already exposed cunt. with a firm head shake, you huff. “no, n-not really.”

“aw what. i thought i was pretty scary,” and you whimper out once he blows against your folds. for a concise moment, geto stares up at you—dark eyes keeping a strong gaze on you. “tell us what you want, pretty girl. you want us to help you finish?”

you nod, feeling geto spread your legs apart further.

nanami, with a gloved hand purses your lips together, forming them into a tight squeeze before humming. “words, princess. use them, okay?”

the more you feel geto’s breath fan against your clit, teasing you—you were about to go feral. you stare up at nanami before letting off a sweet whine. “i- i want you both to help me finish,” you stutter out, stumbling over your pathetic words like you’d stumble with an untied shoe. “make me cum, please kento.”

he leans in to kiss your forehead and you hear geto scoff underneath. “i’m the one between your legs but whatever,” and you feel his soft lips kiss against your pussy. “kento, keep her distracted for me, will ya?”

“you’re so pretty,” he mutters, lightly lifting up your chin. as he wore black gloves—the fabric gently brushes against your lip, popping a thumb into your mouth. he doesn’t expect for you to happily take it in his mouth, sucking on it. “oh,” he breathes, a bit speechless. you stare into nanami’s eyes, swirling your tongue around his thumb in such an erotic way. lowly hooded eyes stare at him the entire time, you moan once you feel the flatness of geto’s tongue run against your sweet clitoral hood. his tongue—the texture of it was so cold, the moment he digs in he makes you know the pure definition of sloppy. all with his tongue, he slowly flicks it against your nub before delving his tongue deeper between your soddened folds. nanami pulls your chin to face him again before softly purring, “don’t look at him, look at me pretty girl.”

as your eyes focus back towards nanami, you could already feel your legs quavering. you felt hot, the lewd way geto drags his tongue against your pussy makes you gasp out three strained second puffs of air.

“k-kento,” you moan, pawing your hands at the low part of his robe. he watches, lowering his head at you before you reach there. nanami’s bulge, he has an abashed expression as he realizes what you were fondling at. “take it off.”

“ah, ask nicely,” he coos. your lips were now glossed with your own spit he smears against you as he pulls his gloved thumb out of your mouth. even though nanami was more tame than geto, his voice had a bit more dominance in it. he grabs your chin gently, cocking his head toward the side. “tell me what you want ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

your legs felt like they were standing on its last few hinges—geto’s tongue runs down your slit, taking a moment to depart his lips and spit on it, only to then lap it up again. a few annoyed grunts escape out of him partially due to his long strands of hair getting in the way. “so sweet,” he mutters, you whimper once he prods two fingers against your outer entrance. every few seconds he’d kiss near your thighs, leaving a few bite bite marks before focusing back towards your folds. “mhm.”

barely even able to keep focus, you gaze back up at nanami who’s standing near the edge of the bed—you’re laid back against the pillows with geto between your thighs. finally, a sweet mewl of words leave your glazed lips. “i- i wanna taste, ‘ken. wanna suck you off,” and he gives you a playful eyebrow raise, prying his pink lips open a few inches apart before you correct yourself. “pretty please.”

“better,” he murmurs, a hand of his reaching towards your head to give it a good pat. “good girl. go ahead, lift it up ‘n enjoy the meal.”

with a soft slackened sigh, you lift up the obsidian black robe. you’re met with ripped jeans, for some reason you just figured he’d already be sprung out for you. as geto’s still lapping up every drop of your taste, you unzip his fly before yanking down his pants. you were so impatient— and with geto’s demented pace, you were getting close. he chuckles, watching you struggle with the zipper for a bit before finally reaching near his boxers. they were a cerulean blueish color, his bulge was just appetizing. the entire shape of it, you felt yourself starting to drool the longer your eyes made direct contact against it. so rounded and full. with clammy hands, you tug them down before his thick cock springs out.

“it’s okay,” he whispers with a nod, watching you glance up him—a silent gesture as a way of asking if you could go further. nanami brings a hand towards the crown of your head, gingerly massaging his fingers through the crevices of your scalp. “you can be a little messy for me.”

a wretched whine that was raw rips from your throat once you feel geto’s tongue latch against your cunt. by now, he was sucking against your folds. the squelches were so sloppy, a hand of yours grab onto his hair for leverage and he shoots you a sly smile.

“don’t be shy girl, yank on it.”

dark pooled irises linger into yours for a long time before you get a good grip of geto’s hair, dragging him closer towards your entrance. over and over and over.

he giggles, hot breath ghosting against your folds and you throb even more. with dilated irises staring back towards nanami, you wrap your free hand around his length—he was so thick, such full balls that you just wanted to run your tongue all across it. he had a few veins skim down his beige, weighty cock. you could make out a few drops of lustrous pre-cum that decorates near his very tip. “u-ugh,” he shakes, the warmth that your tongue provides has him smothering his lips together. nanami watches, you’re slow but deadly.

pursing your lips together, you gradually start to sink him into your mouth.

geto’s still between your thighs, shoving two fingers in and out of you now—he surrounds your clit with his mouth, the suction he creates with just his lips was brutal. you’re moaning, even whilst your noises were pretty much muffled due to nanami’s fat cock. “easy,” he whispers, tapping a thumb against your cheek. “no teeth, okay? you’re doing s-so good.”

nanami groans, goading the same thumb against your cheek before you inch yourself further and further down. he has a shy smile at the way your hair forms in musses due to his tight grip. within no time, your throat’s already stuffed and few droplets of your own saliva trickles down the sides of your mouth. geto’s still making sure to thrust his gloved digits in and out of your soaked cunt and you don’t know which roommate to focus on.

“m-mphm,” was all you could manage out, your legs in a swift spread-eagle position. as you’re outstretched, you feel yourself about to cum. you’d recognize that feeling anywhere—the feeling when a swelling pool of heat residing inside your stomach tickles throughout your entire abdomen. that same feeling of nirvana courses through your veins as you’re now leisurely bobbing your head. every time you pull on geto’s long hair, he grunts—spanking your clit in response and that only causes you to whine for more. nanami strokes your face as he starts to feel his dick prod against the roof of your mouth. for a split second as you’re breathing through each nostril—you gag, long lashes fluttering in sync together.

your legs couldn’t hold still, geto’s continuously pushing you towards your limit before you whimper out. your tongue lathers over the splotches of pre-cum that paints nanami’s tip a pretty shade of snowy white.

he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, especially not with a face like that.

low eyes, sheepish smile, furrowed eyebrows. you’re convulsing profusely all in geto’s mouth, the sides of your thighs occasionally hitting against his face and he titters. “such a sloppy m-mouth,” nanami inhales deeply, and he starts to gently drag your head against his cock. he’s got your mouth filled with so many inches—your cheeks were all puffed up from his immense length, sheeny slobber emanating all down the sides of your mouth before he pants. “gonna make such a mess ‘n your mouth, princess. ‘s that what you want?”

you nod, feeling the vein that runs down his girthy cock twitch in your mouth. you moan, he’s feeling weightless—you’ve got his knees trembling, a hand’s still attached to your head like velcro before gyrating your tongue all over the crownhead of his shaft. “such a pretty face,” he gruffs lowly, swiftly pulling your hair side to side to take every inch. “s-shame i gotta ruin it a little.”

even nanami’s dirty talk was tame— it was cute to witness, the way his blond brows would tug into a furrow. he’s so pent up, and out of nowhere—you feel a sudden rush erupt within your cunt. before you could even react, you end up cumming hard. it shoots out of you like a rough wave, it’s such pure bliss that it takes you a few seconds to realize. geto’s making out with your pussy, slowly sliding his two protected fingers in and out of your sopping wet entrance and you shudder. “what a fuckin’ mess,” he hums, taking sight at how saturated you were. as geto laps his tongue against your folds once more, he stares back up at you and nanami. “aw. look at you two,” and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “slobbin’ everywhere, messy girl you are.”

your eyes go back up towards nanami, he’s sweating.

he felt as if the fabric of his robe stuck against his skin. while he’s holding it up with one hand, you sneak a stare at his abs, perfect washboard abs that looked quintessentially sculpted against his body. “g-gonna cum,” and he stares at geto, growing a bit flustered once all attention’s on him. “suguru, don’t just stand there. p���praise her.”

geto scoffs, kneeling beside you on the bed before moving a few strands from your face. “so bossy,” he grits before giving you your second head pat. he leans up close to your ear, grabbing the voice changer again and brings it up to his lips. “c’mon, doll. make ‘ken cum, yeah. doin’ so good for us. you’re gonna make him whine for you, heh.”

nanami’s legs felt like mush, he throws his head back, his long black robe syncing with his movements before he’s gently pulling your head against his thick cock. he shudders, welts of twinges close in on the undersides of his thighs before he finally finishes. it builds up gradually before you find him pouring into your mouth with a nice amount of parching hot cum. it’s hot, a good mass of satiny ropes coat the flat middle part of your tongue and you moan. “f-fuuuck,” he heaves through heavy lungs, it’s still trickling, you savor the taste. it’s bitterly sweet. he pulls out of your mouth before letting off a tremulous sigh. “good girl, f-fuck.”

“aw. don’t hog her, give me attention too,” geto sneers, softly grabbing you by the neck, making you face him. with his right hand, he squeezes your lips together with a rigid grip. “ah, don’t swallow yet. c’mere.”

with half-lidded eyes, you do—leaning into his touch before geto plants his warm lips onto yours. you’re caught by surprise for the umpteenth time today, prying your mouth open for him and he lolls his tongue down your throat. you let off a whine, feeling his gloved hands rub against every inch of your body. immediately, he tastes the candied flavor of nanami’s cum and it makes him groan. he didn’t even bat an eye—you return the kiss, feeling geto’s hand slither further down towards your ass. he caresses it, giving it a mean spank to make you moan out in ecstasy.

after a while, he pulls away, humming at nanami. “ken ken, don’t be so shy. you want a taste too?”

“yeah,” he mutters, needy eyes staring at your lips that were lubricated with your own sheeny spit. “can i?”

you nod, and he’s so gentle with you. a hand nimbly wraps around your throat before he brings you into a deeper kiss. geto’s still for his hands on you, strumming his fingers near your pulled to the side panties. you let off a soft pant, feeling the spiral of nanami’s tongue go against yours. he tastes sweet — savory even, his flavor was purely mouthwatering. a thumb drags down the passageway of your throat before he pulls away. it’s slow, a polished concoction of saliva departs from each mouth and you whimper. you were throbbing, desperate for more and they both knew that. if this— whatever this was was some sort of movie, you never wanted it to end. you never wanted the credits to roll because you felt like you were floating on cloud nine.

with the two of them, you were stretched in every way possible. if you could compare who was bigger, actually you couldn’t. throughout multiple positions, you felt as if you were gonna snap in half. they had you so stupid. pink tongue rolled out, full lungs of oxygen departing out such hot breaths of air, you were the definition of stupid.

cockdrunk at its finest. each orgasm that got ruthlessly snatched out of you had your head spinning, heart racing entirely.

you felt like something was creeping up behind your shoulder, chills. whenever you’d coax out yet another teeth-shattering orgasm, all you felt was stone cold chills. time after time, it felt like pure bliss—you thought you were in a whole new world, barely even able to move your thighs an inch. being sandwiched between the two of them, perhaps you were a little greedy but you just couldn’t get enough. geto’s degrading you whilst nanami’s whispering sweet pleasures into your ear, you’ve never felt more soaked.

you didn’t wanna stop—

currently, you’re straddling nanami. he’s got two rough hands gripping your waist, intaking every inch of your pretty physique. his stare sends you butterflies, his shaft was underneath you and only then pulls out. with a cute, “phew,” he swipes a sheet of sweat that expands across his forehead. you rode him so good that he couldn’t even figure out what to say. he was so flustered, tips of his ears a reddish hot before he watches geto creep behind you. “think she wants more, suguru.”

“bet she does,” he whispers, bringing a few sweet kisses near the inner corners of your neck.

you’re promptly sat up straight. the brief sounds of booming speakers roar from downstairs as you wrap your arms around nanami. geto licks near your collarbone before purring seductively. “say, doll. how ‘bout you try to take us both? would ya like that?” and with a gloved hand he gives your ass a squeeze. “wanna be the final girl ‘n prove your worth? our final girl?”

without an inkling of hesitation—you nod, mewling out a sweet, “yes, yes jus’ hurry up, sugu. ‘m still c…close.”

“so wet, so impatient,” he whispers once more, and with two hands he makes you sit up from nanami. you gulp—swallowing whatever sanity you had left, preparing to be quite literally double stuffed with your roommates. you aren’t so sure why, but the fact that they both still had on their ghoulish costumes made you pulsate a bit more. geto’s helping you slide back down onto nanami’s length before slowly making his way into you also. “god, you’re so hot in here. gonna fuckin’ swallow me whole.”

you moan, everything goes so slow—your cunt was a ticking time bomb. you clamp down on each before slumping into nanami’s chest. you’re met with kind eyes, he strokes your forehead before kissing the bridge of your nose, panting in a hushed voice. “eyes on me, princess. just relax.”

you wriggle a bit at the positioning—being on nanami’s lap, geto directly behind you, you’re quite literally being filled in every orifice by thick inches of cock. nanami’s words were soothing, filling up your tummy with a pool of fluttering butterflies. you keep your eyes on him, clenching down on geto a bit before you hear him hiss in response. “ugh. doll open up for me a little m-more, yeah.”

his voice was deepened heavily—you let off a cute gasp once they’re both finally in and a few shaky breaths exit past your lips. “hold my hand, i got you,” nanami coos, and that’s when geto starts to rock. he had more control between the two of you, the grip on your hips was firm and you let off a sweet babble. each individual entrance was stuffed, you swallow the invisible lump in your throat as you start to feel the sweltering friction of your thighs slap against nanami. “you’re so pretty like this,” and he kisses the temple of your cheek.

every kiss presented from nanami makes your heart race—being sandwiched between nanami and geto, you really did feel like the main character.

your lip tremors, grinding back and forth between each of them, you feel geto wrap his thick fingers around your neck.

whilst you’re still straddling nanami—you moan again and again, feeling a free hand of geto’s spank your ass. the stretch that you continuously felt had your mouth watering. you heard the harmonic pap pap pap’s until it rang throughout your ears. “fuck, ya like being stuffed don’t you, pretty girl? feel full enough?” geto rasps, pressing his body right up against you. you felt his hot temperature go against your skin. making you feel every amount of his heat. your brain’s swelling up with fog. giving him an inert nod, you hear him click his tongue. “didn’t say to nod your head, doll. i wanna hear that sweet voice.”

whenever geto lowers his voice a bit, you feel the abrupt tension arise between your legs. leaning against nanami, you whine out a, “hngh y-yesss, ‘m so full, sugu. want more, stuff me more.”

“let me stuff your mouth too then.”

and before you could come up with a reply, geto removes his glove—shoving your mouth with two fat digits. he grunts, watching as you’re so compliant with your throat being filled with his fingers. nanami stares at the entire scene in front of him, his dick idly twitching inside of you. your tongue runs down his fingers before your own spit starts to seep down the corners of your lips. it was messy—you were messy. your hips jitter and judder and you knew with having both holes stuffed you weren’t gonna last that much longer. it was probably the dozenth orgasm your pussy’s been introduced with and you could feel the creeping pleasure brew up inside your abdomen.

“suguru, ‘m gonna cum.” nanami groans, bringing his own hands to wrap around your waist. you lessen your tense from his touch before gagging a bit from the prodding of geto’s fingers way back into your throat. “she’s s-squeezing me so good.”

geto snickers, making eye contact with nanami. “are you? ‘ken, you’re more whinier than usual today.”

“shut up.” he grumbles, slapping a hand over his face in embarrassment — nanami wasn’t so known to be all flustered and abashed, but whenever he was, it was so cute.

you’ve still got a mouthful of geto’s fingers before he pulls them out only to shove them into his own mouth. he hums, sharp hips snapping into you repeatedly as his other free hand tightens its secured grasp around your hip. “mhm,” he groans, feeling himself reaching his peak also. “you taste like a final girl. so sweet like candy.”

with the piston of geto’s vigorous hips, you’re so loose that you feel the fleeting sensation of your cunt gaping.

its cavernous, you jerk forward against nanami before seconds later — geto groans, abruptly finishing two seconds early. even his moans were pretty, he tugs his fingers out of your mouth to wrap them around your neck. strands of black hair glue to his forehead and he puffs out a single breath. licking a stripe near your neck, he feels thick volumes of his cum ooze into your hole. it’s so sticky, you bring your hips to a slowing halt before nanami shoots inside you too.

“f-fuck, sugu,” nanami grunts, feeling his thighs stick underneath you. he was panting heavily, each breath that ran from his lips sounding more and more wearied. “damn, so m-much.”

everything spurts into you at once. they mirror each other inside of you perfectly. callused stubby fingertips of geto’s squeeze your neck softly, watching as you’re just being filled with bulky strings of cum, it floods your cunt until it drizzles further into your womb. you’re drooling, it feels so hot, sweltering hot. it sticks against your entrance before your arms wrap around nanami. “so f-full,” you whimper, and he returns the gesture by brushing his thumb against your waist. droopy eyes hang low before nanami pulls you into another deep kiss. you decided—this was far better than some dumb party. the cottony fabric of the ghostface robe pricks against your skin as you lean into his heinous touch.

you shift your weight against nanami’s lap, feeling geto pull out before he leans down between your legs. “spread your legs,” he mutters, and in the midst of your tongue roaming down nanami’s throat, you part your thighs—gasping once you feel geto’s own tongue lap against the freshly created mess. he makes little tiny licks, tasting the ropes of crisp cum that’s sloppily easing out of every entrance—you pulsate before he chortles, warm breath ventilating against your sobbing pussy. “so messy. don’t want any spillin’ out. gotta push it back in.”

you’re moaning, after a while you break away from nanami’s lips before he strokes your cheek lovingly, a cute drowsy look before he huffs, “did you hear me, pretty?” and he gently pokes your cheek. “you always do this..”

confusion hits you before your eyes suddenly open—you jolt up, both of your roommates beside you, gawking at you with a look of deadpan. you’re leaning against geto, the third movie of scream playing in the background—it was near the ending where the killer was being revealed. you sit up, staring down at your legs and you were fully clothed—there was no geto eating between your legs, no being stuffed with nanami, nothing.

“hellooo, earth to roomie,” geto waves his hand in your face, you stare at him before furrowing your brows. “you okay? you fell asleep on me again. what’s got ya so spooked? looks like ya seen a ghost.”

so it was a dream?

a mere glimpse of your lewd imagination—?

you have a sudden sheepish look, running your fingers near the nape of your neck. “huh. oh, i’m fine. i thought the movie would be over by now.”

nanami rubs your back. “we still have like twenty minutes left,” and then he looks at you with a concerned look. so gentle—so tender. “are you sure you’re okay? we can watch a rom-com if you want.”

“i’m okay,” you insist, slumping your head back against geto.

that was weird, out of all the dreams you’ve had throughout your life—none of them ever felt as surreal as that one. for some reason, you were still aroused though. you were a bit out of breath and felt chills run all over your body.

abruptly, your phone rings,

“sugu, can you pass me my phone?” you sigh, trying to relax. you were pretty bummed you weren’t at that party getting stuffed with your two roommates but instead—in your generic dorm watching a scary movie.

he hands you the phone, grabbing the remote to turn it down a few notches.

once you take it, succinctly, your eyes scan across the screen—it reads that it’s from an unknown number. not really thinking much, you decide to answer, swiping the green button to answer. “um, hello?”

“hello.”

“hi,” you rub your eyes. “can i help y-”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

rolling your eyes, you peer at your two roommates beside you, nudging them and peeling the phone away from your ear for a moment. “very funny, suguru.”

geto gives you a look of confusion and nanami mimics the same. he shrugs, averting his eyes back toward the movie. “very funny what.”

and suddenly you’re laid back, an unbelieving expression was expressed on your face as you were left with a weird feeling. if it wasn’t them then who—

that same chill eerily creeps up your spine before you put the phone back near your ear. it’s that same low voice you heard from before, each word it speaks pitches deeper before you grow quiet at its final haunting response,

“oh baby, i’m not suguru or nanami..”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[satoruxx]

pairing: wolf!toji fushiguro x reader summary: wolfhybrid!toji, grumpy x sunshine again, animalistic behavior, bickering rheya’s note: man i couldn’t stop thinking about guard dog toji so it turned into a hybrid au! i can’t see him as anything but a wolf/dog tbh. anyways i will def be writing more for this au hehe <33

you’ve been hearing noises.

it sounds strange, but you’re sure that there is something lurking in the normally deserted alleyway next to your apartment. at first you brushed it off as people traveling through, but now you've noticed the sounds are constant—every night.

you’re eating dinner when you hear the sounds of scuffling, followed by the yowl of a cat and realize you’re probably dealing with a stray looking for food.

so after you finish your meal, you put a bit of leftover fish in an old plate you seldom use, and take it outside. when you peer into the dark alley you don’t see any cat—it’s empty and quiet. you do notice a few scrapes on the walls and a couple of trash bins overturned, which means there definitely was some animal here.

maybe it’ll come back, you think as you bend down and place the plate on the pavement. with one last backward glance at the deserted alleyway, you head inside and go to bed.

a fond smile stretches across your face when you notice the empty plate as you’re leaving for work the next morning.

it becomes a daily routine after that. every night before you go to bed you go out and leave a little plate of fish for the poor cat. and every morning you’re met with a licked clean plate.

even though you never do see the cat, you do feel a strange combination of accomplishment and affection for the poor thing. and your little routine runs smoothly for a couple weeks—you have no complaints.

and then one night, when you’re going to drop off your little ration of the day, you see him. despite being hunched in a corner, he looms infinitely large—heavy shoulders and muscles straining as they fill with tension at your presence. his eyes are strangely bright, crystalline jade narrowed into slits as they appraise you, teeth bared in feral anger. they snap and snarl at you in warning, and you freeze almost immediately.

he’s terrifying—in a strangely gorgeous way.

dark furry ears are pointed up straight, twitching with the sound of your movements, and a warning growl bounces over the walls.

you raise your hands, ignoring the tremble, the instinct to run. “i just…” you keep your voice low, choosing to lightly shake the little plate you have in your hand. green eyes dart over—another snarl, a flick of a tail.

you slowly crouch and place the plate onto the ground, before backing away—you’re not trying to get attacked by a clearly feral hybrid.

he snarls and growls until you are well out of sight.

when you’re back in the safety of your apartment you almost laugh, heart pounding with disbelief. you thought you’d been feeding a stray cat—but no, it’s a hybrid. a big one, predatory in all aspects. you couldn’t see much in the dark lighting of the alley but the ears looked distinctly canine—with the addition of the teeth, claws, and tail, you’re almost sure he is some kind of dog or wolf or whatever.

dangerous for sure.

sensibly, you should probably stop feeding him so he doesn’t stick around. but stupidly, you can’t help it.

the next night you leave another plate. he’s not there this time, but you leave it just in case he’s lurking.

the following night his green eyes remain narrowed on your figure as you return—still snarling as he watches you.

you’re not fazed.

(tell that to your racing heart.)

over the course of the next few weeks, you repeat this process, not really sure what you’re expecting. you suppose you should be grateful that he doesn’t growl as much anymore, seemingly becoming accustomed to your routine presence. it becomes clockwork, so much so that you can always expect him to be sitting in the alley, ears flicking at the sounds of your footsteps.

the plate has now been saved for his little nightly meals, something you don’t necessarily mind. you notice that he is always clad in the same tattered clothing, a dark shirt that is far too loose even on his large body—it is littered with dirt and holes and you wish it was easier to offer some more comfortable items to him.

but you’ve only just gotten him to stop viewing you as a threat; you’ll take it slow.

you don’t notice that he gradually waits closer and closer to where he knows you leave the plate, the distance diminishing in a display of semi trust.

you think that this is all you’ll really get from him. which is fine—you’d rather he remain silent and alive than dead from starvation in your alleyway.

he surprises you one night.

“no more fish.”

you pause in your tracks, a few measly centimeters away from putting the plate on the ground. your eyes dart upward to see him already staring at you, jade slits narrowed. his tail flicks lazily in the shadows. your voice is breathless when you ask, “w-what?”

“fish,” he repeats. “no more of it.”

his voice is a low rumble, deep in richness and timbre despite its evidence of not being used in a while. you glance down at the plate in confusion—he had eaten it all for these few weeks?

he reaches for the plate, digging into the fish with practiced ease. you watch his canines dig into the flesh and tear away like it’s mere paper.

(should you be scared that the fish could also be your throat?)

“you uh—” you clear you throat, staring at him. “you don’t like fish?”

“i can survive off it,” he spits out in between bites—his pupils find yours. “but it’s not great.”

you don’t know why you’re so eager to make him happy. “then what would you like to eat?”

he quirks a brow at the enthusiasm, but answers gruffly. “meat. real meat.” he pauses to run his tongue over his lips, satiated—you can see a scar cutting over them. “like lamb. or beef. i don’t care really.”

“i can do that!” you’re seriously embarrassed at how keen you are, but the progress you’re making excites you. “i should’ve considered what you’d naturally like to eat. you’re a…?”

“wolf,” he grunts, still focused on his meal.

“right.” you nod, grateful to have confirmed the species. “makes sense you’d prefer real meat.”

he doesn’t answer. you don’t mind.

“then i’ll get you something different tomorrow.” you turn to leave. once again he doesn’t answer, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into your back.

you don’t tell the wolf hybrid that you stayed up researching his species just to figure out what he’d like. you just place the plate down the next night, hoping that it is enough to make him feel a little more comfortable with you.

(you’re sure he could kill you with just one bite, but you try not to think about that.)

the wolf watches you present the plate of lamb meat, some pieces cooked and some raw—his tail slowly thumps against the ground.

“i um…know that wolves like deer and stuff, but getting deer meat nearby is a little difficult. i can probably go find some places over the weekend,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression. he reaches a large palm out, claws tugging the plate closer, and digs in. you’re not sure about the taste, but you can see the rise in enthusiasm as he gobbles the meat down—a smile twitches at your lips.

“it’s fine,” he mumbles in return. “deer’s expensive. i like lamb and chicken. beef too.”

you nod, surprised at the consideration for the money you’re spending.

“do…do you prefer it raw or cooked?” you wait for him to click his tongue or indicate he’s getting annoyed by your presence, but he’s feeling forthcoming tonight.

“either’s fine.” he licks up the pinkish liquid that has dripped down his chin while biting into the raw pieces. “i’m used to raw meat.”

you nod, slowly taking a seat on the pavement. his eyes flicker up to watch what you’re doing, but he doesn’t protest. he just picks up another piece of lamb and takes a bite.

“you cook this?” he grunts, waving one of the cooked pieces. you grimace, nodding sheepishly.

“yeah. i wasn't sure if you'd like raw meat or cooked so i brought both. i can just bring raw pieces from now on.”

he peers at the cooked meat in between his claws, before shaking his head gruffly. “it’s pretty good.”

“the cooked meat?” you ask in surprise. he nods.

“yeah. tastes good.”

you can’t help the grin that stretches across your face.

“the fuck are you smilin’ about?” he narrows his eyes at you, ears pointing upright. you drop the smile hastily, shaking your head with a start.

“nothing!”

he snorts, continuing to eat. you watch him do so, strangely content. he doesn’t comment on how you’re seemingly inspecting him, eyes unblinking. he keeps his mouth shut because the taste of meat is heavy on his tongue, and at this point you’re a godsend to an animal like him.

so if you want to observe him like he’s in a fucking zoo, he’s fine with that.

you do have horrible survival instincts though. he wonders why on earth you seem so comfortable around a predator like him, especially a species that is so known to be violent. you’re just sitting there, a mere five feet away, watching him tear into raw meat with stars in your eyes.

(he could tear you apart in a second if he wanted to.)

he doesn’t leave a morsel on the plate, and you give him that same silly smile again.

“i have a little bit more cooked lamb leftover if you want?” you question him, and his eyes lazily roam over you. he thinks about telling you that he could devour meat for much longer if the supply was endless, but instead he huffs.

“did you eat?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah you,” he replies harshly, rolling his eyes. “did you eat?”

you awkwardly scratch at your arm. “not yet. i was gonna eat some instant noodles later.”

“why the fuck are you worried about a stray like me then?” he snarls, crossing his arms—you’re so fucking naive. “go eat the cooked lamb and worry about yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

while his harsh tone would’ve definitely scared you on day one, this time, you feel more ticked off than afraid.

“i’m a grown ass adult. don’t tell me what to do. if i wanna worry about the noisy stray in my alleyway, i’ll do that,” you shoot back indignantly, mirroring his crossed arms.

the wolf’s demeanor changes, hackles rising. his ears go erect, straight and tense with frustration. he bares his teeth at you, a warning growl coming through them. “lot of talk for someone so damn tiny,” he barks. “don’t you have any self preservation instincts? i could just fucking eat you instead.”

you go a little slack jawed at that, a flicker of hesitation, but then you retort. “maybe, but i bet humans don’t taste as good as lamb or deer!”

“i’ll make do,” he growls back, canines pulling into an evil smirk.

your bravado dies down, and then he has to deal with the disturbingly wounded pout on your face. you don’t say anything more and he sighs heavily.

“i’ll eat more if you eat,” he grunts, glaring at the pavement. even then, he can feel the way you perk up.

“i’ll be right back!” you grab his plate and hurry into your apartment, eager, and all he can do is sigh, wondering what on earth he’s doing interacting with a fragile little human like you.

you come back with more cooked lamb in his designated plate, placing it in front of him before taking a seat on the floor again. he watches you stab at the pieces with a fork and chew on them, so dainty compared to the way his canines dig into his own share.

he can feel the curiosity thrumming through your veins, no doubt burning with questions—the need to talk to him. but you stay quiet as you eat, the sounds of chewing echoing through the alley. he concedes.

“you make it a habit to feed strays?” he mutters. you look up, once again sporting that silly look of surprise at his attention, but you recover quickly.

“no not really. you were just…really loud.” you sheepishly grin when he pins you with a glare, raising your hands innocently. “i just heard a lot of rattling around out here. i thought you were a stray cat.”

he takes offense to that.

“i ain’t no damn cat,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he bites into the flesh of another piece. your grin widens.

“clearly.”

the rest of the short meal passes in silence. he finishes up before you do, and for the first time you see him stand to his full height—he’s tall and hulking.

“well,” he grunts, shoving his clawed hands into his dirty pockets. “y’should go inside and finish that.”

he nods at your bowl before turning away. you briefly wonder where he sleeps; perhaps the park nearby so that he can rest on soft grass rather than cold stone. the thought makes you pity him more than you did.

his retreating form suddenly pauses, and he turns to stare over his shoulder—his jade eyes glow in the darkness. “see y’tomorrow.”

a wide smile stretches across your face, and you wave back, giddy. “sure! see you tomorrow…” your voice trails off at the end. the wolf rolls his eyes heavily, before turning around and continuing his walk.

“toji.” he finishes for you, voice low and yet still clear.

you bite back a laugh of disbelief. “toji,” you repeat, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. his ears twitch at the sound, surprisingly pleasant, and he grumbles in return, vanishing into the night.

he ends up keeping his promise.

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

[totally-here]

dpxdc twins au except it's no-pulse flavored

Bart’s new roommate looks a lot like Tim. 

Like, suspiciously like Tim. 

Danny’s the same height, has the same shape of nose, same shade of hair, and even frowns like him. He would have been a perfect copy if he acted more like Tim, but Danny definitely holds himself looser than Bart’s ever seen Tim. 

But he still has his face. So, obviously, Bart has to investigate. Maybe he’s a clone, or a shapeshifter, or maybe one of the Gotham rogues decided to get facial reconstruction surgery to look like him, and this was all a ploy. 

Okay, probably not that last one. Bart doesn’t think Tim’s enemies know his identity. 

Anyway, investigation! Bart’ll figure this out himself, and deal with it if Danny needs to be dealt with. And the investigation will start right after he comes up with an excuse as to why he’s back in their third floor apartment when he passed Danny in the hallway a few seconds before. 

Danny stares at him, and Bart stares back. 

“Must’ve been a doppelganger!” Bart blurts out. 

Danny’s silent for a second before nodding enthusiastically and noting that everyone's supposed to have like seven in the world anyway and wow what a wild coincidence that there’s one in their building. 

Bart extends the same courtesy when a week later he walks in on Danny with an iced over pan on the stove. Danny says they should really get their freezer checked out and Bart agrees and asks if he can use the ice for a painting study. 

(They never get their freezer checked.)

Bart finds that Danny’s great at setting up fun things for him to draw, whether he knows it or not. Like the ice, or his collection of rocks, his astronomy textbooks with the pretty covers, his gestures as he rants about his classes, the excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about his next repair project and how his eyes almost look like they glow in the right light. 

Hm. A good portion of his sketchbook is drawings of Danny, and yet he’s still having trouble with getting the right blue for his eyes. At first glance they’re Tim’s shade of blue, but when he keeps looking they seem to get lighter. Maybe greener?

He should probably stop staring into his friend’s eyes. 

Well, maybe not. Danny doesn’t seem to mind. 

Just like he doesn’t mind when they started regularly sitting very close on the couch, or falling asleep together, or Bart borrowing some of his jackets, or-

Okay, Bart’s kinda seeing a pattern. He and Danny should really have a conversation about if this is platonic behavior or not. 

But not right now, because Bart brought Danny across the river to raid Wally’s board game closet in Keystone. 

And Wally, who’s used to this, just passes by them with a, “Hey Bart, hey Tim.”

“Danny, not Tim,” Danny replies almost absent mindedly, then looks back at Wally, who’s also staring at him now. “Wait, you know Tim?”

“OhmyGod I was supposed to investigate!” Bart says, face palming. It just slipped his mind! And Danny was distracting him with his pretty face that he totally wears better than Tim!

“You know him too?” Danny asks. But he doesn’t look suspicious of them, more amused. 

“How do you know him?” Wally squints at Danny, eyes briefly catching Bart’s in question. 

“He’s my twin,” Danny answers easily. “The Drakes only wanted one kid, so they gave me to their friends the Fentons, who wanted a second one.” He shrugs and goes back to digging around the closet. “Tim and I were always in contact, though. Letters and phone calls and texting, you know?” 

He says it all so casually while Wally and Bart are sharing increasingly concerned looks behind his back. 

Do the Waynes know about Danny? Has Tim never brought him up? Why? Does Danny know about Red Robin? Does Tim-

“Holy shit does this mean Tim has ice powers too!?” 

Or: Tim and Danny are twins. Through a series of coincidences, the first people to find out that aren’t Fentons or Drakes are the flashes.

(This post was brought to you by me recently finishing the 1995 Impulse run, and wanting an excuse to share this panel:

Look they both got called twinks clearly they're soulmates)

[astonmartinii]

careful what you wish for | alex albon social media au

pairing: alex albon x fem norris!reader

be careful what you wish for because sometimes childhood dreams come true (not the way you think though)

MASTERLIST | BROTHER'S BFF MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 453,096 others

yourusername: it's sweet treat hour in the paddock

view all comments

user1: oh to be a person in the f1 paddock getting a sweet treat

user2: ummm actually i think i deserve one more than any of the guys on the grid

yourusername: probably true lol

georgerussell63: BLASPHEMY

landonorris: blood is CLEARLY not thicker than water 🤨

maxverstappen1: i can't believe this betrayal

charles_leclerc: puppy play date is OFF

yourusername: not you people proving them right within 0.5 seconds.

user3: y/n really is god's strongest soldier these fools must be so annoying

alexalbon: not me tho

landonorris: nuh uh 😐

alexalbon: sorry to burst your bubble lando but on the scale of least annoying (me) to most annoying (carlos) ... well marketing love carlando for a reason

landonorris: Y/N TELL HIM TO STOP BEING MEAN TO ME

yourusername: i'm not your mum, defend yourself

landonorris: ???

carlossainz55: THERE IS NO WAY I'M THE MOST ANNOYING ON THE GRID? Y/N TELL HIM THAT

yourusername: keep your car away from oscar and maybe

oscarpiastri: thank you grid mum 🫶🏻

carlossainz55: grid mum clearly showing favourites 🤨 does my sleepovers at the norris household mean anything?

yourusername: your old ass does not need a grid mum be fucking for real

carlossainz55: GASP!

alexalbon: nevermind what ever the fuck that was... the sweet treats slapped, thank you very much

yourusername: see this is why you're my favourite

oscarpiastri: i am right here

logansargent: :(((((

yourusername: NOOO MY LITTLE DUCKLINGS I LOVE YOU

user4: the way y/n has taken to oscar and logan makes my heart so warm

user5: her missing a lot of the start of the 2023 season and logan saying he started to feel less lonely when she was back coming to races as she went out of her way to support him

user6: her and alex going to miami a week early and acting more like parents than logan's actual parents

user7: it's like the older drivers are her grid kids but she only goes full mama bear for oscar and logan

user8: i'm gonna need this friends to lovers arc for alex and y/n

landonorris: do you people ever shut up

yourusername: LANDO ???

landonorris: sorry you have to die single sorry i don't make the rules

f1

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 1,405,788 others

tagged: alexalbon, landonorris & georgerussell63

f1: ALBON P5!!! now that's why lando had a poster of him in his childhood bedroom

view all comments

user9: i know lando forever regrets bringing that up all those years ago

user10: since we know how close alex and y/n are... i'd bet a lot of money y/n brings it up at any opportunity

yourusername: LET'S FUCKING GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

alexalbon: always knew you were my biggest fan

yourusername: it must be a norris thing

landonorris: alex the literal f1 account is making fun of me and you're SAYING SHE IS YOUR BIGGEST FAN

alexalbon: okay buddy lets calm it down

landonorris: don't put me in time out you're not my grid dad

alexalbon: am i not?

this comment has been deleted

alexalbon: i wouldn't claim you dummy

landonorris: i saw that ............. interesting

user11: the way this is the biggest hint for y/n x alex we've ever gotten but lando is not putting 2 and 2 together

yourusername: i've never had to try to keep a secret from lando i've always had to spell it out for him we're safe

landonorris: who is we?

user11: i see what you mean

georgerussell63: good lord, will i ever get out of the alex DRS train?

alexalbon: NEVER MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

georgerussell63: have you already started drinking?

alexalbon: maybe, you know y/n can't mix drinks for shit

yourusername: P5 in a williams calls for a throwback college tequila punch

maxverstappen1: college tequila punch without me THE FAVOURITISM HAS GOTTEN OUT OF HAND

yourusername: you AND I QUOTE said "never talk to me again, i don't want to see you with any kind of receptacle that a person could drink out of, i never want to see a bottle of tequila ever again i feel like this is a hangover that will be passed on as some kind of generational curse"

maxverstappen1: now you say that i do recall saying something similar

user12: the way oscar and logan were so happy for alex, that's a grid dad for real

logansargent: we knew all of our drinks would been on his tab 🤞🏻

oscarpiastri: and he brought our kebabs!!

user13: how do i get this kind of treatment on my nights out?

logansargent: you have to third wheel alex and y/n when they're insufferably cute 👍🏻

this comment was deleted

user14: i'm on to yall

alexalbon

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 720,987 others

tagged: yourusername, logansargent & oscarpiastri

alexalbon: post night out munch with my favourites

view all comments

user15: oh i can smell the arguments coming

yourusername: no one die i'm putting my phone on do not disturb

user16: so real

georgerussell63: HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT THE SANCTITY OF OUR FRIENDSHIPS I THOUGHT WE WERE PLATONIC SOULMATES OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER SEWN INTO THE VERY FABRIC OF OUR BEING

alexalbon: well damn

georgerussell63: well damn? WELL DAMN? THAT'S IT YOU ARE NOT INVITED ON MY ANNUAL EASTER SUNDAY WALK AND BOUTIQUE EASTER EGG HUNT

landonorris: wow that'll really show him george

georgerussell63: LANDO WHAT THE FUCK WE NEED A UNITED FRONT

yourusername: babe this isn't trench warfare

georgerussell63: i thought you weren't getting involved this is a GALEX DISCUSSION

charles_leclerc: i thought this was a twitch quartet dicussion?

georgerussell63: maybe if you people MADE YOURSELF USEFUL IT WOULD BE

charles_leclerc: you know what i don't like your tone. i am very secure in my friendship with alex and am happy he has other thriving friendships especially with those who have recently joined the team and need the extra comfort

alexalbon: finally a normal person

user17: what is happening

user18: i think this is what the kids call losing your shit

user19: kinda feels like it's ended prematurely

alexalbon: he's at my door

user20: oh? should we like maybe be afraid?

yourusername: WHY AM I LIVING IN THE SHINING RIGHT NOW DOES HE HAVE AN AXE?

landonorris: hold on .... why are you there?

yourusername: george russell is at the door screaming for justice potentially wielding a weapon and that's what you took from that?

landonorris: ummm yes? there's something weird going on here

oscarpiastri: i'm also here

logansargent: me too (PLEASE SEND HELP)

user21: well wasn't that just ... delightful

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 903,788 others

tagged: oscarpiastri & yourusername

landonorris: this whole grid kid thins has gotten out of control why is this kid being treated better than ME in my OWN HOME

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user24: how could lando be angry look how pookie oscar is

oscarpiastri: this is what i'm sayingggggg

yourusername: so fuck me i guess

user24: babe that's alex's job

yourusername: you right

user25: HOLD ON PEOPLE IS THAT Y/N/ALEX CRUMBS ???

user26: quick add it to the spreadsheet

alexalbon: there's a spreadsheet?

user26: we don't fuck around about your hypothetical relationship with y/n

alexalbon: that much is clear (send it my way asap)

yourusername: talking about favouritism in the norris household as if i have not lived with this for MY ENTIRE LIFE

landonorris: booooooo let me complain (did you or did you not get your weird kids from my career favouritism in the family)

yourusername: don't weaponise my children against me

landonorris: but they're so annoying oscar is eating all of the ROAST POTATOES THIS IS THE NORRIS FAMILY DINNER EVERYONE KNOWS THE ROASTIES ARE MINE

oscarpiastri: not anymore :P

landonorris: choke

oscarpiastri: don't make me call my dad

landonorris: call him up i'll beat his ass at this point I CAN SEE YOU TAKING ANOTHER POTATO

oscarpiastri: @alexalbon :(

alexalbon: keep my kid's name out your fucking mouth

landonorris: excuse me?

yourusername: ugh that's so hot

landonorris: EXCUSE ME?

user27: well .... add it to the spreadsheet?

landonorris: i'm so close to blocking all of you

yourusername: i thought you loved alex :(

landonorris: not that much

alexalbon: i see....

landonorris: NO I'M SORRY I TAKE IT BACK I LOVE YOU ALEX (YOU BETTER NOT BE SHAGGING MY SISTER HYPOTHETICAL OR NOT)

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, charles_leclerc and 528,095 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: silverstone babyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i hope my home treats my boys right

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user28: i would give a kidney to be there for real

user29: you might have to the prices at that race are INSANE

landonorris: finally the home race which means you actually have to root for me

yourusername: ehhhhhhh

landonorris: girl i did not get much sleep last night wtf do you mean EHHHHH

yourusername: alex is a london boy

georgerussell63: once again fuck george i guess

yourusername: you didn't give me time !!!!

georgerussell63: were you actually going to say it?

yourusername: no ❤️

landonorris: right george i think it's time to unionise against y/n and alex

yourusername: the fuck do you (do we?) know about unionisation babe our family are the capitalist machine

user30: so like when are we getting the full albon pets meetup with sausage?

alexalbon: you always treat me right

yourusername: only the bestest for you

alexalbon: oh wow i'm blushing

yourusername: i can make you do a lot more than that

landonorris: do you mind?

yourusername: LET ME FLIRT IN PEACE GOD I CAN'T HAVE ANYTHING

alexalbon: yeah let y/n flirt with me in peace

logansargent: he's giggling and swinging his feet - we might even get a skip away

alexalbon: sue me

user31: alex and y/n being so tired of lando is so true

oscarpiastri: they match each other's freak and they really need to let that freak flag fly

logansargent: as they should i need to post some of the cute pictures of them my phone storage is suffering

landonorris: i'm throwing my phone out of the window

user32: confirmation? CONFIRMATION?

alexalbon

liked by georgerussell63, maxverstappen1 and 1,359,086 others

tagged: yourusername

alexalbon: bro my nurse is hot as fuck

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user32: bro nearly died and THIS IS WHAT HE POSTS

user33: is it insensitive for me to celebrate that they're together on a post just hours after he was in a massive crash

yourusername: probably but we'll take the compliment regardless

georgerussell63: let it be known i'm annoyed that this is how i found out about this relationship but i'm so glad you're okay and that you had your person with you as support

alexalbon: my person awwwww georgie you're such as softie, but thank you i'm all good

yourusername: i knew you loved me really georgie

georgerussell63: i'll come round to this i guess

yourusername: so no more morning visits with weapons

georgerussell63: THERE WERE NO WEAPONS

alexalbon: you called me many mean words and sometimes words are our biggest weapons

georgerussell63: shut the fuck up

yourusername: that's not very peace, love and kindness he nearly died russell change up your tone

user34: YESSSSSSSSS WE CAN FINALLY SEE THE TRUE POWER OF THE ALEX/Y/N SASS

user34: also obviously very happy alex is okay

user35: i fear we as a fandom do not have our priorities in check

landonorris: i wouldn't leave the hospital if i were you

alexalbon: is that a threat?

landonorris: very much so

maxverstappen1: he's serious i'm literally holding him back (it's not hard he's like a gremlin)

landonorris: A GREMLIN WHO HAS BEEN GIVEN WATER

yourusername: but i thought you loved alex? surely this is the least offensive option on the grid?

alexalbon: awwwwww babe

maxverstappen1: i'm really not sure thats the compliment you think...

landonorris: NO I DO LOVE ALEX BUT NOT LIKE THIS

yourusername: it could be worse, you're besties with alex - i could've gotten with carlos or pierre!

carlossainz55: excuse me?

pierregasly: what did i ever do to you?

yourusername: whores ❤️

landonorris: true they are whores

alexalbon: and i'm a big ol family man

landonorris: you keep that to yourself

oscarpiastri: get well soon dad

logansargent: we love you !!!

yourusername: don't think we've forgotten about you exposing our relationship....

alexalbon: but we love you anyway

yourusername

liked by logansargent, landonorris and 783,209 others

tagged: alexalbon

yourusername: f1 cars are too dangerous actuallyyyyyyyyyyy you're all BANNED

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user36: finally some good fucking food

user37: i feel like we've been waiting for this relationship for so long i expect a wedding invitation at this point

alexalbon: yeah soz only the girl with the spreadsheet is getting an invite

user26: SCORE

alexalbon: well aren't we just the cutest couple in the world

yourusername: i fear we are

yourusername: and if any of you hoes try and comment any dumb shit like "us erasure" i'll break your toes

georgerussell63: oh! okay...

maxverstappen1: sure i guess so...

charles_leclerc: i'll let you have your moment for now

landonorris: i'm single but i want to be involved

user38: the lipstick print... i'm weak

user39: they already made me feel lonely before we got confirmation i think i might need to redownload hinge

landonorris: ugh i guess you guys are kind of cute

yourusername: of course we are one of us is a norris

landonorris: TRUE 💅🏻

alexalbon: ??? so you don't want to kill me anymore?

landonorris: no i guess not

landonorris: also max put a bell on my chain and my fingers are too fat to open the clasp so i can't sneak out to kick your ass

maxverstappen1: he really is an overgrown toddler

alexalbon: also your 5'2 ass is not beating mine

landonorris: i am NOT 5'2 i am 5'10 at the least

yourusername: girl you're maybe 5'5 and i WILL be getting my lick in if you fight alex - revenge for all those hair pulls all those years ago

landonorris: i'd say stop defending alex but you've always done that... i should've known

user40: so y/n really wasn't lying when she said she didn't have to hide anything from lando cause he doesn't pick up on anything 😭

landonorris: sorry i'm not actively looking for clues about my sister's sex life

alexalbon: bro i am in love with your sister lets frame this better

yourusername: hehehheheeehehhehe

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, logansargent and 1,874,036 others

tagged: alexalbon & yourusername

landonorris: i guess i always did say that i wanted alex as a bigger brother, be careful for what you wish for kids

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user41: FINALLLLY

logansargent: you're telling me we've BEEN waiting

oscarpiastri: i kinda miss having a secret like what do i hold over lando now?

landonorris: DON'T THINK I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS YOU WILL BE DEALT WITH PIASTRI

oscapiastri: okay babe

landonorris: you really take after your mum and it scares me

yourusername: you shouldn't have such good friends that i just can't help falling in love with so really this is your fault

landonorris: sure.... but you have a good point, i'm very happy it's alex of all people

yourusername: you've really come round fast since you realised that we'll pay for your stuff whenever we go out

landonorris: what can i say stuff tastes better when it's free

alexalbon: you literally make double what y/n and i make

landonorris: and i'm the younger sibling so you should TREAT ME BETTER

user42: yeah we all knew lando was the younger sibling but he's giving massive annoying baby brother vibes

alexalbon: and he wonders why we prefer oscar and logan

landonorris: i'm just going to pretend i didn't see that

alexalbon: but for real lando, thanks for being the most annoying norris and having such a lovely and cool (and smoking hot) sister - i appreciate it!

yourusername: i love you too babe

alexalbon: don't worry you'll get to drop the last name soon

yourusername: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yourusername: i can't wait to be mrs. albon

landonorris: blocked.

user43: i can't believe we got the conclusion to the lando alex poster storyline

landonorris: it wasn't exactly the conclusion i thought it would be but i'll take it

yourusername: you love us really

alexalbon: really you were just manifesting this for like ten years

fin.

note: here's a wee post from brother's bff before the race because i need somehtign to distract me from my horrible NERVES - ENJOY!

[boneblushed]

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

[keferon]

regarding the whole thing where jazz doesn't realize prowl's whole self is a living, feeling being... the cross-cultural miscommunication potential is also how jazz and prowl could end up in a confusing situationship. Like Jazz would probably think nothing of being super touchy, and have zero respect for personal space, because to him it's *not* touch or personal space! a pilot making his mecha hang all over another pilot's mecha is just normal military misuse-of-equipment horseplay!

(like making your mecha slap another guy's mecha on its butt is solidly funny joke territory, not sexual harrassment. if we humans had mechas in real life, this is the kind of shit the pilots would constantly be doing, lbr)

So you end up with a scenario where Prowl's making friends with this weird new guy who's always getting very close, and who is touching him a lot, and it all comes across as very intimate and flirtatious, and maybe even scandalous. Except Jazz never actually asks him out or makes a real move, and Prowl is going through all the stages of gay panic and confusion.

Just Jazz consytantly unknowingly being this huge heartbreaker tease, and Prowl is just s u f f e r i n g.

--

Imagine the accidental flirting, too! Like Jazz is super impressed by this Prowl guy's mecha, so he's trying to talk shop with the other pilot (or so he thinks).

Jazz: "Wow, that build you have is great! Really impressive detailing. Who did the work?"

Prowl, well-known cold construct, confused and oddly flattered: "Um, a factory in Petrex did my construction?"

Jazz, who has never heard of Petrex but also failed geography in high school, trying not to look dumb in front of this impressive 'pilot': "Oh, Petrex, sure! Well, they did a great job!"

Prowl, now totally convinced this guy is hitting on him, flustered: "Th--thanks?"

Jazz, who would like to have a competent partner to fight evil aliens, decides he needs to poach this pilot to work with him. So he slings his mecha's arm around the other mecha's shoulder, leans in real close: "You know, you and I would make a great team!"

Prowl: *crashes from full blown gay panic*

--

Sorry for spamming your ask box with so much brain rot but holy shit do I love all the potential of the AU you came up with, I can't stop thinking about it, I had to shake some of these ideas out of my brain to share!

Yes yes ABSOLUTELY YES

Also the fact that for pilots opening the chest plates is the same as open a door but for Cybertronians it means MARRY ME RIGHT NOW ahahahaha

(Or Amica endure too. But point stands hehe it's very intimate gesture)