This story is going to be gay, Trans male character is going to be included because fanfiction is for self inserts. Pairing is Gaz X trans!masc reader (will be using a name instead of Y/N)
--NSFT UNDER--
This part will include: plot, wedgies, plot plot plot, panty stealing, and Gaz wanting to move his friend in for perverted reasons, seriously, mostly plot, okay I'm sorry, He's a good friend, though, probably unrealistic housing laws idc
This will be part 1 of ??? I love writing porn with no plot, BUT I NEED A PLOT.
Summary: Gaz needs a roommate, and Maxwell, a friend of his, might also be having housing troubles. Gaz and Maxwell have always had a strange relationship, Gaz teasing Maxwell and Maxwell seemingly uncaring about the treatment. Maybe Gaz will get to have his favorite victim friend back in arms length.
Gaz didn't like the idea of a roommate at all. He'd picked out the two bedroom house on the corner of the neighborhood for the privacy and the space, and he wasn't exactly eager to give either up. Especially after working so hard to be able to live on his own when on leave.
"I pay rent on time, I follow the HOA rules, I don't see why I need a roommate. This is my space." Gaz had complained to his landlord over the phone, eyes rereading the stupid notice that had been plastered to his door. It had been there a few days, the words printed on the paper hard to read from being rained on so Gaz was certain there was a mistake.
But no, he could hear the shuffling of papers, a door being shut, and the heavy sigh from his landlord as he had settled into his desk chair. "I'm afraid you aren't following all of the rules, sir. The property can not sit empty for more than 3 months out of the year. For the first two years, I was able to make a case for you, but you have a prime house, Kyle. The HOA wants it to be occupied or empty to rerent. You have 6 months to find a roommate, or they may evict you."
"That's why I told you never rent in an HOA!" Maxwell exclaims, slapping his arm a little over the counter of his coffee shop. Gaz made a face at him, expecting to be comforted by his friend after unloading his woes. "Oh, don't give me that look," I warned you." Maxwell teases, sliding his now warmed blueberry muffin out of the oven and slicing it open for Gaz.
"You just gonna tell me?"I told you so?" No comfort? No love?" Gaz teases, watching as Maxwell drops a healthy glob of butter onto the hot muffin before pushing it toward him. "I mean, looks like you've got something on your mind. Your landlord is giving you trouble, too?" Before Maxwell could answer, the door to the coffee shop rang, and he had customers to attend too. With one more smile at Gaz, Max went over to the register.
Gaz took his usual seat by the window, watching the sun get higher in the sky. If Maxwell stayed busy, he would call him later about whatever was bothering him.
-------------â
Maxwell and Kyle had a strange start to their friendship, having met in the very short time that Kyle went to college. They were dorm mates for a month and became very close, even though some people probably thought Kyle was Maxwell's bully.
Kyle wasn't a bully, but he did love teasing people. It gave him a rush, especially physically overpowering people in the most simple way, a wedgie. Sure, it was juvenile, but no matter how highly someone thought of themselves, Kyle knew they would be a flustered mess if their underwear was cranked up their ass.
Maxwell was sweet, kind, and nerdy, all the things that made Kyle itch to make him squeal. It was the second day of getting settled in, Kyle already having the itch to abandon college and join the military. There was still time, and the window hadn't shut yet. He had been pacing for the past 20 minutes, and Maxwell was fed up, turning around at his desk chair.
"Kyle! For the love of God, stop pacing! He snaps, about to continue his rant of annoyance, but when he blinked, Kyle was behind his chair with his hands down the back of his sweatpants. The moment Kyle's hands touched Maxwell's panties Maxwell wore panties he didn't stop tugging until his stress was gone. He'd ended the night with sore arms, and a much calmer mind.
Maxwell ended his with his arms tied behind his back and his panties over his head.
------------------
And somehow, even after that, they became friends. Though Gaz, still always known as Kyle to Maxwell, never stopped giving him wedgies. Maxwell was always nice enough to let Kyle stay in his apartment during leave, since at first he didn't have enough money or reason to buy his own place. At least once every few days, Gaz would need some "stress relief" as he called it.
Maxwell never protested the wedgies much. Sure, he squeaked, squealed, whined, and yelled, especially whenever Gaz left him hung up on the coat rack hooks. But other than that, he never complained how often Gaz wedgied, and tore, his underwear. Gaz suspected he liked getting wedgied almost as much as he liked giving them, but he never rocked the boat by asking, just kept tugging and tearing pair after pair.
Gaz people watched for a little as he finished his muffin, seeing how busy the store was getting, so he threw out his trash and headed for the door. Maxwell was too busy to notice, or he would've waved at him, but Gaz was glad his back was turned. Maxwells underwear was sticking out of the back of his uniform pants. Most people wouldn't notice or even care, but he did. They were a pretty purple color that Gaz wanted to tear right up Maxwell's fat ass.
As he walked to his car, he kinda hoped Maxwell was having apartment problems. He still, unashamedly, had the panties that he had ripped off him from the apartment days. He wouldn't need to save those if he had a supply right down the hall to choose from and destroy. Of course Gaz had kept up his antics in the military; he was known for his brutal wedgies and freindly disposition; but nothing had compared to giving Maxwell wedgies and the more he thought, the more he needed Maxwell to move in with him. He needed to have his wedgie boy back.
He sits down in the driver's seat, pulling out his phone and immediately sending him a text.
Call me when you get done with work.
Suddenly, the idea of sharing his space and privacy didn't seem that bad.
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i feel like no one talks about the possible plot lines that were set up but never fully followed through due to the owl house being cancelled so soon. i mainly see this through the scene in kingâs tide when luz is facing off with belos alone. she agrees to be his âmodern day guideâ to the human realm, in exchange for her friendâs lives. i noticed this when these episodes first came out and itâs always bothered me.
i know the fact that this didnât go anywhere may have been because they thought theyâd seemingly defeated belos within the next few scenes, but imagine how differently the story could have gone. belos could have easily dangled the lives of them above luzâs head so that she would have to sit back and either watch belos win or help him in doing so. maybe even becoming his new âgolden guardâ of sorts. maybe the writers could have incorporated new various binding spells or something.
The wind howled around Adamâs wings as he soared through the night sky, the air cold and thin above the sprawl of Pentagram City. Lute was motionless in his arms. Her face was turned toward his chest, eyes half-open but silent, the exhaustion of her breakdown leaving her limp against him.
For the first time in centuries, she felt safe. Not victorious, not righteousâjust⌠safe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was something she hadnât heard since she was mortal. Back when she still had a pulse of her own.
Adam didnât speak for most of the flight. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable beneath the moonlight. When Lute stirred faintly, his grip shifted, careful but firm.
Adam: *quietly* Donât move. Youâre hurt.
Lute: *whispers hoarsely* Iâm⌠fine. I just⌠wanted you to come home. *her voice cracks* I thought if I brought you backâ
Adam: *interrupts softly, his tone heavy with regret* You canât fix whatâs already fallen, Lute. Heavenâs not my home anymore.
Lute: * looks up at him through glassy eyes, the corners of her mouth trembling* You sound so⌠human.
Adam: *smirks like how he usual does* Well I am the first man Lute.
The rest of the flight passes in silenceâonly the sound of wind rushing past and the faint, broken sobs that eventually fade as she drifts into exhausted sleep.
By the time Adam lands behind the Hazbin Hotel, dawn is bleeding across the skyline.
He carries her through the quiet halls, the weight of her body light compared to the heaviness sitting on his heart.
He glances down at Luteâher tear-streaked face peaceful now, her once-divine light dimmed.
Adam: *softly, almost like a prayer* You need help, Lute. Not punishment⌠Iâm sorry I was such a bad influence on you. You were one of my bestâŚ
Adjusting his hold, he carries her toward an empty room, careful not to wake her. For the first time, he isnât seeing her as his soldier or his mistake⌠just a broken angel whoâd lost everything, same as he once had.
He soon lays her down on the bed, watching her sleeping.
He sighs and brushes a hand through his hair, weariness written all over his face. Slowly, he reaches down, resting his palm against her head. His thumb stroked gently over her temple, a fleeting echo of compassion.
Adam: Maybe when you wake up, we can settle some things. After all you did try to kill Alastor and Abel. That needs to be dealt with.
He lingered for a moment longer before stepping back. With one last glance, he turned and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
The silence held for several seconds after his departure. Then, Luteâs eyelids flutter open. Her eyes wetânot from pain, but from the ache in her chest she couldnât quite name.
Lute: *softly to herself* You still care⌠even after everything Iâve done.
She sat up slowly, her gaze falling to the sword Adam had placed on the nightstand. The weapon gleamed faintly in the half-light, a reminder of what sheâd become⌠and what sheâd lost.
Her hand hovered over it before she finally withdrew, shaking her head. She couldnât carry that burden anymore.
She rises quietly from the bed, her wings shifting weakly behind her. Every step toward the door felt heavier, but she doesnât stop.
As she reached the threshold, she looked back one last time at the sword resting on the nightstand.
Lute: *whispers* Iâm sorry, Adam⌠I need to atone for hurting youâŚ
And with that, she spread her wings and vanished into the crimson sky beyond the window.
When Adam returned an hour later, the bed was empty. The sword remained, neatly placed, gleaming softly as if purified by remorse.
He stood in the doorway, staring down at it. A long silence followed before he exhaled and muttered:
Adam: âŚGuess this was her way of saying sorry.
He picked up the sword carefully, holding it as if it were something sacred, then looked toward the window where a single white feather lay on the sill: Luteâs final trace before she disappeared into the burning sky.
Below is the plot outline for an EdGuda story idea I have nursed for a while. It's a short story only, which I have named:
Seven Nights at Adora.
It is a time paradoxical love story where Ritsuka is reverse summoned into the original Chateau d'If, before a human Edmond Dantes, for 7 nights, before he forgets her completely.
This story is my way of answering why it is that Edmond Dantes is so devoted to Ritsuka, to the point that in his character materials, it is said that Ritsuka is the only Master the vengeful heroic spirit Edmond Dantes ever contracts with.... as well as the striking similarity between Ritsuka and Haydee.
The story takes place right after Ordeal Call 2 and just before Monte Cristo (King of the Cavern) is summoned to Chaldea.
Premise: In which Ritsuka Fujimaru is reversed summoned to the real Château d'If, to the side of Edmond Dantes, the human prisoner.
It begins at the edge of exhaustion, in the shadow of Ordeal Call 2. Ritsuka Fujimaru has seen the end of another world and carried the weight of yet another salvation. But in the silent aftermath, something gives way. Not in the grand metaphysical sense, but personally, intimately, as if some invisible circuit in her soul had finally overloaded. She goes to sleep one night in Chaldea, or perhaps in Dream Tokyo, and wakes in darkness.
Stone walls. Damp air. A narrow cot. Chains. And across from her, a man who stares at her like she is nothing real.
Somehow, Riri has been "reverse summoned"ânot by a grail or ritual, but by something more abstract, more fated. She appears in the prison cell of Edmond Dantès, not as the Servant she knows, but the man still rotting in the Château dâIf. The connection is inexplicable, but she doesnât fight it. Every time she sleeps, she returns. Every night, she wakes in the cell with him.
Dantès assumes she is a hallucinationâsome fragment of his mind breaking apart under the weight of betrayal and silence. And Riri... sheâs not sure heâs wrong. She canât interact with the guards, canât change the course of his imprisonment, canât unlock the chains that bind him. She can only sit, talk, bring warmth in the form of conversation, song, stories, memories from a world he will never live to see.
At first, he doesn't speak to her. Then, little by little, he does, as a man in the depths of despair with nothing left to lose, conversing with the figment of his madness.
Riri wonders if this is something like what happened with Asagami Fujinoâa brief window across worlds, opened by death or trauma or time. Or perhaps itâs a result of her and Dantès's overlapping dreams, their subconscious minds interwoven from years of Servant and Master connection. After all, Dantès guards her dreamscape in Chaldea. Is it so strange that he would also become the gatekeeper of her grief?
She speculates. She questions. But ultimately, she accepts. Even if this is just a fever dream for himâjust one more illusion for a man drowning in rage and despairâit doesnât matter. She doesnât need to be remembered. Sheâs already at the end of everything. Thereâs no war to win, no battle left to fight. Thereâs only this: caring for Edmond Dantès when no one else can.
Seven nights.
Seven impossible, weightless nights where time slips its moorings and love weaves itself into the fabric of history unnoticed. Seven nights where she holds the man who will one day become the Count of Monte Cristo, and listens to him scream, and slowly watches the screaming quiet.
And when it endsâwhen she wakes up one final time and never returnsâhe forgets her.
Or so it seems.
But something in him remains. Something indelible. So that when he finally dies, when he becomes a Servant, when he stands before the summoning circle, it is only her hand he ever takes.
And no oneânot even Dantès himselfâunderstands why.
The Time Paradox of Devotion
In Seven Nights at Adora, love does not unfold along a straight line. It curls into itselfâknot-like, recursiveâdefying any simple chronology. To call it a beginning would be inaccurate. The bond between Edmond Dantès and Ritsuka Fujimaru was never something born; it was always already there.
Riri meets Dantès for the first time as a Servant. A phantom in her dream, a voice forged from revenge, summoned first by an enemy of mankind. That should have been the start.
And yetâit wasnât.
Because he met her first.
When she wakes in the Château dâIf, summoned by something inexplicable into the world of his despair, it is not Edmond the Avenger who greets her, but Edmond the prisoner. She does not recognize him. She knows of the Count, the cold flame of righteous vengeance, not this shattered man crumbling in the dark. But he recognizes her, or something in her. Something familiar.
There is a precedent in literature, and in the Countâs own memories: HaydĂŠe. The young woman who came to him when no one else would, bearing kindness in a cruel world. Red-haired, willful, full of care. A figure who, like Riri, was shaped by grief and fate but remained unbroken. When he sees Riri, he sees not just HaydĂŠe, but AbbĂŠ Faria tooâthe one who gave him hope, who reached through stone walls and madness with the promise of escape.
If he sees her as either of those figures, then he sees her as a lifeline. A spiderâs thread dangling into hell.
Which raises a question: why? Why does a man, so consumed by betrayal that he transforms into a Servant of Vengeance, tether himself to this one girl across all iterations and timelines?
The answer: he already loved her. Already owed her, in some deep, impossible way.
This is the cyclical nature of their paradox. In the deepest pit of human suffering, Riri reaches for him. Her presence, ephemeral though it is, becomes the one memory that does not burn when everything else does. It does not alter the course of his lifeâhe still suffers, still escapes, still becomes the Count. But in that life-long fire, she becomes the one kindness he believes he imagined.
When he dies and is pulled into the Throne of Heroes, it is her face that lingers in the smoke of memory. So when he is summoned again, not as a man but as a construct of hatred, and stands before Ritsuka Fujimaru in Chaldea, something ancient and aching recognizes her.
Goetia cannot understand him, because Goetia never accounted for love. Not the self-repeating, paradoxical kind. Not a bond born not out of logic or causality, but out of insistenceâthat even in hell, one thread of light was worth clinging to.
Dantès never turns against humanity. He turns toward her.
And so it loops. Because if he never devoted himself so absolutely, Riri would never have found the strength or the spiritual bond necessary to reach back into his past. And if she had never reached into his past, he never would have known her well enough to fall for her in the first place.
It is an impossible love. One that exists outside of chronology. One that makes no sense unless you believe in stories, in ghosts, in dreamsâand in people who are fated to find each other, even if the universe itself has to double back to make it so.
This is why Dantès never contracts with anyone else.
Because no one else ever reached for him in the dark.
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Saturday found Emily sitting in a rocking chair with Iris, a little melody on her lips. She had about two hours until Shamira and Ass were done with their errands, just enough time to snuggle and think about her weekâs plans-
Tomorrow was Motherâs Day.
Oh divines.
Her first Motherâs Day and she forgot all about it. She even planned things for all of the other mothers of heaven, little gift baskets to be sent outâhow did she forget she was now also a mother??
And more importantly than thatâhow did she forget that her girlfriends were mothers now too! She didnât buy any gifts! Nothing special prepared! Nothing! Well, she could do a special dinner, she did have that roast in the fridge, but was that enough?
She looked down at the little bundle of limbs and mush in her lap apologetically. âIris, Iâm about to teach you the art of last minute gifts. I hope you werenât committed to this nap.â
If they werenât already, portals became her best friend in this moment as she summoned finger paints and a flat canvas to her desk, her arms filled with the disgruntled exorcist.
âOkay, sunshine,â Iris glared up at the seraph, a very Ass look on her face, âor, uh, Iris. Iâm going to guide your hands and weâre gonna make this little card for Ma and Momma together, does that sound okay?â Iris didnât seem to mind. Even though Emily didnât think that she really knew what she meant by any of that, she took it as acceptance anyways.
It was surprisingly easy to convince tiny hands to cover themselves in paint and smush themselves onto the canvas. Keeping them from smearing the paint was the difficult part, but Emily managed well enough. She gave Iris a piece of printer paper from her desk to paint on while she quickly put away the art supplies and carefully wrote a quick note above the handprints.
She left the painting on her desk to dry while she took the teeny tiny exorcist to the bathroom to wash her handsâonly to need an entire bath by the time they arrived. Little handprints covered parts of both Emilyâs dress and Irisâs cheeks.
The seraph stripped her quickly and assessed, curious as to how she had somehow got more paint under her onesie than on it. âSo messy! Just like your ma!â She lifted the naked baby up, blowing a raspberry on her belly, giggling with her and then setting her into the baby tub.
By the time they were both all clean and dressed in their finest wares, matching fuzzy purple pajamas, Ass and Shamira were coming through the door and feeding time commenced, Momma taking her off to get a bottle.
And when they awoke the next morning the trio would find a canvas on the table next to a vase of flowers, with love, from Iris.
I keep thinking about a parallel universe where, after vander dies and vi is taken to jail, silco as a last favor to his old sister in weapons decides to spare little powder's life but is not interested in taking her with, so she just stays there in the rubble and fire surrounded by the bodies of her family. Vi is not coming back for her, no one is coming back for her and she just waits for life to take her away like it did with her family.
Simultaneously, just a couple blocks away a couple young investors who just got the green light to start working on hextech find themselves looking to purchase more material for their endeavor when they hear the blast and come rushing close. By the time they arrive everyone is gone except for a crying blue hair girl from the undercity, viktor approaches without hesitation, the empathy he feels for the girl blinds his good judgement as jayce stands close by just in case.
After some back and forth viktor sets his foot and takes little powder with them back to the academy, explaining that to the guards was definitely fun for jayce while viktor only cared about getting her out of the cold and comforting her, she clung to him like a second skin and wasn't letting go, reluctantly she allowed jayce to carry her back to piltover once her weight was too much for viktor's cane to hold them both, but she didn't left viktor's side the entire night.
It took viktor several days to get a word out of her but eventually, after opening up to her about being from the undercity too, he found out her name was powder and she was an orphan, he couldn't get much more out of her without triggering some very strong emotions he didn't know how to handle, but that was enough info. She was an orphan and she didn't have a place to go.
Jayce of course felt pity for the girl, he emphasized with losing a parents, he really did, but he couldn't help but have second thoughts about the whole situation, he suggested taking her to an orphanage downtown which viktor shut down real quick, he was as clung to the girl as she was to him and jayce had to deal with it because he was also clung to viktor.
What started as a kind gesture of trying to help a little girl in need turned into something more permanent in the blink of an eye, suddenly 7 years had passed since that fire in the docks because now little powder was a young lady, long blue braid and a face permanently stained with grease as she spent her days working at the lab with viktor and jayce in whatever new project they needed her help with while at the same thing working on her own stuff on the side.
With powder's innate talent for engineering hextech's advanced double as fast and now viktor and jayce were working on projects at a much bigger scale than they ever envisioned, powder lost interest in hextech a while ago but goes along with it to help her dads.
Neither viktor nor jayce ever thought about having children, they were both so focused on their career that becoming dad's one night was definitely something they had to adjust their lives around, specially to a child with as much baggage a powder but they quickly grew to love her and it made their bond stronger, now they had something else in common other than hextech, they were a small family.
Of course powder was closer to viktor most of the time, he just seems to get her in ways jayce didn't and after he got into the council a part of powder resented him a little but at the end of the day when it was just the three of them on the lab working the world just felt like it was in order. Everything that had to do with vi and vander was left in the past, powder chose to focus on the good life she had in piltover as one of the creators of hextech, deep down it brought her comfort to know that's the life vi wanted her to have, one where she didn't have to worry about her next meal or having a roof over her head at night. Yeah she was different from everyone else in piltover and she always got dirty looks here and there, but she was content and she was thriving.
Until the day she finds out about a pink haired girl locked away in the stillwater prison that recently got released to help a young inforcerer work on a case related to the shimmer problem in the undercity. Now she has to choose either to stick to the life she's made for herself in piltover, or leave it wall behind to go chase a ghost in the undercity.
It's a whole mess of a plotline but I really like to think there's a world where powder got to live up to her potential with loving dads / mentors that didn't feed into her more dangerous traits, I believe vĂ would've loved to see her thriving in piltover even if it was under the thought that vĂ left her there that night.
