#sd!au

[daydream-corpse]

Here they are, girlies

[slimeypuppy]

“We should go on a vacation.”

Kendall pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. He hasn’t been to this restaurant before, because when it’s left up to him, he more often than not goes to the same places he’s been to a million times. The familiarity is comforting. He knows what he likes and how long it will take for what he likes to be in front of him, steaming hot and ready to be devoured. Stewy, on the other hand, loves trying new things and probably has a mental yelp page for every single place he’s tried. Tonight, it’s an upscale teppanyaki place, where Kendall has simply gotten bored of the chef trying to impress them. Despite the high price tag on merely getting to sit at one of the grills, Stewy bought out the whole table so they don’t have several strangers crowded with them while they eat. Kendall has tried everything, and only really liked a couple of the options, but he keeps eating everything Stewy holds up to his mouth because it’s difficult to say no.

“Vacation?” he repeats.

“Yeah, a vacation. You’ve heard of ‘em.” Stewy leans back slightly in his chair and pops a hand-roll into his mouth. "I was thinking somewhere warm and beachy, like the Maldives. Thoughts?"

Kendall pauses and considers this. All the vacations he's been on in life, besides his honeymoon, were family events. As an older teen, sometimes Stewy would stay for a few days at the summer house, but by and large it was just the family and whichever higher ups were in favor. The honeymoon, which Rava begged to have in Hawaii, had been more sunburning and nightly missionary than anything else. He has fond memories of the honeymoon, looking back; Rava had held his head between her thighs, knees planted next to his ears, and praised him as he went down on her for an hour, they hit every destination beach with white sand, and she held his hand like she would never let go.

He's never been on a vacation with anyone else. Part of him worries this is a vacation in the way Bellevue was a vacation after his first overdose, and it's a trick he's teetering on the edge of falling for, but then he reigns himself in. It's Stewy. Stewy doesn't lie, even if he does misrepresent or leave out details.

"I don't know if I'd want to go to the tropics. It sounds sticky."

Stewy laughs as he signals the waiter for a refill. "Fair enough, man, fair enough. Maybe we go to like, Europe. I know you've been, but still. Maybe we go to France. Get some good food, piss off the Parisians, get really drunk." He pauses. "I don't know. I just think we've earned a break."

Kendall rolls his eyes. "Stewy Hosseini, taking a break? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Well, the married life has changed me," he jokes.

But neither of them laugh at that, instead letting his words hang between them. Stewy doesn't take it back, because he never does, but the knowledge of how close their lives have become to marriage is too much brought into the light. In another world, maybe. Not this one. They can't, not with Kendall's baggage, family, and the minor inconvenience of not being gay. Stewy has never come out to him, per se, or even expressed interest in men in front of him, but Kendall knows. It's impossible to be someone's best friend for most of their life and not know that about them.

"I'm serious. Fresh start, even. We go for a month or two, I'll work remotely on whatever needs it, and we just put it on pause."

Kendall shakes his head with a smile, watching the surface of the hibachi instead of looking at Stewy. "This sounds crazy."

"We need a little crazy. Come on, don't tell me you haven't ever wanted to fuck off to somewhere no one knows you with a suitcase and a dream and all that bullshit. You never wanted to swipe your pretty little Amex and be?"

"Well," Kendall says, debating his next words, "my therapist talked me down from it in the middle of a manic episode."

It takes a moment for Stewy to mull this over. "Yeah, okay, I get that. Was that Harvard, in '99? I remember you being obsessed with teaching yourself Portuguese."

"Oh. Right. Um, yeah I was gonna fuckin, uh, go to Peru. Dad doesn't have people in Peru."

Nodding, Stewy thanks the chef for depositing the lobster onto their plate. They both start eating, and although Kendall doesn't enjoy lobster too much, he's still more than impressed by the vegetables and steak. They companionably finish their meal, Stewy pays the cheque, and on the way out, Stewy appears to check his emails. By the time they get into the town car, Stewy has pocketed his phone.

"Would you rather go to South America?"

"No."

"Cool. Do you need anything from home?"

"I mean, I have my wallet and phone. Stewy, what-"

Stewy leans toward the driver. "JFK, please. The private gates." He relaxes back into his seat just as quickly. "We're going to Paris. You can sleep on the jet, it's a long ride."

"I don't sleep much when I'm not depressed."

"Then it'll be good for you."

They get to the airport a short while later, where their flight is already waiting for them. Stewy's latest assistant, who might be named Mona or Monique or something like that, is waiting for them. Her usually stiffly coiled chestnut hair has been piled in a messy bun, and her business flashy-casual is absent in favor of a sweater and leggings. She has a backpack in one hand and a duffel in the other.

"You fucking suck," she tells Stewy. "I hate you so much. You know it's almost midnight."

"Thanks, Monica."

Stewy air kisses her cheeks and shoulders both bags, not even bothering to check them. Kendall remembers how it had been like that with Jess. He knew she was diligent and thorough, and she dropped everything to do weird things like this all the time. It's nice, but it's a luxury of wealth.

"Anybody I need to talk to has my international number, so any calls and appointments can wait," Stewy says, but Kendall gets the impression he's already texted or emailed this to her. "I'll be checking my email, keeping an eye on shit. Honestly, as long as you check your email everyday, you should be good. I appreciate you so much."

Monica laughs. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't have me pack a bag too. How will you get on without me?"

"I thought about it. But I'll be fine."

He smiles at Kendall, and it feels like there's something going on that's flown over Kendall's head. The sensation isn't unfamiliar, but he still doesn't know how to figure it out, so he casts the thought aside as they finish their conversation for Stewy to lead them both into the jet.

He immediately starts rooting through the duffel and produces sweatpants for Kendall to replace his jeans with, as well as loungewear of his own. Instead of going into the partitioned back half or to the bathroom, Stewy strips down to his boxers right there and redresses. They used to live in the same dorm, so it's not unheard of for them to change in front of each other, and yet this feels so much different. Kendall stares at the floor as he changes, and when he looks up, Stewy is reclining in one of the seats and looking through his backpack.

"Monica grabbed your meds too, by the way. I have your daily and as needed ones." He gets a bottle out and checks the label before putting two green and white pills in his hand, swallowing them down with a chaser of his flask. "Do you need the traz?"

"I wouldn't mind."

Stewy finds the correct bottle and hands it over. Less than ten minutes later, before the plane has even taken off, he's out.

[emilysraincoat]

“You get nothing if you wait for it” + angel/miguel sd!au?

Miguel doesn’t usually smoke with him, but perhaps tonight is a special occasion. It feels like one. They ate dinner at home, out on the patio with the lanterns lit and the stars high in the sky. Angel can’t recall what it might have been, and he doesn’t care either. Sitting on the couch shaded under the veranda, hiding the sky, Miguel’s leg presses against his as they take turns drawing in smoke and letting it consume them. 

His lungs are heavy, but his head is light, and Miguel’s hand is as steady as ever, loosely curled around the back of his neck because he seems unable to stop touching him. It’s good like so few things are, and as much as Angel just wants to breathe the moment in and guard it in his chest, he knows it won’t last. Miguel will not smoke with him again after this, nor will he hold him so closely outside the context of paid intimacy.

“Why me?” he asks quietly. Miguel’s thumb digs into his bottom lip.

There’s more to the question. Of why Miguel protected him from the man Angel initially had an arrangement with, why he immediately made a better offer, why he spends an amount of money Angel doesn’t even want to think about on frivolous things like new sneakers or pre-rolled joints because Angel’s always wind up sloppy no matter how much practice he gets.

Miguel smiles at him. Distracting. Charming. “You get nothing if you wait for it.”

“Cheesy.”

Still, they should say more about the fact that Angel’s little more than a glorified prostitute, or that Miguel is smoking with him for the first time, or that three nights ago, under the heat of shower spray, Miguel had kissed him, told him he’s beautiful, and said that he is the world.

[daydream-corpse]

Single dad au? 👀 👀 👀

Can I know more?

omg, thanks for asking! /w\ I apologise for any mistakes in there

For short, in this AU Dexter and Mandark didn't interact much after college, only seeing each other as business rivals (i know, unrealistic, they will forever be breathing down each other's necks) and quietly keeping tabs on the other so it's been like... 15 years since they had a proper conversation and they're in there late thirties/early forties. Both of them had a kid, through very different circumstances ; these two kids end up in the same middle school and being friends. Dexter and Mandark now have to interact again and play nice with each other because they love their kids. Whatever will happen now,,,,,,,,,,

I hope i'll have time to post the full reference for the kids before the end of the year! I'll just talk a bit more about them here and how they came to be for now :

Pauline (Paulie)

Dexter got married solely because of familial pressure, same for the kids. He did what he was expected to do and buried himself into his work, making him a very absent father in Pauline's early life. Pauline was very close to her mother, even if she could be quite controlling in the way she dressed and behaved, and while she admired her father she resented him a bit for not being here.

Pauline is sweet and one of the popular kid in school. She didn't inherit her father's genius but still developed an early interest in mechanic and vehicles in general. She's Dee favorite niece (eheh).In this AU, Dexter is ace and homoromantic,

but he is not very in touch with his own feelings.... Until he does some introspection and realizes he is fucking miserable and maybe it would just be better if he left both of them? This is where shit hit the fan and the wife decides to go mask off on her homophobia and blames their daughter lesbianism on him.

A few months (and a restraining order) later, Dexter now has to take care of his daughter on his own. There is... a lot of things happening there ahah (*smack his ass* this man can contain so much character development for the people he loves). He tries his best, and she does too !

(Her second name is Albert, obviously, which was an uphill battle to get through his ex-wife and family lol)

Corvus

Mandark's situation is funnier (because I can).He's still alone (pretty unsuccessful in love... Or friendship ), at the top of M.I. and mingling with other powerful and rich people. He decided he needed a heir for his business empire and after thinking about adoption, he finally decided that he was going to summon a child with a bit of dark magic and some of his own blood. Just less paperwork.

So Corvus came to be! Born as a 12 years old with approximate knowledge of most human custom. She was made in Mandark image and share his drive and quickly picks up whatever he puts down for her to learn. Though she couldn't help but yearn for the outside world and after a few running away situations, Mandark decided to put her in middle school (it'll help her in learning social skill).

All the character development between these two/lies on the fact that Mandark wanted a heir, not a kid, and didn't expect to get attached but he did, of course. He's not exactly the best father and swinged from professional to kinda smothering but through their first year together he grew to be attentive to Corvus needs and wants, afraid of becoming like his parents.

Corvus is learning to be more human and what she can becomea. She's a bit detached from other kids and find it difficult to share their interests most of the time, she's also quite impulsive and stubborn… Paulie thinks she's "chill" and "mysterious" and Corvus is both happy and surprised that she gets to have such a cool friend.

[slimeypuppy]

"He's not my sugar daddy. Fuck you."

Roman sucks air in through his teeth and plays with his fork. "He kinda is, man. I mean, the card you used to buy us lunch literally has his fucking name on it."

"There's no shame in being a sugar baby," Connor insists, trying to deescalate a fight that isn't occurring. "Willa actually used to-"

Shiv rolls her eyes. "We know about Willa. We're not mad that you're gay, Ken. We're just a little mad you went to Stewy for money instead of just-"

"It's not like that," Kendall argues. "I didn't 'go to him for money.' And I'm also not gay, so what the fuck are you talking about?"

《Sugar Daddy!AU》

[slimeypuppy]

First Things First (SD!AU)

A bell can only ring so many times in its life. Over the years, the ball that crashes against the flank of the bell begins to take on flat polygonal planes where it’s struck so many times, rust creeps up the exterior, and the handle tarnishes from so many layers of oil from fingers grasping it to draw out the sound. Some bells tingle like a moment of music, others toll like a bellowing giant, but eventually, they all get old, and they all stop ringing. By virtue of being used for their intended purpose, they are eventually destroyed beyond repair.

Such a concept is not entirely foreign to Kendall. He knows his life is completely over. No one else will hire a known whistleblower, and his place in Waystar Royco is long over. Shiv has her political strategizing to fall back on and a husband who still makes plenty, Connor has always been just fine as he is, and Roman is practically already completely in with Mattson to carry on as he has been. That leaves Kendall, with his family money already gone, and no job to replenish anything he pulls from his accounts. He’s never done much saving, too caught up in impulsive purchases and the knowledge that he’d always have more money. If he doesn’t want to work an hourly wage job and live in the slums, he has no choice but to sell the penthouse and all the nice decor and furniture, start budgeting, and learn to live without a full house staff. He was made to run the firm with an iron fist and his house staff with a gentle guiding hand, but all of that has now vanished into thin air, as if it never existed in the first place.

He tells Stewy all this at some witching hour of the warm New York night, when they’re five shots, three lines, and two bowls into a bender he can already tell will carry him through the next three weeks of sorrow and grief for a business that won’t even miss him now that he’s gone. Kendall has always been replaceable, more so than any other of the C-level executives, but he knows it for certain now. In the company, in the family, in the world, he’s always been as replaceable as a plate with a smudge on it that the dishwasher missed. There’s another one in line. He only lasted as long as he did because of the weight of Dad’s name and money. Maybe he should’ve predicted that an epic crash such as this one would come to pass, but then again, he had hoped he would just carry on forever, getting higher and higher in status and in dopamine until no negative emotion ever betrayed his consciousness again.

Just a little bit more, and he would have been happy. A little bit more dinner dates with Rava before they separated, a little bit more time as CEO before his father recovered, a little bit more zeroes on his direct deposit, a little bit more courage when he talked to people, and that would have been enough. He’d have crested over whatever self-imposed barrier kept him from achieving anything real in his life. Or, on the other hand, maybe a little bit more liquor on the day he nearly drowned and it wouldn’t have been anyone’s problem, let alone his, any longer.

To his credit, Stewy doesn’t interrupt the stream of consciousness erupting from Kendall’s mouth between cramming his lungs and stomach full of anything on offer on the table that sits artfully in front of the couch. He just listens, occasionally taking another dose of whatever he has in his hands at that moment, and nods when it’s appropriate to whatever part of his spiel Kendall has reached. None of it was rehearsed, all of it tumbling from his lips as it crosses his mind, and yet it all feels like something he’s known since before he graduated from Harvard, Stewy next to him in a matching cap and gown, both of them so blasted they could hardly walk straight to receive their diplomas. Money greases a lot of wheels when it comes to that kind of thing.

“Wow,” Stewy says, when Kendall is finally finished and trying to bury the thoughts in the taste of the whiskey that costs more per bottle than he’ll probably be paying in monthly rent by the time all is said and done. Just the thought of that makes his stomach turn. He’ll be paying rent to someone else who owns the property he’s staying on. “That’s a lot, man.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Kendall lies to him.

With a roll of his eyes, Stewy kicks his leg. It’s not hard enough to actually cause Kendall pain, but it gets his attention away from his spiral of self-destruction. “First of all, you’re catastrophizing. We talked about this. You’ll more than likely get back on your feet at some point, and even if you don’t, I have like three spare rooms. I own several houses, Ken, you think I’m gonna let you live in a run down apartment in Brooklyn with a landlord who has sweat stains on every one of his poly-cotton blends? C’mon. Relax. You know me better than that.”

Kendall squints at him, trying to tell how serious he is. It’s entirely likely that Stewy’s just saying things because they’ve been using and Stewy seems to live for the sound of his own voice, but there’s a part of him that almost knew he’d say something like that. They’ve been friends since they were like eight years old, maybe younger- Kendall doesn’t remember much before the age of 15, nor between the ages of seventeen and thirty something. There was a little sweet spot between the worst of the childhood trauma and the first time he found out where his father kept the good stuff, where he remembers doing school projects with Stewy, going to dances, and trying not to get too mad at all the inane and childish things Roman and Shiv were always in the middle of. Still, Stewy’s been there through all of it. Every girlfriend who eventually dumped him, every half-assed attempt to get clean, every little nitpicking settlement Rava wanted in the split, and every sleight that Dad took at him. Stewy probably remembers more of it than Kendall does, anyways.

He eventually leans back against the soft cushions of Stewy’s luxurious couch and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’ll be alright. They’ll figure this out. Stewy only said the obvious; everyone Kendall knows has plenty of money, more than enough to have an exorbitant amount of space. Sure, most of them hate him, but he knows that other than Stewy, at the very least, neither Rava nor Connor would allow him to be homeless. Shiv and Roman might, but only for a few nights in order to ‘teach him a lesson,’ as if he hasn’t fallen asleep on at least a dozen different bus stop benches over the last twenty years of his life. The partying, the using, the constant attempts to escape the pressure placed on his shoulders by his father, made it so such an occurrence was irregular, but not unheard of. Usually, if Stewy or one of Kendall’s well-off fair weather friends saw him doing that, they would make sure he got home safe, or at the very least into a family car or a hotel room to sleep it off. If no one had done those things, he’d probably be long dead by now from some attempted crime or another.

And yet, he’s still kicking. Reinvigorated by the knowledge that he can at least take a little time to figure all of this out rather than needing to know right away so he can figure out what to stop paying for, some of the anxiety curling around his ribcage begins to fade back. Air comes easier on each and every inhale he takes, until it feels like the cold AC of Stewy’s brownstone blasting through the living room propels nothing but pure oxygen into his lungs. He’s going to be okay.

“But,” Stewy says, and Kendall rolls his eyes.

There’s always a but. Stewy is nice, but he’s still humans, and Kendall has never seen true selflessness in his entire life. Everyone always wants something; they don’t want the same things, but there’s absolutely something they hope or expect to gain in exchange for whatever they do to help him. Sometimes it’s as simple as paying the hospital bill when he went to the emergency room. They helped him, he paid them. Others, it’s as complex as the debt Dad forced upon him after Shiv’s wedding and the humiliation of running his errands. Stewy is smart and cunning. He always wants something. Often, it’s things Kendall would’ve given to him anyways, but they don’t go into any action without complete honesty about what’s going on.

“If you’re staying here while you figure out what you’re doing next, you’re getting help. That’s non-negotiable.” Kendall opens his mouth to negotiate anyways, but Stewy doesn’t give him the chance before he barrels ahead. “Roman told me about that stunt you pulled in Italy, alright? No more of that bullshit.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

Stewy shakes his head. “It is. But, if it helps, think of it like an investment, yeah? If I invest in a little company, I’m gonna expect that company to work to stay in the green. I don’t invest in companies whose boards insist upon running themselves into the dirt. Don’t say anything about Waystar, because I mean to change that and I jumped on at your request, so fuck off. But really, Ken, if you’re living in my house rent free, it’s because I’m invested in you as a human being, which is really feelings-y for me right now. Don’t make it a bad investment. Get some fucking help. I’ll pay for it, I promise, so long as you’re doing something.”

“I’m not sobering up tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t ask you to.” Stewy leans closer, the place where their knees touching turning into the entirety of Stewy’s thigh pressed against the side of his, a warm and solid reminder of his immediate presence. There’s no space between them anymore. “I just don’t wanna lose you, alright? So, tomorrow, when we’re not quite so fucked up, we’re gonna look around until we find someone for you to see. It’s gonna be just fine.”

Kendall can’t find a reason to argue with him. It’s not like he’ll make any progress on the issue at the moment, and he can tolerate talking to a shrink every so often if it means he has the support and help of Stewy behind him while he completely reevaluates his entire life up to this point.

[slimeypuppy]

so excited for the sd!au!!! a prompt: stewy takes kendall shopping for some new clothes

There are several stores on the street Stewy takes Kendall to once they've landed in Paris. Kendall doesn't care to try and read the store names, particularly when he doesn't speak the language. Stewy doesn't push him toward one store or another, happy to let Kendall decide for himself where they go. On the flight, Stewy had promised to buy him a wardrobe for Paris since they didn't really bring anything with them. Kendall has never had to build a new closet from scratch, and in fact rarely picked any of his new clothes out himself. It’s completely different to anything else that Kendall’s done before.

He walks into the first store, Stewy on his heels, and makes a beeline for a display of sweaters in a number of jewel tones and fabric so soft he could cry when he touches it for the first time. He’s no stranger to luxury, but he’s spent a very long time putting up with uncomfortable clothes for the sake of style and professionalism. None of that matters here. It isn’t as though Stewy will force him into a tight navy tailored suit when Kendall doesn’t feel like wearing one. Kendall picks up a dark violet sweater, holding it up to his body to estimate if it’s the right size. He hasn’t ever really had to know his store size, and European sizes are typically different anyways.

“Looks like it’d be a nice color on you,” Stewy says. “You should get it.”

"I'm not much of a purple guy," Kendall replies.

Stewy scoffs and takes the sweater from him, slinging it over his arm and picking up a couple other color variations before they move on toward linen pants and dark jeans. The process is simple and repetitive; Kendall finds something he takes an interest in, Stewy adds it to the pile, and finds a couple more like it. By the time they move on toward socks and underwear, Stewy's arms must be tired with the weight of all the clothes.

"We can do shoes later," Stewy says when they've perused most of the store, steering Kendall toward the dressing rooms. "I'll take you somewhere that just does shoes, let you get a few nice pairs, and all that. Now try this shit on before we get it."

Kendall opens the dressing room door to watch Stewy catch all the hangers onto the waiting silver hooks. He looks comfortable and at home in one of these upscale, not quite plain but not quite exciting stores that sells all the basics; his white cable knit sweater and deep grey jeans fit him well, and Kendall is struck with an urge to see how tightly they really fit to his skin. He buries the thought as he closes the door.

"Oh," Stewy says.

"What?"

Stewy sits down on the small bench provided. "Nothing. Go ahead, man, let's see this stuff."

The actual trying on of the clothes is a boring affair; Kendall puts on each shirt, sometimes with the different pairs of pants, studying his reflection in the mirror with thoughts of a different time. He wears a larger size than he used to, as some of his body fills out softer without all the stress and anxiety and skipped meals that came with the territory of trying to keep Waystar running. It's not a bad thing, he thinks. Not when he doesn't get cold so easily and Stewy's hand sinks into the meat of his waist so nicely when they walk down the street together.

After cycling through damn near every combination of clothing, slowly turning in each outfit to show off, he's tired and hungry and a little bored of this. Thankfully, Stewy doesn't seem to have much issue with wrapping up their shopping excursion, carrying everything up to the white counter and depositing the clothes next to the register.

It's so easy and natural that Kendall almost forgets that he used to be the one handing over his card. When Stewy whips out his black Amex without a moment's hesitation, fiery shame whips across Kendall's face. He didn't even think twice about the fact that Stewy is footing the bill. He opens his mouth, not sure what he's about to say, but as if sensing the guilt radiating off of him, Stewy wraps an arm around him and pulls him close.

[emilysraincoat]

No, you can’t buy me a drink + sd!au

Angel feels a little awkward sitting at one of these events without Miguel beside him. There are all these fancy people in expensive suits milling about, socializing, making business deals and showing off their young trophy wives in glittery dresses. Miguel is off doing something, temporarily leaving Angel to his own devices. It’s not a big deal. He’s at the bottom of a glass of whiskey because this place only serves pretentious drinks before anyone approaches him.

“I haven’t seen you before.”

The man who leans against the bar, very much in Angel’s face, has a voice like dried soda on a tile floor. Something about it sends shivers down his spine, and he chooses to pretend he didn’t hear anything as he stares down at the remains of his drink.

“You,” the man says, gesturing flippantly at the bartender. “Get him another, my tab.”

Angel can’t help rolling his eyes. “No. No, you’re not buying me a drink.”

“Don’t play hard to get, now-”

“Leave me alone.”

A hand settles low on his back, heavy through his suit, and the man leans even closer, letting Angel have a whiff of his overwhelming cologne. “It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, sweetheart.”