#maybe I'll post to AO3 too

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

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༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

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༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[rudnitskaia]

White Chrysanths for the Swallow

Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.

But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.

In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.

It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…

“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”

The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.

“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.

The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.

“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.

Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.

“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”

Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.

“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”

“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”

“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”

“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”

“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”

“Who?”

“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”

“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”

Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.

His silence was more frightening.

Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.

But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.

[shadebloopnik]

"There's something else here, I just know it!"

Charlie clutches at her hair, frustration dripping as she stares down the two men before her. The others stand by the bar behind her, waiting to see how this interaction goes down. Vaggie stands by her side, her rock amidst the chaos, because she's just about had it with the two. They've met for barely a week, and yet they acted like they hated each other for decades. Each interaction conveyed a message laced with a bitter venom she could not understand, and she's just SO TIRED of all the secrets, especially ones that threatened to wreck the hotel every few hours!

"So what is it?! Why do you two hate each other so much??? You act like you've known each other for centuries and Im DONE with being kept in the dark!"

Her horns protrude, flames flaring from her hair as she levels the two with a glare. The demonic form has her girlfriend clutching tighter at her arm, and her friends backing up behind the bar.

The objects of her current irritation deflated a bit at her anger, though not without sneaking hate filled gazes at the other.

"Its nothing, Charl-"

"NO.", her voice reverberated across the walls. "Dad, I would normally not interfere with anyone's past, but not if that past hurts the hotel, hurts my people. Angel could have gotten so much more than a broken leg if I didn't step in."

Said spider flinches imperceptibly at the mention of his name. Even when he wasn't the one being scolded, Charlie could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

"You two have a past. What. Is. It."

Lucifer, for the first time since this started, visibly lost his composure, seeming at a lost for words.

"I- we.. W-we were-"

"Lovers..."

Silence, as everyone turned their gazes to the Radio Demon.

They...had to have misheard? Right?

But Alastor continued, turning his head away, smile and eyes unreadable.

"We were lovers."

Lucifer winces ever so slightly at the past tense, hurt(and guilt?) filling his eyes, before an irritated huff breaks out of his lips.

"I already told you, I-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It DOES! If you would just let me-!"

"It was all in the past, it matters not anymore, nor will it ever matter again. Apologies for the undesirable behavior, dear Charlotte, i'll try to keep damages to a minimum for the foreseeable future."

"Wait, Alastor-!"

But Alastor had already melted to the shadows, the King's black tipped claws clutching at thin air where he'd stood. His hands shook, closing into a fist as he tried to even his breathing. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, dragging a hand down his face. Without another word, he too vanished in a swirl of red, leaving the residents of the hotel gaping at their absence.

Charlie- whose demon form long receded- stood processing what just happened. A hand made it way to her mouth, as she leaned into her girlfriend for support.

This...wasn't what she expected.

Its like she could start to see now; all the hurt buried behind each venomous gaze, all the regret laced with each bitter word. Something was broken, and they kept cutting themselves as they wielded each shard as its deadly weapon.

Oh hells, how was she supposed to fix this??

".......this is so worth getting my leg broken."

Husk turned a baleful, yet fond glare at the spider demon who chose to 'very subtly' break the silence that enveloped the room.

"What???? I live for the drama, sue me!"

[aimbutmiss]

The day started like any other normal day. And it was, to Mihawk at least.

Yes, it was his birthday, but he never really cared for the occasion. Was he grateful for the life he was given? Of course he was. But he never saw the point in celebrating. He remembered the day when Shanks had showed up out of nowhere, ten years or so ago. He was overjoyed to see the man, hands itching to reach for Yoru, but the man stopped him with a whine.

"Nooooo, I come in peace! We can't fight, not today of all days!"

He held up the bottle in his hand with a bright smile. "We're gonna party until the sun goes down and comes back up!"

A frown pulled down on Mihawk's face, who was not quite understanding the situation. "What are you talking about?"

Shanks' smile quickly dropped too. "Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday."

Ah, right. So that's what this was about. The man had told him his date of birth some time ago, and in his surprise and perhaps slight tipsiness, he had admitted that they shared the same birthday. In hindsight, he should have known the red head would pull something like this. It was definitely in character. He sighed in frustration.

"I'm not quite the type to celebrate. You know I don't like to party like you folk."

"That's nonsense!" Shanks walked up to him and slapped a hand on his back, strong enough to send a normal man flying. But of course, Mihawk didn't move an inch. "Parties are like, the best part of being a pirate! And even if I respect your mysterious and lonely guy schtick, it's your damn birthday! You can make an exception for one day of the year."

He looked up, reminiscing about the past. "The captain was very firm about that. He would throw me and Buggy the most extravagant parties. He never once forgot; can you believe that?"

The captain he was talking about was indeed the King of the Pirates, Gold Roger. It had shocked Mihawk at first, learning about Shanks’ past. But the more he got to know the man, the more it made sense. A man of his caliber couldn’t have come from anything else. Shanks was a very talkative drunkard, so Mihawk was used to listening to stories about that time of his life. And frankly, he quite enjoyed it. These men in his stories and the stuff they went through were like straight out of legends... He gave a small smile to the excited man in front of him. "I guess I could indulge you just this once, but only because it's your birthday too."

He snapped out of the memories and slowly got out of bed, having had enough nostalgia to last him the day. But he was stopped by a floating hand pulling on his night gown.

"Stay."

Mihawk looked to the source of the muffled protest, which happened to be the blue mess in his bed. "Let go, Buggy."

"Nooooooo..."

He sighed as he sat back down on the bed, fingers immediately going for the soft blue locks. An approving hum came from the clown as he brushed through his hair with his long fingers.

This sleepy man, with whom he shared a bed, was one of those from Shanks’ stories. Except he was nothing like them. He wasn’t brave and fearless like in the stories, he was weak. But he knew exactly what he was and what he was capable of, and Mihawk loved him for that. He was charming beyond words, and a little stupid, but Mihawk was into that, as embarrassing as it was.

“Get back into bed and get your birthday cuddles.”

Mihawk chuckled at his partner. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

He got up to leave for the bathroom. “Do you know where Crocodile went?”

“Nope! How should I know?” Buggy answered way too quickly, which made the swordsman’s brows furrow.

“Hm. He’s probably in his office like usual.”

“Yes! That’s it.” Buggy exclaimed in triumph, for what he didn’t know. “He’s such a workaholic.”

“Indeed.” He replied nonchalantly as he reached for his razor.

“Wait!” Buggy ran out of bed to his side with a smile. “Let me do that for you.”

Mihawk stared at him with a raised brow. “You want to help me shave? For what reason exactly?”

“It’ll be relaxing! I’m good with my hands, you know.” Buggy wiggled his brows suggestively, which made his lips curve just the slightest bit. The clown could be funny sometimes, mostly when he wasn’t trying. Oh, how he loved this silly man.

“You literally have no reason to do this.”

Buggy sighed in frustration. “I’m just trying to pamper you, birthday boy. Take it or leave it.”

Mihawk thought about it for a second, and reluctantly gave the razor to the clown. “You better not mess this up. I have a very particular- “

“I’m aware, dear. Just trust me.”

He gently held his face and got to work, carving out the intricate design with capable movements. After he was done, he wiped his face with a fresh towel and gave him a kiss on the cheek to seal the deal.

“Was that a part of the service?” Mihawk jokingly asked.

“Only for you, handsome.”

Mihawk was never one for being coddled, always believing that being spoiled was being looked down upon. He didn’t need special attention and privilege to make it in life. But this, this he could get used to.

He pulled Buggy into a kiss that started innocent, but quickly grew more desperate. He was sneaking his hands under Buggy’s polka dot pyjama shirt when the man pushed him away.

“Nuh uh.”

“Nuh uh?” Mihawk stared at his boyfriend in bewilderment.

“Not now. I’ll give your birthday gift at night.”

Mihawk frowned. “It’s my birthday now too. What difference does it make?”

“God, you’re impatient. Night. No negotiating.”

Mihawk pursed his lips and didn’t protest. He was not happy, though.

Buggy stayed with him throughout the day, keeping him company and making sure he stayed away from the beach.

Yes, Mihawk could tell. But to be fair, Buggy wasn’t exactly being subtle. But he didn’t say a word, indulging in whatever the man was planning.

A surprise party, perhaps? God, he really hoped it wasn’t that. Crowds and being the center of attention didn’t agree with his constitution.

And where was his other partner (both in romantic and business contexts), Crocodile? He wasn’t in his office like he initially assumed. He was sure Buggy knew where the man was but refrained from asking questions. He was quite sure the two situations were somehow connected.

That in itself was quite ridiculous to think about. Crocodile didn’t seem like the type of man to care about birthdays either, like himself. Maybe Buggy had somehow convinced him? It all seemed very unnecessary. He knew the clown had good intentions, but he would have been fine if no one acknowledged his birthday at all. It wasn’t of importance to him, simple as that.

Then why was this bothering him so much? He tried to focus on Buggy’s rambling but that feeling did not leave.

Why did it feel so wrong to be celebrated just for existing? To be loved and cared for?

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t unhappy with it. Quite the opposite actually. But it just felt so… foreign. He needed time to adjust, to make his peace with it.

He thought he had gotten over this particular problem after he formed a relationship with his two business partners. It had taken a lot out of him to simply let them in, to feel comfortable in their presence, to not fret from every touch… And even though he trusted them completely, here he was doubting his place.

It just didn’t make sense. They were wasting their time and effort for an inconsequential event that would pass by, leaving nothing changed. So, what if he got a year older? What did that change? Why did they care so much about something he himself didn’t care for? To show their love? But Mihawk already knew they loved him.

“Earth to Mihawk, hello?”

Mihawk snapped out of his thoughts, staring at Buggy’s concerned eyes. “Hm? Sorry, I got lost in thoughts. You were saying?”

“I was saying I want to walk along the beach… You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’m alright, just a bit sluggish today. And sure, we can go for a stroll.”

He walked hand in hand with Buggy, trying to ease his mind and keep small talk going. He wasn’t big on physical touch, but he really appreciated the warmth of Buggy’s hand then. The clown always had a way of comforting him without trying. Mihawk stopped walking when he saw the dinner table placed on the beach. That certainly wasn’t there before. It was adorned with red roses and lit candles, setting a romantic atmosphere. Crocodile was standing beside the table, looking at his pocket watch.

“You’re late.”

“I know! I got lost in my speaking, and hawk eyes didn’t try to stop me so I lost track of time…”

“You and your big mouth… I guess it’s alright, we didn’t miss the sunset.”

Crocodile walked up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and sharing a chaste kiss.

“Happy birthday, hawk eyes.”

“Thank you.” Mihawk broke the eye contact as he felt his cheeks get hotter.

Crocodile gave a sly smirk. “Someone’s being bashful.”

“Well, I didn’t expect… this. I was convinced you were throwing me a party.”

Buggy frowned at the thought. “Of course not! That would make you uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? That’s the last thing I would want on your birthday. A private dinner on the other hand…”

“Is much more your style, is it not?” Crocodile completed Buggy’s sentence.

Mihawk was the luckiest man alive. He gave his lovers a small smile. “Yes, indeed it is. You are too thoughtful.”

“It’s literally the bare minimum but okay.”

“I can’t believe this, but I agree with the clown. What kind of partners would we be if we didn’t know your preferences?”

Mihawk sat on the chair the taller man pulled out for him as Buggy poured him a glass of wine, one of his favorites that happened to be quite expensive.

“I just don’t quite get what’s so important about this day, or what you would go through all this trouble for.”

Crocodile and Buggy shared a glance and turned to him with sad eyes.

“Because it’s the day you came into this world, and therefore to our lives? Because we love you?”

“Indeed. I don’t see what’s so confusing about us wanting to cherish the man we love, to show him how much he means to us. Is that a problem?”

Mihawk stared at the two in astonishment and eventually, a big smile stretched across his lips. “No, not at all.”

The swordsman had a lot to learn about love, about being loved, but he had two perfect partners to help him through the steps. He could get used to celebrating his birthday if it meant he got to share it with the people he loved. Maybe that’s what he had been missing all these years to give this day a meaning. Company.

And after dinner, Buggy didn’t forget about his promise from the morning. Easy to say Mihawk went to sleep a very tired but satisfied man.

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[therethatstar]

phumpeem college au

phumpeem college au where they meet at some house party and basically fall in love at first sight. or something like that.

honestly i don't know what this is. it's been sitting with me too long. it's essentially too many fucking words of just one fucking scene. it might also be the longest make out scene ever...but also not really making out. just so much fucking touching. and so so so much feelings. and yeah. making out. that too.

-------

The hallway is loud. 

The music pounds. Crawling up the wall, making it shake. Up to where Peem’s spine is pressed to it. Peem can feel it, the way he shakes too. 

He can’t remember how it all happened. 

Just that the hallway is as dark as it is loud. 

Just that Phum is standing in front of him, leaning in as he speaks to Peem with that smile, a hand props up next to Peem’s head on the wall, the other curls over the jut of Peem’s hip, hot palm pressing into the bone, thumb teasing under his shirt at his skin. Like he always knows. How to touch Peem. Where to put his hands. How to make Peem shake. 

Just that the dim hallway light is falling over the slope of Phum’s neck, making his tanned skin look slightly tanner. Like Phum has been out in the sun instead of a nasty drunk college party. 

Just that it wasn’t the music making Peem shake. Just that it was Phum, thumb landing exactly over Peem’s sensitive spot, that tiny inch of skin. The one on his hip that always makes Peem shiver. His hips arch. Usually Peem has to shove boys’ hands in the right direction so they’ll touch him. There. And yet, Phum has found it. 

And maybe it was just Phum’s touch tripping in the low light. 

And maybe it’s just something some guys are good at. Knowing how to touch someone. Guys like Phum. 

And maybe it’s just Phum. 

So it was just. 

Just that Phum is touching Peem. 

Just that Peem wants to know if Phum’s skin feels as warm as it looks. 

Just that Peem gets kind of mouthy when he gets touched like this. By certain kinds of boys. By guys like this one. By this one. 

Phum’s throat vibrates as he speaks, Peem feels it against his lips. Against his mouth from where he’s got it pressed right over Phum’s skin, under that strong jaw. The one Peem wants to draw. Slightly tacky with party sweat, Peem kisses the hinge of his jaw, sucks lightly, digs his teeth in a little. 

Then he does it alot when Phum makes a noise, a groan unsticking from his chest, both his hands shoving up Peem’s shirt, finger hot and insistent grabbing at Peem’s waist. Impatient hands. Peem’s mouth drops open on a moan, all breathy, sighing against Phum’s neck. 

Phum clenches his grip, digging into the curve under Peem’s ribs. The heat bursts in Peem’s belly. His hips instinctively kicks against Phum’s and he wants to be embarrassed at how kind of desperate he already feels, already is, his cheeks are blooming with it, but Phum’s hands are big and so hot on Peem. And Peem should be embarrassed, he should be, but he isn’t. 

Because Phum is stroking his thumbs over the cut of Peem’s stomach, fingers speaking over the small of his back. Because Phum is pulling him closer. Because Phum has his face pressed to Peem’s hair, lips skimming his temple, the shell of his ear like he wants to kiss too but he’s letting Peem have this, have him. Because their hips are touching. Because they are touching everywhere. 

Because Phum is shaking too. 

Phum drags his pinkies just above the dimples in Peem’s lower back, lingering there. It makes Peem jolt, scraping his teeth over the jut of Phum’s collarbone, skin feels hot and so incredibly soft under his lips. Phum jerks, yanking Peem’s hips against his, pushes Peem farther into the wall, hot breath fanning over Peem’s ear, and fuck, Peem wants to dig his nails into those toned shoulders, hook his knees over them, press his heels into the muscle, feel the breadth of them shaking between Peem’s trembling thighs. 

“Fuck,” Phum breathes under his breath, dropping a wet kiss to the shell of Peem’s ear. “You’re so hot. How are you so hot? Are all art guys this hot?”

Peem laughs at that. He feels melty and drunk silly. Buzzing. Syrupy. Sticky with it. His face heats up. He detaches from Phum’s shoulder, his mouth, kisses it one last time. He slides his hands up Phum’s chest, up and over, pressing his fingers into his upper back, feeling the way Phum twitches under his grip. He keeps his hands where they are. 

Phum leans in and brushes his lips over Peem’s pulse point, gives him a sucking kiss when it gets him a reaction, one of the Peem’s hands climbing up to his hair as he arches his neck, lets Phum kiss him there. Letting him have him now. 

Phum rubs his palms along Peem’s waist, pressing his hot palms to his side, something casually primal in his touch, something that sends a thrill up Peem’s navel, less casual, just as primal, and he tilts Peem’s hips further, just because he can, running his tongues along Peem’s collarbone, smiles against it when Peem gasps hotly, and fuck, the stupid blush isn’t going anywhere. 

“You don’t hook up with art guys often?”

Phum pulls back, just his mouth. It’s dark but Peem can see it. The hint of red in his face. Swaths around his jaw especially. It’s more than the heat. The flush of arousal. It’s kind of unfair. That a guy who looks like Phum, with hands like his, can look this cute too. 

It’s giving Peem a whiplash. Makes him want to do more than just get on his knees for Phum. More than begging Phum to put him where he wants him. In some stranger’s bathroom. In their bed. In his bed. Phum’s. He makes Peem want other things he can do with his hands. All of them. 

Phum gives a muted shrug when he says, “maybe I have. But I can’t remember the last time my brain was melting this much for a guy.”

Peem smiles as he curls his index in Phum’s hair, brushes his fingers through the shorter strands at his nape. 

“How old are you?”

“20. You?”

“18.”

“Oh.”

Eyes wide, Peem is quick to say, “I turn 19 soon. Like really soon. I’m basically nineteen already,” he finishes, his grips on Phum frozen, the impulse to hold on a little desperately represses. 

Phum smiles, taking one of his hands off his waist to push some of Peem’s hair off his forehead, fingers careful. It’s a small gesture. A little too casual. Familiar. Maybe not the kind of thing some guy he’s tipsy almost making out with should do to him. Peem doesn’t move. Wants to shake his bangs out so Phum will do it again. 

“When is your birthday?”

“December.”

“That’s cute.”

Peem’s brows furrow at that, “why?”

“Don’t know,” Phum answers before adding, “it’s just that, you’re a winter baby and I’m a spring baby. So like, your parents basically made you on my birthday. Or around that time. That’s kind of funny. It’s cute. Or maybe it’s just you. You’re really cute.”

Peem’s heart kicks. Everything else around them feels so slow. The music. The lights. The party goers. The other couples making out. The other couples of other people making out. Almost making out. 

He presses his shoulders into the wall, cocking a brow when he asks, “you’re thinking about my parents having sex while you’re making out with me?”

Phum laughs out loud at that. Laugh that feels deep in his belly and it makes Peem’s very own belly react too, buzzing pleasantly. A little hot. The soft light hits Phum’s jaw just right, the amusement in his eyes, the strain of his throat as he laughs. 

Phum lets his laughter ring out, shaking his head, “no. just about you. How cute you are. Even when you’re being a smart ass.”

“Not really trying to be a smartass,” Peem says, even though he was. 

Phum laughs again, “oh but you are. Good at it too. You look like you could easily put me in my place, like you could make me feel sorry about it too.” He touches Peem’s face again, lingering at his jaw, “the funny thing though?”

Peem is sure of it. His heart is about to race right out of his chest. Break out from between his ribs. Slam itself smack into the obstacle in front of it. Into Phum’s very own heart. Phum. 

He knows Phum might not be expecting an answer, yet his mouth drops open, he sounds breathless, stupidly so, “what?”

Phum smiles and Peem craves for that smile. Wants it on his chest. On the sensitive spot on his belly. The jelly leg inducing, hip kicking, tingly feeling, even more sensitive one on his hip. On his cock. Between his thighs, on his back. The one place on his nape that Phum hasn’t found yet. On his ass. Peem wants it, that smiles, wants it to pull him apart and then piece him back together. 

Phum thumbs his cheek. Too slow. Too fast. Too something. “The funny thing is I’d let you. Kind of want you to–” and Phum pauses, his eyes falling somewhere below Peem’s eyes. 

Adn Peem thinks, kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. He wants Phum to kiss him, put his beautiful nasty mouth over Peem’s filthy pretty one. Because he knows that Phum thinks his mouth is pretty, had mentioned it earlier. And Peem knows his mouth can get filthy, gets mouthy. Especially when he gets under the hands like the ones on him right now. And Peem wants that mouth, wants it all over but especially there. On his own. 

His fingers have gone slack in Phum’s hair. The other hand dangling over his shoulder. It hits him then. That he doesn’t have to wait for Phum to kiss him. That he usually doesn’t wait. For other boys to kiss him. 

He doesn’t have to wait except he looks at Phum’s face and he realizes that it has gone blank. Peem’s heart thumps at the sight. At the fact that he can’t tell what Phum is thinking when he looks like this. 

Peem blanches, “what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Phum says. His voice sounds thicker now. Like honey syrup. Like it’s running through his nerves, and it makes his spines shiver. “It’s just—I just realized something.”

“Realized?”

“That there is one thing I haven’t done with you. That there’s one thing I could be doing with you. Earlier. Right now. The rest of the night.”

Peem chews on his lower lip, tries to keep the shake out of his voice when he asks, “what is it?”

Phum grins at Peem’s badly veiled impatience. He cups Peem’s jaw fully now, palm wide and warm, his thumb long enough to stroke his chin. Under his lips. Phum moves closer. Their chests are brushing again, the fabric of their shirts rustling. Phum blocks out the light, shaded and dark, and maybe this is an illusion because Phum is just slightly taller than him but yet, he looks like something Peem can’t contain. On tracing paper. Between his arms. Inside his body. 

In the midst of the silence, Phum looks down at Peem’s mouth. At his eyes as his thumb presses down on Peem’s lower lip, making the color of it turn pink. Quietly, he says, “kissing you.”

Peem inhales. Sharps. Too fast. Everything is too fast. His mouth feels something stronger than the buzzing. Like his skin is singing, thrumming, something like an electric shock. He thinks about licking his lips, licking over the thumb that presses there. Instead he swallows, “you sort of have.”

“No,” Phum insists, shaking his head, laughing a little, “I mean. I haven’t kissed you. Like kissing you. Actually kissing you.”

Phum tilts Peem’s head back slightly, swiping his thumb over Peem’s lower lips. The heat stirs in the lower pit of Peem’s belly, in his half hard cock pressed up against his zipper. He thinks his boxers might be a little wet, although it might be the body heat of the overcrowded townhome. Party sweat. He meets Phum’s eyes, feeling his touch on him and he knows it isn’t just the body heat of strangers around them. Or the music that is punching his gut. Making him melt. It’s Phum. 

Peem gives in to the heat, parts his lips, mouth open, breath hot and sticky on Phum’s skin. He watches Phum drag his thumb down, get wet on Peem’s inner lips,  coaxing his mouth wider. He watches Phum staring at him, his eyes glazed as he catches Phum’s thumb with his teeth, pressing his tongue to it, curls around it and sucks. Peem lets out a low moan, feeling the kick of heat in his cock and he wants Phum’s mouth all over him. He wants his mouth all over Phum. 

Phum’s reaction is tenfold. 

His eyes go hazier, look downright drunk before they go wide. And they look big enough like they could bust out of his skull.

Then Phum says, “oh, for fuck’s sake–” pulling his hand away, and putting his mouth, his beautiful nasty mouth, right against Peem’s, the whole pretty filthy thing of it. 

Peem’s breath goes out. 

And he’s fucking melting right into it. Lungs. Belly. Lets. His knees liquify. Mouth and hands altogether. 

Then he fucking clings. Getting both of his hands in Phum’s hair, yanking him closer, getting Phum to hold him against the wall, to get him to take. Peem’s mouth. The space between his legs. All of it. Whatever Phum wants. All of it. 

And Phum takes it. Wraps an arm around Peem’s waist, forearm cradling his lower back, hand pressing to his hips. He sighs into the kiss, melds his soft lips to Peem’s as he crowds him in close, slides one of his legs between Peem’s thighs like it owns a place there. Like it’s already his. The muscle in Peem’s legs quake, his thighs clench around Phum’s leg, hips sort of rutting down before he can even help it. 

He feels like liquid. 

And he feels even worse when Phum readjusts his stance, their hips pressing differently, and Peem feels his cock against his own, the hot length of it through Phum’s jeans. And Phum is kissing him differently too, these sweet, wet, tiny little things all over Peem’s mouth. Too soft. Too slow for the way he’s gripping Peem’s waist under his shirt, pulling him further along his thigh, edging Peem to move the way he wants to, hips twitching with it. His cock kicks against the hardness of Phum’s thigh, against his cock. Peem’s hips stutter. Feels his boxers get wetter.

A whine climbs up his throat, embarrassment clawing at his gut, shamelessness soothing in his chest because Phum kisses that too, Peem’s whining mouth, how desperate he is, his lips curling, and fuck, Peem wants that too, to taste Phum’s desperation at the tip of his tongue. 

He fists his hands in Phum’s hair and kisses him harder, mouth gasping little breaths every time Phum moves him, licking his tongue into Peem’s mouth, letting him suck on it, yanking Phum’s hair harder. And Phum lets him, kissing him even deeper, softer, hands guilding Peem through it. 

Peem digs his heels into the floor, tries to lock up his knees like he’s trying to not lose it. His balance. His mind. Phum’s mouth. The simmering hot buzzing pleasure of it. He keeps a hand in Phum’s hair, bringing the other shakily to Phum’s belt, knuckles hitting the metal clasp. 

He hears the way Phum chokes on a breath, hands tighten on his waist. Peem’s hand goes to pull away, because they’re at a drunk college party but it’s still someone’s hallway. Yet, Peem moves one hand to hook an elbow around Phum’s neck, keeps his mouth where it is by the back of his head, and slips his hand up Phum’s shirt, pressing his palms to his hot skin. Sliding his fingers up Phum’s toned stomach, his firm chest, his wide shoulder. And Phum feels different in every inch of skin under Peem’s touch. Phum is warm everywhere. 

And Phum is laughing, his shoulders are at ease. Peem isn’t sure why he’s laughing but he’s laughing against Peem’s mouth and it feels better than Peem imagined, full and rich and light. Achy in a good way. He makes Peem chest ache with it. Feeling his laughs, his chest, against his. And Peem isn’t sure why Phum is laughing, maybe something is funny. Maybe nothing is funny. But Peem smiles back regardless, he smiles wider until they’re barely kissing, just pressing their lips together, too much teeth, too much something. It’s almost easy to ignore the throbbing in his jeans. The melty thing in his hips. His lower back. But the melty thing is on his face too. He can feel it. In his smile. In his eyes. 

Their lips come apart. The sound is sticky to Peem’s ears. Too loud. 

Phum’s hands slide down to Peem’s hips, hands leave a trail of hot, buzzing things. He holds Peem’s waists for a moment then lets go after another, taking the time to tuck one side of the tail of Peem’s shirt back into his jeans. The way it was before his hands took over his hips, his waist, his body. Like he wasn’t ever there. Like it’s not already his. 

Peem sucks in a breath. Thoughts racing. Thoughts too fast. 

He unhooks his own hands from Phum’s neck. 

“Will you go somewhere with me?”

Everywhere. Peem thinks. Everywhere. It doesn’t scare him. That he thinks he could go to any place with Phum. Doesn’t scare him to feel this way, the way he always thought it might. 

“Yes.”

And Phum smiles and he makes it so easy. To realize that he isn’t that big. That wide. That Phum is within his touch, that Phum is someone he is able to contain. Even if he has to string all of his canvases together to get down every precise beautiful angle of him. Even if he has to stretch his arms wide until they hurt. Even if he has to spread his legs until his thighs go shivery, achy. 

And the electric thing is in his eyes. 

In Phum’s hands when he grabs one of Peem’s and pulls him from the wall, leads him through the hallway, away from the far end of the house. 

And it’s on Peem’s mouth. Inside of it. 

He’s pretty sure it’s on Phum’s too, inside of him, too. 

[extralively]

I have brain worms 🤭 Has Satoru and Yura ever gone clubbing on a random night throughout the years?

If they haven't, say hypothetically that they did, what are they like when they're dancing together? 😁 I can't stop thinking about them dancing together to millennial club music because they're 90s kids 🥴

Sorry this took me a couple of days to answer! And that's because I got inspired to write a mini oneshot about it LMAO

Clubbing

Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character Gen, Drunken shenanigans, Fluff 1849 words Summary: Satoru and Yura go clubbing with Utahime and Shoko... Part of this series

This one is set in 2017 before all the bad stuff happens, so Satoru and Yura are in a (mostly) established relationship! I had fun with this ngl, drunk Yura is really fun to write bwahaha

Early 2017

Clubbing had never been one of Satoru’s favorite activities. Sure, dancing was fun, but dancing in the middle of a crowd of people grinding up against you really wasn’t his idea of a fun time, especially considering how much booze was involved in the whole concept of clubbing. Finding someone to have a good time with rarely provided satisfactory results when he’d tried to do it in a nightclub—again, there was too much alcohol involved—so he generally tried to avoid it when he was by himself.

Of course, tonight he was neither by himself nor was he looking for someone to have a good time with—because that person had already come in with him.

“Cheers!” the three women called in unison before downing their shots in one go, as Satoru only looked at them with amusement. Utahime was in town, which meant Shoko and Yura had decided to have a night out together, and they’d ended up inviting him and Nanami to come along. Nanamin had declined though, claiming he just wanted to sleep, so Satoru was the only man in their little group... and soon enough, he’d be the only one sober too.

“Aaah, it’s so nice to de-stress,” Utahime said with a sigh, leaning back on her seat.

“Your students giving you trouble, Utahime?” he couldn’t help himself. “You’ve got some pretty strong ones to deal with these days, what’s a poor little weak teacher to do—oww,” he yelped as Utahime shot him a glare... and Yura sharply tugged at his ear.

Mostly the ear thing.

“Behave,” Yura chided him, tugging at his ear again. Satoru pouted.

Then he threw his arms around Yura, whining into her shoulder because oh why wouldn’t she let him tease Utahime?

Yura heaved out a sigh and downed another shot.

The music was loud as the four of them continued chatting with each other, one of the many reasons why Satoru didn’t care much for nightclubs. It was hard for them to chat like this, although Satoru would have to admit that he was enjoying the situation more than expected when he had to keep leaning closer to Yura in order for her to hear him, and she also had to lean closer to him. Sure, Yura was slowly starting to smell like alcohol as she and the other two kept drinking all those shots and cocktails, which wasn’t his favorite smell on her... but he wasn’t really minding that a whole lot right now.

And that was because of one very special effect that alcohol had on her...

“Let’s dance!” Yura called at one point, and Satoru was trying to bite back his grin.

Because even though he didn’t care much for alcohol himself, it actually got Yura loosening up pretty fast. And a loosened up Yura was a happy—and touchy—Yura, so Satoru followed her and the other two to the dance floor with his shoulders perked up.

It wasn’t hard to get in the groove of things, even if he was probably the only sober person in this entire crowd of people. Watching Yura dance around and laugh with Shoko and Utahime did help, and Satoru grinned as he followed along—pointedly bumping away any handsy sweaty dudes that tried to get a little too close.

(Seriously, why were there so many of them?)

But overall, Satoru wasn’t having a bad time at all. Yura seemed to be having fun, and Satoru was particularly enjoying himself watching her have fun, dancing around carefree in front of him. He may have purposefully pulled out some, ahem, retro dance moves in order to get her to giggle at him, which had been all worth it when he saw Yura’s beaming (and flushed) face, even in the middle of the flashing lights of the dance floor.

See? There was no need for him to get drunk in order to enjoy things. Yura seemed to be doing enough of that for the both of them...

Satoru let himself sway around as the three women downed more shots, turning away from them slightly as he followed the beat. He’d been in the process of turning back to them when he suddenly felt someone pressing against his side, and he quickly blinked down to find an unknown woman there.

The woman smiled up at him. Satoru only blinked down at her again, even though she probably couldn’t see it behind his glasses. His Infinity wasn’t registering her as a threat, but he still activated it to keep her away, since the woman kept trying to dance against him—

That’s when he felt two arms wrapping themselves around his torso—familiar arms, this time. Satoru’s face immediately broke out in a grin as he glanced behind him to find Yura pressed against his back, and not only was Yura trying to tug him away from the woman, but she was also pouting.

His grin widened.

Was she jealous?

“Yuraaa,” he called, even though he was drowned out by the loud music. The unknown woman was quickly forgotten as Yura’s fingers tightened on his shirt, still trying to pull him away, and Satoru happily let Yura do just that.

Then his grin widened even more when Yura pressed her face against his back, then even more somehow as she started to awkwardly sway around in place like she was trying to dance without actually letting go of him.

Well, if she wanted to get touchy, they could get touchy.

Satoru let his hands cover hers from where they rested on his front, trying to match the sway of his body to hers. A sober Yura probably would have never ended up in this position in public, so maybe Satoru was enjoying it a little too much while it lasted. The thought of her feeling jealous over him also tickled him to no end, and he caught the unknown woman from before shooting him disappointed glances as she found that he was, ahem, taken.

So taken that Yura still refused to let go of him at all.

(Satoru grinned at the thought.)

The loud beats continued, Satoru and Yura’s bodies moving together just a tad bit awkwardly with the lack of space between them as Yura still didn’t let go. Not that he was complaining—he was enjoying it very much. So much so that he almost whined when Shoko interrupted them to hand Yura a drink after she and Utahime came back from the bar.

“Hate to break this up,” Shoko said. “But here’s your drink—if you don’t take it, I will drink it.”

Yura unwound her arms from around his torso, and now Satoru was the one left pouting.

“I’m gonna start cutting you off,” Satoru told Yura, shooting the drink a look. He was half-joking, half-serious, because Yura was now at just the right level of drunkenness—loosened up enough to get touchy in public, while not quite at the level of regretting it all later.

“No,” Yura replied, trying to shoot him a glare that was mostly a pout.

“Yes,” he responded. He was trying to bite back a grin.

“No,” Yura repeated, and this time she pulled her drink away from him. She might actually be crossing over to the too much level of drunkenness right now...

“Yes,” he said again, lifting a hand to grab at her glass, playfully tugging it to him. So she tugged it back, and he tugged at it again, and they locked themselves into a half-hearted tug-of-war with her drink until Satoru eventually just grabbed Yura’s hand to twirl her around instead, making her pout immediately shift into a giggle.

He would let her have this one last drink—but that would be it. Otherwise he would have to deal with a drunk Yura begging for sex and/or karaoke later and he’d be stuck being the responsible one saying no.

He hated being the responsible one. He just wanted to enjoy a drunk, touchy Yura instead.

(So he did, as the two of them went back to dancing. Not quite pressed against each other like before, but this time around he allowed himself to always be touching her one way of the other—twirling her in place, tugging her by the hand, holding on to her waist...)

He really wouldn’t mind coming to a club more often, to be honest... as long as Yura was with him, of course.

-

The car door slammed shut as Shoko and Utahime finally left, Satoru having dropped them off at Shoko’s place as the designated driver for the night (and always). And immediately after, Yura let out a sigh from her spot on the passenger seat, turning to him with a glint in her eyes before he even started driving again.

“Satoru,” she called, and he turned to her with an amused eyebrow. Yura was staring at him dead in the eye, nodding at him seriously. “Let’s go karaoke.”

Satoru snorted. He couldn’t say he hadn’t seen it coming.

“It’s very late,” he said, and Yura pouted. “Plus, we’ve got karaoke at home.”

He had bought himself a karaoke machine for this exact occasion—to fulfill a drunken Yura’s ever-present desire to sing karaoke after drinking a little too much.

“But I wanna gooo,” Yura whined, throwing herself closer to him as much as her seatbelt would allow.

And Satoru grinned, even though her pout was making him want to cave in to her request.

“We’ll go to my place,” he said, leaning closer to her. “And I’ll let you karaoke for as long as you want, how about it?”

Their faces were very close now, and Yura’s intensified pout was doing something to his insides as his eyes looked down at her lips. And Satoru couldn’t help himself; his hand reached up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over soft skin before he finally leaned forward to press his lips to hers.

He'd been meaning to do this all night...

When Satoru finally pulled away, he ended up grinning at the dazed look on Yura’s face—dazed, but pleased, her face flushed and her lips shining, almost urging him to dive right back in.

“...Okay,” she finally breathed out, her tongue poking out to lick at her own lips. “Let’s go have sex.”

Satoru snorted. His hand patted at her cheek. “Maybe if you were less drunk,” he said before pulling away, Yura’s ensuing whine making him snort again.

It took all his willpower to not lean back in, especially as Yura let out an adorable huff.

“Then I wanna cuddle,” she said, and Satoru glanced at her to find her pouting again as he started the car.

Satoru grinned. “We can cuddle,” he agreed.

“...Cuddle and karaoke.”

Satoru let out yet another snort at Yura’s negotiating. “We can do both at the same time if we go to my place.”

Yura perked up at that, falling back into her seat with a satisfied nod, and Satoru held back a laugh.

Drunk Yura really was so easy to please sometimes...

End notes: I hope this answered the ask hehehe. Sometimes inspiration just strikes me and bam there u go, but to put it short: it's rare for them to go clubbing, but they have done it on occasion. They're more likely to go to a bar or something, but that's also a mostly Yura and Shoko activity with Satoru occasionally joining in ('cause he doesn't drink).

Speaking of drinks, I just really like writing drunk Yura ehehehe. I think the reason why drunk Yura is so fun is because when we strip away her inhibitions, we find that she's just as silly and needy and clingy as Satoru, it's like those two are just made for each other! (I mean, technically yes, she is my OC.......)

It's just really fun to have Yura be the clingy one for once!

[thelionheartedo3]

influencer (ii)

summary: In which Ely's still dealing with her cat being Instagram famous.

[part 6]

When Ely steps into the kitchen, she's expecting someone to be there. The vampires normally wait for her for breakfast, and Nate usually feeds Mango while Ely's in the shower.

Today, though, there's someone she isn't expecting at the table.

Mango's still there, still half hunched over her food plate, but she keeps shooting looks towards the table until Ely garners her attention and she trots over, giving a plaintive mew up to her.

Rebecca glances up from the manilla folder at the sound, pressing a small, hesitant smile on her face.

"Good morning," she greets.

Ely stares at her in silence for a moment longer, before stepping forward towards the island so she can get started on her breakfast.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"The rest of the Unit is on an extra patrol," Rebecca states. "I didn't think you'd appreciate being left completely alone."

"Like that's ever been an issue for you before," Ely huffs, shaking her head.

"Elyse—"

"Save it; I'll eat in the dining room once my food's done to not ruin your work atmosphere."

An uncomfortable silence falls over them at that. Mango keeps skittering to grab a bite of food before racing back to Ely's side, out of Rebecca's sight.

She had thought the cat would be more comfortable around her considering everyone else she lives with is fine with Rebecca, but Mango was Ely's girl through and through.

As the smell of fresh coffee fills the room and Ely's knife slices through the strawberries she's washed, she pauses, considering, before clearing her throat lightly.

Rebecca chances a glance up.

"Are you aware your granddaughter has twenty-seven thousand followers on Instagram?"

"My—what?"

[lost-oasis]

thinking caleb thoughts,,, soft... i hate it here and not posting on my side blog so jdnsjdjdjd

the day of your child's birthday that happens to be his birthday as well, caleb is busily getting your kiddo's birthday party set up and everything while you're deep in slumber, he's got the banner up, even managed to go to the store to get cake and by the time he's gently waking you up, he's all bright eyes and face, a gentle smile on his lips as he kisses your forehead.

"morning sleepyhead, the kids are gonna be here soon. you should get ready, everything else is all done, don't worry about it."

then the party begins, the kids are running about, and it's time to blow the candles of the birthday cake, caleb jokingly saying he forgot a cake for him, since he was too focused on preparing the birthday party for your child, so he'll just share with them.

all the children are practically wiped out from all the fun of running around, playing games, eating cake and opening presents. little by little everyone begins to file out of your place until it's just you, caleb and your child. he tells you to go tuck them in while he cleans up a bit and that he'll meet you upstairs.

you're tucking in your child when caleb shuffles in quietly, but your child is still awake, wanting to get hugs from you both, and it warms his heart knowing your child wanted to wait for him before falling asleep.

you two head back downstairs, laughing and throwing confetti at one another, at some point you manage to swipe frosting on his cheek and now you're running and he's chasing you until he uses his evol to pull you into his arms, despite your whines and accusations of him obviously cheating.

"oh, come on, pipsqueak... you don't actually hate it when i do this, right?" and there's that smile of his, bright with his purple eyes shining with so much adoration for you.

"no... no i don't, but you still cheated, you and your damn evol."

"you love me," he teased and smears the icing you got on his cheek by him nuzzling his cheek against yours.

"caleb!" you laugh, playfully pushing at his chest.

"am i wrong?"

then with a sigh, grabbing his face and stealing a kiss from his lips, "no, you're not. happy birthday, caleb."

and he's sweeping you off your feet (literally) heading upstairs to your guys' room with a big ass smile on his face, while your cheeks are heating up as you play with his dogtag until he shuts the door between the two of you.

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

omg i would love a norrix outsider pov

Took me a while to decide who to make the outsider, because there are honestly so many good options, but I eventually settled on Max V. Hope you like it!

Also, is it still a drabble if it's almost 1.5k words? Genuine question. This one got away from me LOL.

Even before introducing them to each other, Max had had a feeling Lando and Martijn would get along well. He'd thought their personalities would mesh well, and maybe Martijn's supportive optimism would be good for Lando (he may be a rival on the track, but that didn't mean Max would ever wish anxiety or emotional pain on him). Plus, he knew Lando was a big fan of Martijn's music. It would be fun to see his mind explode when he got to meet someone he was a fan of.

When their friendship took off from the moment they met, he initially didn't think twice of it. He was just glad that they'd hit it off as well as he'd hoped they would. When Lando started going to more of Martijn's shows, and going on trips with him, and just generally started spending more time with him, Max had thought, good for them!

Their "world tour" vacation, and some of the photos that came out of it, was when he first started to wonder about how close they'd actually become.

He'd known that Martijn was interested in more than just women for a while. But Lando . . . well, it had never really come up in conversation before. Motorsports in general weren't known for being very queer-friendly, so the topic was usually avoided. Max was sure there were queer people in the paddock somewhere, but he'd never asked and he'd never expect them to tell.

But something about the way Lando acted with Martijn . . . the way he smiled and gushed when he got to talk about him, they way he jumped at any opportunity to spend time with him, the way both of them had such an easy, effortless chemistry with each other . . . something about it made him wonder.

When Martijn's birthday rolled around, the last thing he expected was for that wondering to be silenced. He'd sent Martijn a birthday message, as usual. He went about his day, taking care of work, doing a bit of sim racing, and catering to his cats (honestly, they were in charge of him, not the other way around), until he sat down in the evening and opened Instagram out of late-night boredom.

He'd nearly spat out his Red Bull when he'd seen Lando's latest story.

Yeah - no. There was no way that was a photo a totally platonic friend would post for someone's birthday. He was wondering why Lando even had this picture. One where Martijn had a lot of skin showing. After another moment of thought, and an oh moment, he decided that maybe he didn't want the answer to that question after all.

He'd been briefly confused when the story disappeared around twenty minutes later . . . only to be replaced with a different, but no less platonic, choice of photos and captions.

Lando obviously hadn't meant to publicly post that first one. And that made him wonder about the implications behind it. And if he was trying to mask those implications, then Max was sorry to say that his second attempt had mostly failed to do the job.

Was there something more between them?

Once that thought entered his head, he started to pay more attention to their interactions. And now that his eyes were open, he realized just how blind he'd been before. Maybe it was because they were his friends, and he hadn't even considered the possibility of their relationship developing like this at the start. Or maybe Charles wasn't the only one the phrase "I am stupid" could apply to.

He caught Lando and Martijn messaging or talking to each other incredibly often. Their smiles were always bigger after being together. Whenever Lando had a break in his race schedule, he seemed to fly straight to Martijn's side, wherever he was. When Martijn released yet another love song, and Lando liked the announcement post almost instantly, Max finally realized that maybe there was someone he was writing them for. And when he saw the way they looked at each other in person . . . suddenly, he understood what people meant when they used the term "heart-eyes."

Max didn't say anything. It was their place to tell him, not his to tell them he knew. As long as they were happy, he was happy for them.

It was in Zandvoort that he finally got positive confirmation of how close they were. As disappointing as another loss was, he really was happy for Lando's win. God knew he'd fought like a lion for it.

He knew Martijn was around, and expected to see him sometime after he was done with the first of his post-race duties. And sure enough, Max spotted him just outside the garage area as he was stepping out for a break from the craziness. But he wasn't alone.

Lando and Martijn were side by side, laughing and smiling. Lando still seemed to be glowing from his win, and Martijn was basking in that glow. There was no other way Max could describe the way he was looking at Lando other than loving.

He didn't want to interrupt their moment, and stopped far enough away that he wasn't intruding. He didn't intentionally spy on them, but it seemed like every time he glanced back their way, they had somehow gotten closer together. When did they start holding hands?

He really couldn't believe he hadn't seen what they were sooner. Now that he'd noticed it, it was impossible not to.

He had pulled out his phone and was absentmindedly scrolling when he realized that he didn't hear their voices any more. He glanced up, and did a double-take as he caught them pulling apart from a kiss.

He wasn't sure how he managed to fix his gobsmacked expression before the two of them parted and Lando finally turned his way. Lando smiled at him and happily made his way over, so he assumed he was at least somewhat successful.

"Hey, Max!" Lando greeted him. Max met him in a one-armed hug. "Martijn and I were wondering why we hadn't seen you yet. Red Bull kept you a while, huh?"

"Yeah," Max said absentmindedly. His mind was still caught on the image of Lando and Martijn looking at each other like the other was their whole world.

"Hey, um . . . we're good right?" Lando asked, biting his lip nervously. "About today?"

Max snapped out of his distracted thoughts instantly. He didn't want Lando to think he was mad at him about today, not when Lando had had a genuinely great race and it wasn't his fault Max hadn't been able to get the car to perform as well as it needed to. "Of course. You raced great today, Lando. Really."

Lando smiled at him, clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot. You had a great race, too. Had me nervous a couple times out there." He playfully tugged Max along. "Come on, I still need to find Charles and congratulate him, too. Didn't get a chance after the podium."

Max followed along willingly. He'd already spoken to Charles, but he didn't mind following Lando. If they were heading back towards the garages, maybe he could find Oscar and congratulate him too while he was at it.

"Oh, um," Lando said after another minute, sounding a bit nervous again. "How long were you, uh, standing there? Were you waiting for one of us?"

Max knew what he was afraid of - that Max had seen him and Martijn together, and that he wouldn't want to be friends with him any more. He slung an arm around Lando's shoulders in another friendly one-armed hug. Whatever happened between them on track or in the paddock, he never wanted Lando to think something like this would change their friendship.

"Just looking for Martijn, wanted to thank him for coming today," he said. "I was only waiting for a few minutes, don't worry."

Lando nodded, but his tension didn't dissipate, and Max knew that wasn't what he had been worried about. So he continued.

"I'm glad you two have each other, by the way," he said. "He's treating you well, right?"

His meaning was pretty clear. Lando blinked at him in surprise, searching his expression for any sign that he might be hiding his real opinion or getting ready to push him away. Max knew he would find nothing, because he didn't feel anything like that. Who Lando dated was none of his business and didn't affect how he performed on the track. If anything, he was just glad that two of his friends had found happiness with each other.

Finally, Lando smiled in relief. "Yeah," he said softly. He gave Max another pat on the back. "Thanks, Max."

Max smiled back. It didn't matter how heated things got on the track. He would always be glad for his friends' happiness.

[lyricalpiece]

Did someone say self-indulgent ZoSan fics?? ⬇️

A Revealed Past ~ A helpless Sanji is tortured until the secrets of his past are revealed onscreen, while the rest of the Straw Hat Pirates have a hard time accepting what they're seeing.

From Now On ~ Sanji left. Zoro had a hard time. And now they're confessing things.

[solarpunkani]

Minor W for the solarpunk zombie story, we finally reached the front gate of the town GOD BLESS

Already shoving other OCs into the project as minor characters

Now the problem.....

I am overthinking EVERYTHING

[deiaiko]

#5.3 Hwaryun

"I suppose you're looking for me?" A familiar red-haired woman approached Grace, her lips carefully smoothed to reveal no emotion.

"I am." Grace acknowledged her presence and gave her a friendly smile. It had been so long since he last heard her voice, and it was grounding in a way that only a guide could be. There was something different about the way she looked at him, but Grace supposed that it was to be expected.

"What is it that you want to discuss with me?"

Grace hummed and felt like humoring her a little. "Take a guess."

"You do know that I'm not a mind reader." Hwaryun gave him just the briefest hint of a smirk, and it was all he needed to see to know that she already knew what he wanted. "But if I had to guess, perhaps you want to join 'us'?"

"That's right," Grace confirmed.

"Very well. I will arrange a meeting with the director for you, but I'm sure you'll be accepted after he tests your strength."

Grace could already picture how bad the test would go, knowing Hansung. But knowing what the outcome would be eased some of his worry. "Thank you, Hwaryun."

Masterlist

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[theflyingfeeling]

💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

.

PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

~

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia. 

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him. 

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him. 

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet. 

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself. 

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

[kingflups]

Turns out there is an unexpected upside to the world ending: you can almost forget the sting of your date standing you up. Almost.

Day two of Serrenedy Pride Week - Racoon City

[plaguethewaters]

little superhero au thingie!! except the superhero part is super duper nonexistent and this chapter is litterally just cbeeduo proposal. Enjoy!

---

"You've gotta forgive me, because I'm about to get really sappy here."

Ranboo says, and Tubbo thinks it's awfully ironic. It's night, brilliant stars shining over them - the only true advantage of no public lighting at all - they're on the roof, sitting on the thickest blanket they own and huddling together for whatever warmth they can find, the few remnants of their picnic laid abandoned to the side. They've been out all evening, eating sweets and heart shaped sandwiches, because Ranboo had always been a little extra. He thinks, we've gotten past the sappiness threshold a whole lot ago, and also, there's no way whatever you've got to say could be worse than this romance novel ass- situation.

His hand is taken into Ranboo's, who starts rubbing at his knuckles with his thumb. He does that often, when he's nervous - but also, Tubbo muses, he's nervous about pretty much every single aspect of his life, so this isn't anything new. Then he starts talking, with a way too big, almost suspicious smile on his face, his voice low.

"You know I don't- I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am now. I didn't know this kind of happy even existed, I think, not until you two came into my life." His gaze is soft and, as previously anticipated, unworldly sappy. "You've made me truly content with my life in entirely new ways, and continue to do so every single day. I can't really imagine my future without you in it."

"You're making this sound like a marriage proposal, bossman." Tubbo giggles, just to lighten the mood. Mostly because he's right, and he does not know if he could survive the weight of a love so, so fucking ginormous, settled on his shoulder's like the world's heavier and softer mountain, not without a little comedic relief.

"I mean..." Ranboo kisses his hand, doing a so-and-so gesture with his free one, "Kind of?"

The mountain doesn't move, and Tubbo's suffocating. This is not how he imagined he would die.

"I-uh. sorry?" he manages to shutter, while his mind helpfully supplies him with a series of his possible obituaries. "Young man dies of Too Much Emotion.". or "Romantic relationship actually a trap, Villain dies because Boyfriend loves him too much." (Boyfriend? Fiancè????? What the absolute hell.)

"I mean, i mean not now, obviously that's- that would be a little too much to dump on you so soon." Ranboo laughs, clearly as nervous as he looks. "Just, like, I've prepared a whole speech, goddammit, let me say it properly."

Tubbo sees the light. His heart is definitely going to explode.

"Okay I've, I've started this a little wrong. Because I said, right, I said, I can't imagine my life without you, but it's more like, like, I couldn't have imagined my life without you. I would've never even tried. I don't think I realized I could imagine a life for myself outside- outside of hero work. I either died at fifteen - or, or seventeen, or twenty, or whatever limit I decided to give myself that year - or got an eternity of work, no escape at all. Then, then you, and Tommy, and suddenly I'm dreaming of white picket fences and wedding bells and large breed dogs and- did you know I was a writer? When I was little, I used to have notebooks over notebooks full of short horror stories, and then I stopped because with housework and normal work and trying not to starve I never had the time - you've made me want to write again. You made me realize I could dream, and follow those dreams and succeed."

The speech comes out rushed, all too many words confined in all too little space, too little time. He sounds like he's afraid if he doesn't speak soon enough, someone is going to come and steal his voice, leaving his feelings forever entrapped.

His gaze shifts, and now he's staring directly into Tubbo's eyes. The intensity is overwhelming, oppressive, painful. His eyes bore into Tubbo's skull with the force of a drill, carving a hole from his eye socket to the center of his brain, then making a little cave in it and resting in it's center.

"I don't- marriage right now would not be a good idea, I don't think, but? Maybe, in the future... Will you marry me?"

Their stares break, and the parasite removes itself from Tubbo's poor, poor brain. Then he's playing with Tubbo's fingers, looking blushy and shy to the side - because of course he's nervous now, after completely destroying him, leaving unable to think anything but an infinite sting of I love yous and wondering how on earth he got this lucky and fuck. Tubbo would die a thousand times over if it got him to look this pretty again.

What the hell was he supposed to say now? He isn't, and has never really been good with words, not when actions and punches have always done the job just as well - how could he speak now, having been hit in the face with a confession like that? With the, the- he would call it the burden, he guesses, but that's just entirely the wrong word - the responsibility, the knowledge he's the reason Ranboo was able to grow and get through all of that, given to him like it is no big deal. He would've never thought of that. In fact, he was worried he'd been doing way too little support wise, lacking the knowledge and emotional maturity needed to properly help someone like that.

Like even now, after the whole speech, he still isn't all that convinced. All he ever did was love Ranboo - which isn't news, and would continue not to be news as far as he's concerned. He loves him, will love him even if he somewhat disagrees with the confession, because how could he be possibly worth so much in Ranboo's eyes, who deserves so much more than he could possibly give, and he loves him so much - but he does not know how to say any of that.

So, he just kisses him.

And again, and again, trying to push into his lips anything that cannot fit into his mouth and failing still, but nobody's to say he doesn't fucking try. When he stops, it's because his traitorous body runs out of air to breathe, but he still keeps as close as possible, resting his forehead on Ranboo's. If he has to stop to breathe, they'll fucking share the breaths too.

----

Ranboo has learned, by now, that Tubbo kisses like he's fighting.

Mostly by way of focus and determination: he kisses with the same kind of concentration one might have when operating a sniper rifle - or, much more topically, when defusing a tickling bomb. There's no second in which he's idle, any rest clearly ruled by strict necessity rather than any want or will. When he does retreat, surrendering finally to the need of air, he doesn't part neither far nor long, touching their foreheads together or breathing in his neck, his hands mapping all available territory to make way for later exploration.

Ranboo has seen him battle, has fought him directly in the past, and he finds no difference between the crushing adrenaline of a missed punch, of wrestling for a loaded gun, of running towards a lit fuse - and whatever he is feeling right now.

A hand finds its way to his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, and the little air he'd managed to keep in his poor lungs gets knocked out of him. Maybe they are in battle, actually. Maybe killing him is Tubbo's way of saying no.

Because - and he's said this already, but his brain is too scrambled to pay attention to something as utterly unimportant as repetition (anything less important than this). Because he's used to Tubbo, to the way he seems to equate love and war, to the almost violence of his affections but this feels... different, somehow. Somewhat. He's not focused enough to register what's actually changed.

Maybe it's the way his mind had already been lost in the anxiety of the moment, before his little speech, and the suspense for an answer now; or maybe it's just the thick layer of tears evenly coating each of their faces.

Which, by the way, does not help to ease his worries at all, to be entirely honest. Not that - don't get him wrong, it's not that the kissing isn't nice (heavenly, wonderful, amazing, showstopping and a plethora of other words that do not even come close) but it doesn't really enlighten him as to what Tubbo's answer is going to be. Is this a "Yes of course I'm going to marry you" type of kiss or more, like, "No how dare you ask that I'm kissing you just so you shut up" deal?

(Now, a normal person, in a hypothetical fictional audience, would probably butt in right about now with, let's say, a text to speech device of some sort. And they would say, with all the confidence of anonymity, they'd say: "Ranboo, this is a really stupid dilemma. Why would he ever choose to reject with a kiss? Nobody does that ever." And they would probably be right! But the hand is still on his thigh, and another hand is rubbing slow circles into his waist, and the kiss is still happening, so forgive him if his reasonings aren't all that rational right about now.)

He manages to detach himself eventually - not easily, not even particularly willingly - for the few moments absolutely necessary to regain a couple braincells and learn how to use his own mouth again.

"Uh- U, I, Is this-" Not to use it well, mind you, but he isn't going to complain. he'll take what he can get and deal with it. "Uhu-"

"What was that, bossman?" Tubbo giggles, voice still raspy from the assault to his lips, and Ranboo finds it somewhat insulting; loquacity is an absurd standard to hold for the guy currently being lobotomized.

"Wh- was that, uh" Tubbo's hand is slowly rubbing at his cheek in what was probably meant to be encouragement, but only manages to scramble his brains even more. "Was that a yes?

"No."

His stomach plummets.

He knows, logically, that he should not have expected anything. They've been dating for not even a year, and this was sprung on Tubbo so suddenly, and everyone always say to never ask if you aren't sure your partner will say yes but Ranboo will never be sure of anything in his life (at least not how he was sure this would've worked) and he needed to ask like, physically. And at the end of the day it's not like this is gonna mean anything for their relationship, because ring or not he knows Tubbo loves him (maybe, hopefully, because he cannot begin to imagine the contrary, it would tear him apart), but he had dared to hope-

"No," Tubbo continues, "I've just started making out with you, because that is how normal people reject proposals in real life." He's smiling, still caressing his cheek, and Ranboo wants to die a little less. He pointedly ignored the disembodied voice of the fictional audience member reminding him how they were right. (Just because you were doesn't mean you gotta act mean about it. Meanie.)

He groans, quite loudly, so that all of his horrible pain is heard, and hides his shameful face in the warm crook of Tubbo's neck.

"Never start a sentence like that ever again, for the love of god."

Tubbo laughs, bright and loud. "Oh, you poor baby", he croons, mockingly. Ranboo is being made fun of, but the guy doing it is exceptionally beautiful and also his fiance now, so all the haters are quite obviously just jealous.

"You're right though," Tubbo continues, "I wasn't quite finished answering."

Whatever smart, flirty and witty reply Ranboo could have given him gets swallowed by a chocking sound, as the push of lips and the warmth of hands pull him onto yet another battlefield.

---

"You know what would be really, really funny actually?" Tubbo asks, after everything is done. He's basically sitting in Ranboo's lap now, only one lonely knee left hanging on the blanket. They cuddle together tighter, mostly because they want to, but also because it got so cold on that roof once the sun went down and now it feels far below freezing.

"Hmmmm..." he rumbles, a content rumble (NOT. a purr. shut up.) so loud it almost hides his voice. "No, what would?"

"If we just pretended to be married already." Tubbo sits up a little bit.

"Just like. Hear me out."

"I'm hearing, I'm hearing."

"Okay, for one - we've got like, another full year before we would be able to actually get married and you and I both know I've got zero patience to wait that long. And we're like, super wanted criminals, so nobody would want to marry us even if we were legal, right?"

"Absolutely correct."

"And also. Think of the Bitches faces when we get into battle against them and we have wedding bands on, calling each other 'husband' and shit"

A pause.

"Oh, oh my god" They both start laughing at the same time, falling back into the blankets in a mountain of little giggles. The thought is, as expected, absolutely hilarious, and with the added giddiness of being able to be husbands, of loving each other that much - it doesn't look like they'll be stopping anytime soon.

The moon is high in the sky, the cold is still frigid, and their laughs are loud enough for several noise complaints. Tonight, they hug each other and go to bed. Tomorrow, chaos would begin for real.