#< tagged for cw sake more than anything else

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Men Are All Lining Up, to Put Me on a Pedestal

Prompt: "I'm not standing in line for that." | Word Count: 8160 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sexual Content | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Established Steddie, Eddie/Corroded Coffin | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Future Fic, The Struggle of Fame, Steve Takes Care of Eddie, Kink Exploration, Multiple Partners, Barebacking, Running a Train, Safe Sane and Consensual, Eddie Wants to Be Railed By Multiple Men, And He Gets Exactly That

Also available right here on ao3.

He's suddenly nervous, and Eddie's never nervous about anything. Not anymore. He's spent too long in front of the watchful eye of the public, the media, society, until he's felt like he's not even himself anymore. Like he had to turn over the keys to his whole personhood, a fiddle of gold against his soul, for this life they live. He's somehow become a character being watched from the outside in, until he couldn't feel anything at all anymore. Like nothing about himself was even his own, just for his own wants, needs, and desires.

Instead, he's public property.

A brand.

Everything is a business decision. A group discussion, involving far more people than he feels comfortable with.

He wants to be Eddie again. Just Eddie. Not Eddie Munson, the face of Corroded Coffin. And more than that, he wants to feel something. Something that brings him pleasure just for the sake of existing. Something real.

Something they can't take away from him like they've carved away nearly everything else, bit by bit, a sliver at a time.

Something that the outside world can't touch.

And to do that tonight, he wants to feel this.

All of this, with all of them.

So, he kneels, his knees sunk into the mattress of the hotel bed. He meets Steve's eyes, as Steve sits in the chair across the room, his leg crossed, dangling. Watching, waiting, loose and comfortable. Shirtless, jeans slid back on, but unbuttoned and hanging open.

He looks effortlessly comfortable in his own skin, but he always does. Eddie may be the one that performs in arenas, commanding attention under the hot stage lights, but it's Steve that's truly confident. That unwavering surety of knowing who he is drew Eddie in, and it's probably unfair to the rest of the world that Eddie is somehow the lucky one that charmed the pants off of him, locking him down, years ago.

Tough shit. 

He's Eddie's. And Eddie is his.

Seeing Steve sitting there, relaxed, strong and calm, is the last confirmation Eddie needed, the last permission or reassurance. Eddie bows his head, leaning all the way forward, cheek against the soft cotton sheets.

Steve had gone first, marking him, inside and out, but now the palm that runs over his bare ass is warm, calloused and very much not Steve's. It's funny that he can tell the difference, but he can. It's been so long since anyone else has touched him in this way other than Steve.

Steve's hands are assured, firm, never a hint of hesitation. These hands now are full of wavering nervousness.

"Eddie?" Jeff asks, a fucking full sentence of a question being asked in his name alone, and Eddie nods, silently telling him: Yes. Nothing's changed. Do it.

And he does. 

The blunt head of his cock presses into Eddie's already loosened hole and Eddie fists the sheets under his hand. Oh shit, they're really doing this. It feels different, maybe more so than he'd expected. He hasn't been fucked by all that many people, he was usually the one doing the fucking, back when casual sex was still on the menu. Before Steve. But now it's just Steve, and sure, Steve's fucked him, because they've fucked each other in every way anyone could ever imagine. But more often than not, Steve wants to be fucked, and Eddie has always been more than happy to fulfill any desire Steve may have.

Tonight, Steve's fulfilling one of Eddie's.

Eddie feels incredibly lucky that he's met his match, met someone with maybe an even filthier mind than his own.

But this isn't Steve, not this time. Eddie knows what Steve feels like. He's memorized him. His dick, his body, his hands.

And this is different.

The hands holding his hips are firm, but it's an unfamiliar dick starting to slowly fuck into him. It's nice. It's not Steve, but it's good. Grounding. Different. He asked for this, so he closes his eyes and just enjoys the new sensations. The stretch. The fullness. The slightly different curve that touches different spots inside him, in different ways. He focuses on how good it feels, on how it was the right decision to trust enough to let someone else inside him, even if it's just Jeff. Someone else he loves and trusts, wholly. Fully. 

Not in love, but love. And he wants to be loved, wants to be filled with it. Wants to feel. Wants to be taken care of, and treated as who he is, down deep. Just Eddie. Not some famous guy in a band. 

So, he enjoys the slide, the drag, breathing through it, zoning out, taking pleasure from the white noise until he feels the stuttering unevenness, the fingers digging into his hips harder, as Jeff presses deep.

Two men, back-to-back. He's never. Didn't even think about it, until recently. 

And then that's all he could think about. He'd get himself off on the fantasy of it, and when he finally told Steve, he'd expected him to laugh. To not take it seriously, and even if he did, to say no way, not ever, no chance in hell. 

But he'd agreed to talk it out. Was willing to help give Eddie anything he needed, anything he desired. And they talked over the options. But nothing seemed right, or safe. Eddie didn't want his perversions spread to the gossip rags, didn't want strangers knowing anything more about him, especially not this. 

So, strangers were a non-starter. 

And Eddie didn't want to hire it out anyway, he's never paid for sex, and wasn't ready to start now, for this. 

Which made it seem impossible. Steve faked it. Fucked him, then fucked him with different toys until he could go again, and it just…wasn't. 

It wasn't.

This was an itch, and Eddie needed it scratched deep in his brain.

And that's when Steve came up with this idea, this plan, that at first Eddie thought seemed crazier than anything else they'd workshopped to make this happen.

But-

It's just sex. 

That's what Steve had said. It's just sex, like it's that easy. And Eddie had thought no, it's not, can't be, especially when they were talking about involving these guys that he loves, knows, and has tied his whole life to, permanently. 

His bandmates. 

His best friends.

He worried this would ruin it. That even the mention of it would make them look at him differently, and in a worst case scenario, with disgust. That even one night of scratching an itch would be too big of an ask, too messy. Eddie was scared. So, Steve did the negotiations. Started the conversations, took care of it behind the scenes, took care of Eddie, managed them all, their wants and needs, just like he always does. 

And Eddie wasn't wrong. There was hesitation, lots of questions, and discussions. 

But nobody laughed at the idea once explained, Steve promised him that nobody said no right off the bat. They all listened, and asked questions, and talked it through with Steve. Eddie's sure that helped. Them all knowing that Steve was not only aware, but on board. Facilitating it, negotiating, just like it was any other part of his job.

Because when Steve talks, they listen. All of them.

He's kept them stable, on solid ground. Corroded Coffin, the brand, if not the band itself, would have died screaming decades ago without Steve Harrington there to guide the whole operation.

Steve is right here, within arm's reach, where he's been for all the years that have mattered.

Secure in his experience, his body, and in their love. He's had to be, with the world trying to claw parts of Eddie away, at any given opportunity. If he was jealous, he would have flown the coop years and years ago.

He's not. They love each other. They trust each other.

Even today.

It's just sex.

And the guys must have agreed it was just sex too, because an agreement was reached. A decision. A date set, and a plan laid out. Testing, and results, and then required abstinence after, so yeah, it's not spontaneous, not a bit of it, but that's okay. Eddie'd rather they cover all the bases, to protect Steve, protect himself, protect all of them, as best they can if they were actually gonna do this.

And now, Jeff is fucking him. It's really happening, he's fucking Eddie right after Steve has finished inside. 

It feels wrong.

It feels good.

Jeff's hands are cupping his hips, holding on lightly, as he's scrunching his fingers, balling his fists, right against Eddie's skin, a nervous habit he's always had. Showing he's anxious right now, but fuck, so is Eddie. But Eddie's trying to relax into it. To enjoy this thing he's fantasized about so goddamn much it was rotting his fucking brain.

It's different, the feeling of him. 

Jeff's breathing heavy, hard, and Eddie wishes he could feel him beyond his hands, and the snap of his hips against his ass.

Then his tempo is stuttering, and he bottoms out, coming with a groan. Eddie's dick jumps at the idea, more than any actual feeling. But he pictures it in his mind, and it sends a shiver through him.

Jeff pulls away, cock sliding out wetly, and he picks up the marker to make his black tally mark on Eddie's ass cheek. Tugging off the cap, and then pulling it across his skin, Eddie feels good, like he's been taken. Claimed. Marked.

Then the bed shifts. Jeff climbs off, and Goodie climbs on, taking his place. 

Goodie was the most reluctant to agree, but now he works himself inside Eddie, with no fanfare. No hesitation. No additional questions. Eddie's pretty sure that today, he's just a hole to Goodie, and that's okay. He wasn't asking for anything else, anything more, not from any of them. He has more, he has everything, right across the room. A perfectly arched foot, bouncing ever-so-slightly as Steve watches.

It's thrilling, having Steve's eyes on him. It always has been, but this way is novel, and Eddie's learned something new during all this, especially today: 

Steve likes to watch. 

And Eddie likes to be seen. 

Goodie braces one hand against Eddie's back for leverage as he guides his cock inside, and Eddie breathes out through his nose. He's been fucked twice already, but this is a new stretch and burn, even after all that.

"Oh," Eddie breathes out.

Goodie laughs, "Told you so."

He brushes his fingers against Eddie's spine, just one reassuring graze.

But that's it. He's in, and then he's just driving into Eddie, chasing his own orgasm, using him, and that's exactly what Eddie wanted. 

It's quick, fast and dirty. 

Goodie's weight slamming against his ass, Eddie really feeling the stretch around his stupid girth as Goodie hammers away, unrelenting.

Steve's got a big dick, so Eddie thought he was prepared for anything, but he wasn't prepared for this. Not really.

Eddie barely has time to adjust, barely has time to slide into the rhythm of it, before Goodie shoves in once more, coming with grunt, before pulling out and scratching his tally to the growing total. He slaps Eddie on the ass afterwards, and he's gone. The bed shaking with his exit, Eddie digging in, just to keep upright on his knees.

Eddie sees Jeff grab a clean hand towel from a stack on the dresser, handing it to Goodie. They work together silently, Goodie wiping himself down, then Jeff handing him his boxers, Goodie pulling them up and on. They're in sync in that way only best friends can be, and even the first steps they both take to leave the bedroom are synchronized.

He breathes through the throbbing at his center, a reminder of what has happened so far. Three men, three totally different experiences. 

And he's ready for the fourth. 

But the bed is still now, and nothing's happening.

"Gare?" Eddie questions, unsure, and then Eddie finally feels the bed move. 

"Right here," Gareth says crawling up behind Eddie on the bed, and there are suddenly hands, smaller, but still firm, rubbing all over his skin. 

Rough calluses from a lifetime of gripping drumsticks. 

He doesn't know what the pause was, hopes it wasn't hesitation, and focuses on his touch to not allow himself to spiral. He meets Steve's eyes, and Steve smiles and gives him a reassuring nod that settles him, instantly. 

It's okay, because Steve says it's okay.

Then two fingers are pressed into him, and Eddie bows his head again, smiling into the bedding. He's already loose. Looser than he's been in his whole life, most definitely, but Gareth is still fingering him open with a politeness Eddie never would have imagined him possessing. 

He knows this kid, inside and out, and polite wouldn't be on a top twenty-list of descriptors. 

But tonight, he's being considerate. Soft. 

"Look," Gareth says, and Eddie looks up, finding the mirror on the wall across from the bed. He knows Steve chose this penthouse suite, this hotel, very carefully. It's private, squirreled away, and it has this large, ornate mirror across from the bed so Eddie can see what he asked for. 

In the reflection, Eddie sees when Gareth pulls his fingers out, both shiny and slick, showing them to Steve, to Eddie.

Steve shifts in the chair and palms his own crotch. He's hard. He's been hard, and that is a bolt of lightning along Eddie's spine.

Gareth's playing to the audience, doing what he does best, and Eddie loves him for it, desperately, and he feels put at ease. 

Then, Gareth lays over Eddie's back, and it's different from Jeff and Goodie's approach. Gareth uses his hand, and carefully guides his dick to Eddie's used hole, rubbing the head against him, teasing him, gathering up the remnants of lube and come from everyone else, before pressing forward, sliding smoothly inside. Eddie can hear, can feel, the come being displaced inside him, making room, being forced out, leaking down as he groans, hanging his head.

He knows it's mostly wet and thin now. That's just how it works, even if he wishes he was being filled with large loads that could somehow stay thick and in place.

Gareth's touching him all over as they're pressed together in every place they can be, and it feels normal, even if they've never done this before, because they are always joined at the hip, have been for years. Gareth's his best friend. Steve and Gareth, he trusts and loves them both differently, but equally.

Eddie knows he and Gareth have their own unexplainable rhythm together, always have. It's natural, and innate. Like Eddie's musical creativity curled outward one day, got tangled up with Gareth's, and just never let go.

Today, they're exploiting that connection in a different way.

"God, Gare," Eddie whines, and Gareth chuckles, softly.

This is new, a change, and Eddie hopes it doesn't break them. He's suddenly worried that this idea of his, this perversion he begged for, will be their undoing. Especially with Gareth. He's not as worried about Jeff and Goodie for some reason, but Gareth? He can't have Gareth looking at him differently because of this. 

But Gareth brushes Eddie's sweaty, wet hair off Eddie's neck, and leans his face close to Eddie's.

"I love you," Gareth says, "you're my best friend. Thanks for letting me take care of you for a change."

And Eddie hangs his head, tears prickling behind his eyes, as Gareth finally starts to fuck him using slow, but powerful, thrusts. It's hard, but still feels soft, at the same time. 

Gareth's shifts, and on the next thrust, he drags the head of his cock right over Eddie's prostate and Eddie groans. That hadn't. It wasn't part of the plan. The other two hadn't tried. That hadn't really been the point. He'd wanted to be taken, used, over and over. Filled.

So, maybe it's an accident, a fluke.

Three more perfect strokes before he realizes, no, it's just steady accuracy. Controlled. Precise.

Gareth is all of those things and more behind a kit, and now he's those things behind Eddie.

Eddie claws at the bed with the realization that Gareth is keeping time, even here, doing this for him. Gareth's been trusted to keep the tempo, to stay in control, to get the job done right, night after night on stage, and Eddie feels immense comfort in that familiarity. If Eddie could concentrate, he thinks he could even work out the BPM.

The relief that Gareth knows the rhythm, that he can keep them in sync with each other, even if it's a brand new song, is palpable in Eddie.

That the beat of this is safe in his hands. 

Eddie clutches at the sheets, and feels the tears running down his cheeks. He sucks in a shuddering breath, and Gareth falters, a hiccup of hesitation behind him.

"He's still good, I promise," Steve says from across the room, a step ahead as always, and Eddie nods, agreeing.

He's more than good.

He feels whole.

And Gareth hardly misses a beat, falling right back into the rhythm he's been setting.

Eddie's orgasm builds, the tightening, the pull of it, but he's pretty sure he won't come untouched, not at his age, and he jumps when Gareth's fist closes around his dick. Gareth stutters, stills, and starts to pull his hand away, like he's realized maybe that wasn't, isn't, okay. Eddie catches his wrist, holding his hand to him, helping with the next couple strokes, giving his permission, and melts back into the overwhelming sensations. It somehow still catches him by surprise as he comes all over the sheets beneath him. That hadn't been the goal here tonight. Not really. Eddie wanted to be filled, wanted to get off on this, but hadn't particularly thought about actually coming himself.

He's clenching down on Gareth's cock, and being sucked out to sea with the waves of it. He's drifting, floating away, an immense relaxation overtaking his body. He's not sure he can even stay upright.

Gareth's hand has slowed, but hasn't let go, and Eddie still feels it as he pulses on Gareth's cock, spasming with the last waves of pleasure that are rolling through him.

"That's it," Gareth says, and his fingertips press into his skin, squeezing as he stills, groaning near Eddie's ear. Eddie's slick, and open, but he can still feel Gareth harden further, tensing, and Eddie moans at how much he likes it as Gareth finally comes. Gareth keeps thrusting, just gentler now, even as he begins to soften, the joint mess slicking the way. There's no fucking way he could stay in if Eddie wasn't this open, and that's a good thing, Eddie supposes, as Gareth feels reluctant to leave, and Eddie feels reluctant to let him. So he clamps down, as much as he can, and Gareth keeps moving inside him. Not pulling out, because if he does, he'll never get back in. So, he stays deep, little rocking motions that are steady, just softer. Which is hard to do, Eddie fucking knows. You need a rock hard fucking cock for this. 

They just keep moving with each other in small, controlled motions. Give and take, give and take, while Steve watches.

Eddie expects Gareth's dick to soften fully, to slip free, but he feels the rigidity returning as Gareth keeps grinding into him, the slide becoming easier again.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, clawing at the sheets. He doesn't know if can take more of this.

Gareth pulls him upright, until he's sitting back on Gareth's thighs, fully-seated. He feels so goddamn full like this, and Eddie sags back against him. Wrapping his arm backwards, hooking it behind Gareth's neck. He's so fucking deep. It's too much. Way, way too much.

"I got you," Gareth says, "look at Steve."

And Eddie does. Opening his eyes, finding Steve's.

Eddie is full. Of cock, of come, of love, so much love. The love of his goddamn life is looking back at him with wonder, and his best friend is playing a measured, steady beat against his over-sensitive prostate, like it's a goddamn drum.

It's slow, not very active, so it lasts forever, just near tantric movement as Eddie hangs his head back, closing his eyes again. Just feeling it. 

This wasn't in the script in his head. Eddie imagined five. The five of them. Five marks, branding him.

But if Gareth wants to keep going, wants to keep filling him in this way, Eddie's not about to stop him. Not when he feels this good.

"Fucking hell, Jonesy," Eddie says, and Gareth laughs. He hasn't called him that in a while. He's just Gare. Or the kid. 

Even now, their teen years in the distant rearview.

"I got you, always," Gareth breathes back into his ear. "Me and Steve."

Eddie nods against Gareth's neck, and stretches out his hand. Beckoning Steve, he supposes, even he hadn't planned on it. 

He hears Steve stand. 

Then he puts a knee down on the mattress in front of Eddie, "I'm here."

Eddie isn't sure what he was asking for, because he doesn't really want to turn this into a threesome or an orgy. None of that was negotiated, not that he thinks either of them will do anything they don't want to do.

Gareth's breathing in his ear, hot and heavy, and then he suddenly says, "Your turn."

And he pushes Eddie forward, into Steve's chest. Steve catches him as Gareth pulls out. Eddie whines, nails digging into Steve's skin.

Then he hears Gareth's hand, moving slick and fast against his dick, and Gareth shouts as Eddie feels the first shot of come hits the small of his back, and Eddie fucking keens. Desperate. He actually got to feel that one, and it feels so fucking good.

He's been marked inside, and out.

"Look at that," Gareth says, "goddamn."

Steve helps Eddie back down onto his hands and knees, and stands back up at the edge of the bed as Gareth slides his fingers back inside Eddie, and when he brings them out, they are an offer to Steve, but Eddie isn't sure if Steve's gonna take it. Steve doesn't move, so Eddie catches Gareth's wrist, sucking them into his own mouth. 

It's heady, and doesn't taste like Steve at all. It's different, but he sucks on Gareth's fingers until he's gotten it all. 

Then he thinks Gareth is gonna go, but instead he feels him slide down the bed, and then his tongue pointed against Eddie's hole, pressing in. 

Fuck. Goddamn. 

And Eddie moans, "Oh, Jesus Christ."

Then, Gareth's face is next to his, and his tongue is curled, come shiny, waiting. 

Eddie opens his mouth, accepting it. Sliding his tongue against Gareth's, kissing him. He's never. They've never. But Eddie tangles his hand in Gareth's hair, tugging him closer, needy and wanting. He rolls onto his back, and Gareth crawls on top of him. 

Gareth's laid on top of him hundreds, thousands, of times. But never like this. He's never tried to eat him alive before.

Eddie hears it, the click and ejection of the instant picture, and Eddie had forgotten about the Polaroid camera. He's not sure if Steve's been taking them all night, or if this is the first.

And when they separate, Eddie's breathing hard, fast, and Gareth winks at him, pats him on the hip to get him to roll over, and then carefully makes his mark, the fourth one on Eddie's skin, and leans down and kisses Eddie's sweaty back, and then switches places with Steve. The other two left once their part was done, and Eddie is okay with that. If watching him get railed by Gareth wasn't something they'd enjoy, he wasn't about to ask more of them, but Gareth? Gareth, he's clearly staying. Seeing it through. 

That feels dirtier than anything else has, all night. 

Eddie's worn out, used up. But he crawls back onto his sore knees one more time, as it's Steve's hands that find his body now. They're gentle, loving and a familiar comfort. Fingertips running along his spine. 

His thumb brushing against his hole, pressing the leaking mess back inside. He's wet, wetter than he's ever felt in his life.

And when Steve eases back in, Eddie feels how sore he is, now. Not sore enough to say stop, not even close, but he's finally feeling it in the way he'd hoped, imagined, when he'd screwed up the courage to ask for this. Not only from Steve, but from all the others. 

"You're so wet for me," Steve says.

"I am. For you," Eddie says.

"They got you ready for me, didn't they?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods.

"So ready. Just for you."

They're talking dirty, but it's the softest fucking of the night. The first time Steve had claimed him, had marked his territory. Now, he's just loving him. Soothing him, bringing him back to reality, back to where he belongs.

A soft roll of his hips, firm lips pressing to his neck, then teeth biting down until Eddie's sure he'll be marked there, too.

This is his life, his love, loving him back, unconditionally.

Talking to him, telling him how he feels, how he's the last, always his last, always here.

Eddie wants to cry about it. 

Steve loves him. As he is, as he'll be, always.

When Steve finally comes, he pulls out and picks up the discarded marker on the bed and crosses the previous four tally marks on Eddie's ass, making five. A perfect set. 

Steve the first, and the last.

Then Eddie can hear him, feel him, moving around the bed and then feels his hand framing his ass, and the click, whirr of the Polaroid picture being spit out of the camera. And another. Another.

Until one is slid under Eddie's nose, and he can see it, the tally marks, framed by Steve's familiar hand. Five loads, four different men that he loves in wildly different ways. He wanted this, and wanted it from them, or not at all. Getting fucked by randoms wasn't appealing, wasn't the draw, wasn't what he needed.

But this feeling? It's what he needed. 

He wanted to be used, but not discarded. 

Another intrusion, and Eddie whines at the feeling of Steve's finger in him, but he hears the camera, and knows whatever it is will be worth it.

It is.

Steve's upturned hand, his ring finger slid into Eddie to the second knuckle, showing off the gold band and the come leaking down into his palm.

"Fuck," Eddie says, crumpled into the sheets.

And Steve laughs, a beautiful, familiar sound. Eddie's eyes find him in the mirror, just so he can look at him.

In the reflection, he sees Steve crook a finger at Gareth, beckoning him. 

He watches, feels as Steve positions Gareth's hand with his own, both of them touching his ass cheek as Steve takes more pictures.

Eventually, Steve sets the camera aside, and helps turn Eddie around on the bed, arranging him on his side. And he slides in front of Eddie, and snags Gareth, pulling him down behind Eddie. This wasn't the plan, Eddie doesn't think. But he closes his eyes and goes with it. Enjoys the two sets of hands on his body, petting him, touching him, soothing him. Bringing him back to reality. Lulling him towards sleep.

And he hears the camera whirr to life, one last time.

In the shower, Steve washes him, but doesn't scrub at his ass cheek, the one that's been marked. No, that'll have to wear off with time.

"You still love me?" Eddie asks, hands braced against the tiles of the expensive hotel shower.

"Always," Steve answers, "did you get what you needed?"

And Eddie nods. He did. Maybe more. 

"You sore?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He is. In a good way, but he's definitely feeling it.

His hand is framing his ass cheek, near the tallies. Eddie can feel it, can picture the marks visible in the V of Steve's large hand.

"Admiring your handiwork?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah," Steve answers, and then he's quiet for a moment, "maybe you should get this tattooed."

Eddie stills. Steve can't want that. There's no fucking way.

"You don't wanna look at that for the rest of our lives and be reminded of tonight," Eddie says.

"Maybe I do," Steve says softly.

"Really?" Eddie asks.

"Really," Steve confirms.

Eddie turns and leans down, cheek pressed to Steve's chest, the hair there tickling his face.

"You're mine," Steve says, confident, sure. "Nothing can change that. You think it's a coincidence we did this in this town?"

Eddie stills. Petey's shop is here. Steve planned this. 

"You planned this," Eddie accuses, and Steve laughs, holding him tighter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve answers. "Petey definitely isn't holding an after hours spot tomorrow."

"Thank you," Eddie says softly, "for that, for tonight, for our whole lives, really."

"I'd do anything for you," Steve says, chin on the top of Eddie's head.

"Did you get off on this?" Eddie asks. He needs to know for sure.

"Hell yeah," Steve says, running his hand up and down Eddie's back, "Showing you off, sharing you, giving them a little taste. Watching you enjoy it."

Eddie smiles into Steve's skin.

"Who was the best?" Steve asks, fingers pressed into the small of his back.

"You," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Besides me," Steve says, rolling his eyes. Eddie can't see it, but he knows it has happened. Because he knows Steve.

Eddie has an answer, knows, but feels hesitant to say so, and that feels a little uncomfortable.

Steve does it for him, "It made a real pretty picture, him all over you."

And Eddie nods.

He's sure it did. He wants to see the pictures, the evidence. The irrefutable proof that tonight actually happened.

"He loves you," Steve says, and Eddie starts to argue, but Steve keeps talking, "Not like I love you. But he loves you, would do anything for you, and seeing that in this new way was hot, not gonna lie."

It was. It fucking was.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve, squeezing him harder than ever before.

A beat passes.

"Goodie's dick is even thicker than yours, which, fucking ow," Eddie says and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's cheek. "Don't tell him that. We'll never hear the end of it."

Steve giggles, "Honey. I hate to tell you this, but he knows. We always do."

"Goddamnit. This was a mistake, then," Eddie teases and they both laugh. It wasn't, somehow.

Jeff and Goodie haven't come back in the bedroom, but Gareth is sitting on the bed, hair wet and curling around his ears. He's changed the bedding, and the dirty sheets are gone, the evidence probably in the washer down the hall.

Nothing for the maid to see.

"Hey, kid," Eddie says, dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of boxers. He doesn't want anything to have changed between them, so he's gonna act like it hasn't.

They haven't slept in a bed three-deep like this in years, not since the money started flowing, but Eddie crawls in the middle. Then curls against Steve, making himself comfortable.

Gareth seems hesitant, then he just anchors his leg over Eddie's hip, laying against his back, and Eddie feels twenty-two, and on the road for the very first time. Crammed into a double bed, instead of this roomy king.

"You okay?" Gareth asks, and Eddie picks up Gareth's hand, bringing it around to his own chest. Pressing it close. Squeezing. He's great. Really, really great.

"Yes. You?" Eddie asks, a little scared of the answer.

He shouldn't have been. Gareth is still Gareth.

Gareth laughs, "I'm never gonna live down getting sloppy seconds to Goodie."

And they all three laugh, Eddie saying, "Sorry. Them's the breaks, kid." 

Gareth's face presses into his back, and it feels normal being wedged between them. He's safe, happy, and home.

"Well, Goodie was third himself," Steve says around a yawn, "so don't let him give you any unnecessary grief."

Goodie will always give Gareth grief, it's just the way their world works.

"I'm not standing in line for that," Eddie says mockingly, mimicking Goodie's dry reaction when this idea had been broached. They've all repeated it a hundred times over the past few months. A waitlist at a restaurant? A line for a bathroom? It has just become part of their lexicon.

Something that will remain, Eddie's sure of it. An inside joke.

"He did though, now didn't he?" Steve says.

He did. They all did. And only for Eddie, which fills him with an ache of love that he can hardly contain.

Gareth laughs, his chest shaking against Eddie's back, and it feels so comfortable, so normal, that Eddie closes his eyes and plans to fall asleep. Sated, and satisfied.

"Wanna see the pictures?" Steve asks, and suddenly Eddie's awake again.

Steve hands over a stack of pictures, and the three of them look together.

Jesus Christ.

They're good. Really good.

"Who took this one?" Eddie asks, because it's definitely not from the angle of Steve's chair. 

"I did," Gareth answers, and there's a good handful from a second camera, a second angle, one that captures Eddie, head hung low, Jeff fucking him with Steve watching in the background. 

Another of Goodie getting ready to enter Eddie.

One of Gareth's grinning face as he tries to get himself in the frame with Eddie being fucked by Steve in the beginning. It's just shadowy figures beyond his brightly lit face, but Eddie loves it. 

Another of all three of them as they tried to crowd in, but nobody's arm was quite long enough, but laughing like they were having fun.

Fucking hell.

They had fun. 

"You had fun," Eddie says, "all of you."

"Well, yeah, of course," Gareth says, and hands the pictures back to Eddie. "Why would you think we didn't?"

And honestly, Eddie doesn't know. But it feels good to know that they hadn't had their arms twisted into doing this for him. The proof, right in his hand.

He hopes he gets to keep them, and he squeezes them a little tighter in his grip.

"Don't worry. I have a plan, they'll be kept totally safe, out of prying eyes," Steve says as he stretches out, and kills the light on the end table, leaving them all in darkness, only a sliver of a street light peeking through the split in the heavy curtains. 

Steve always has a plan, and Eddie closes his eyes, at peace.

The next day, Eddie's pretty sure he's spent actual hours actively keeping off of his ass cheek, scared he's gonna smudge it off. He doesn't want to fuck it up before he can get into see Petey tonight. Even if it's Sharpie and he knows that's unlikely. Still. No chances.

He's sitting on the other side of his ass, tilted to the side, writing as fast as his hand can go. It's like he's been set free, like his creative block has been cleared, and the inspiration that has been tamped down by the outside world, is back, in full force.

Gareth leans over his shoulder, one arm across Eddie's chest, hugging him from behind as he tries to read what Eddie's composing. He has a magazine hanging loosely in his hand, and it's brushing against Eddie's shirt.

He reads Eddie's chicken scratch, but says nothing, and Eddie appreciates it. This phase of writing is solo work. The group aspect, just as important, comes later.

Gareth lets him go.

And Eddie keeps writing.

When it's finally dark and time to go, Eddie stands up. Jeff and Goodie are bickering while playing cards at the table in the living room, Gareth is still reading a drum magazine, and Eddie swears the kid hoards them for a year, and then reads them all in a single day.

Steve is lacing up his shoes.

It's completely normal, almost like last night never even happened. Nobody has avoided him, nobody fled for their own space, nobody has been weird at all, and Eddie feels more settled than he's ever felt in his entire life. 

They did it for him, and now they're still here. Their world is still turning on the same axis it always has.

"I got us a VIP table at Lux tomorrow," Jeff says, looking up at Eddie. 

"I thought that place was booked out for months?" Steve questions, and Eddie knows that means Steve wasn't involved in this. Which is unusual. 

"I talked to our concierge. They said they're turning over VIP rooms halfway through the night, so if we show up at about ten we'll get in," Jeff explains. "But we might have to chill while they clear out the first group."

"That's one way to try and increase profits," Steve says dryly, then adds, "but it's gonna be a shitshow, mark my words. Expect a wait, nobody is gonna wanna clear out early in the night once they've paid for a room, and settled in."

"I'm not waiting in line just to pay a grand for a fucking bottle I could buy down the street at the ABC for fifty bucks," Goodie complains.

Gareth meets Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smirks back. A broken record, he is. But Goodie's always been bristly about bottle service, and Eddie gets it. He does. And there's never been anybody with less patience about waiting than Goodie.

They've dealt with this at every nice restaurant they've ever had a reservation at over the years. If they have to wait longer than five minutes, he'd rather just go to McDonald's. 

It's maddening.

Eddie puts on his own jacket, and then gets Steve his, holding it out, helping him slide into it.

"Where're you two goin'?" Gareth asks, looking up as Eddie's adjusting Steve's collar.  

"Gonna go grab some food," Eddie answers. Which is also true, they will need to eat.

"Can I come?" Gareth asks, and well, okay. Sure. He has nothing to hide from Gareth. Never has, never will. Gareth knows the best of him, and the worst.

Eddie looks at Steve, but Steve already has an arm out, wheeling it around in an order for Gareth to come on, but to hurry it up. They are all more than accustomed to this familiar maneuver.

They step out of the private penthouse elevator, and their security meets them. Eddie balks. They are not coming along for this. But shaking security is always a hassle. They're hired to do a thing, and sometimes Eddie wants them to not do the thing, and that becomes a big problem.

But, while they might not listen to Eddie, Steve is in charge, and they will listen to him. So, when Steve has them stand down, they do. Even if they look fucking mad about it.

And then the three of them walk out of the hotel, all by themselves, like they are real people again.

Dressed down, comfortable, and nobody gives them a second glance. No paps, which obviously, since they didn't call them. But no crowd of fans either. Nobody knows they're here, somehow.

Eddie tilts his head back and breathes in the night air.

Maybe they can be real people again someday, and that idea fills Eddie with a hope he hasn't had in years. Maybe one day he'll be able to walk the streets of a city, alone, just Eddie, not Eddie Munson.

Once they're in the black SUV, Steve's fiddling around, because he doesn't usually drive these days. None of them do. He has to move the seat and the mirrors, and while he's doing all that, Eddie turns and looks at Gareth, "We're gonna go see Petey. I'm getting the tally marks on my ass tattooed. Can you be normal?" Eddie asks.

"I'll be so normal," Gareth reassures, and Steve laughs from the driver's seat, which makes Eddie smile.

Normal is definitely a big ask for any of them.

When they pull up in the alley behind the tattoo shop and tap on the heavy door, Petey unlocks it, and it's not unusual. He always works on Eddie after hours, when they come through town and Eddie's decided a new tattoo is the only thing that will make him feel anything at all.

It still feels funny, slinking in back doors like they're doing something illicit.

But Petey is the only person Eddie would ever trust to do this, to see it, to remotely know anything about anything. Petey won't ask, but if he makes assumptions, Eddie's okay with that. Petey won't comment on them. Eddie's trusted him for years, decades, and Petey hasn't sold him down the river yet. Eddie can't imagine he'll start today.

He's part of the inner circle, and that's priceless, Eddie has learned. The paring down of friends, year-by-year, until only the real deals remain.

Petey's the real deal.

"What are we doing today?" Petey asks, and Eddie's already pretty covered these days. Real estate is getting scarce. So, Eddie pulls down his jeans, his boxers, and shows him. Climbs on the table, to let him really see what they're working with tonight.

No reason to try to hide.

Petey's poker face is better than anyone else's on earth, and he just asks, "You want it this big?" A gloved finger pressing into his skin, "Or you want me to make a stencil and shrink it? Clean it up?"

None of them knew he was gonna keep it, hell, Eddie didn't know he was gonna keep it, so it's a little sloppy and a little bit big. But that's what he wants more than anything these days. The real thing. He doesn't want the fake shine and polish. 

"Exactly as it is," Eddie says.

"Relax then. Get comfortable," Petey says, and then doesn't ask any other questions beyond what's necessary. Eddie's sure he's used to him being weird by now.

Needing an appointment to tattoo his ass after hours? Must be Tuesday in Eddieland.

Petey will make it look good, and look real at the same time. Eddie trusts that, fully.

So, Eddie lays on the table, and feels Petey gently shaving him and dabbing the alcohol wipe across the marks so as to not disturb the marker ink too much, and then the needle is buzzing along his ass cheek as they make small talk. About the tour. About the next album. About Petey's work, family, and life.

And Eddie smiles into his folded arms. He can't believe they actually did this filthy thing, and now he's getting it permanently branded onto his skin.

Steve sits on the other side of the table, staring. Still watching, eyes glued to Eddie's bare skin, one of his hands gripping Eddie's bare thigh. It's loving, and maybe a little possessive, which makes Eddie feel more exposed than he does about having his bare ass on display. If the tally marks aren't giving them away, Steve definitely is by being this goddamn interested in what's going on.

He usually doesn't even come with Eddie when Eddie makes tattoo appointments with Petey. Gareth does. Or one of the other guys. So, this is out of the ordinary, for sure. Probably suspicious. He's pretty sure Petey doesn't usually allow spectators to breathe down his neck, touching his clients as he works.

But he says nothing, just works while Steve watches every drop of black ink being deposited.

At least Gareth is sitting off to the side, acting normal, as promised. Steve? Not so much.

It doesn't take long. All black, just a few lines. Some shading of the careless strokes they all took. And then it's over before Eddie has really settled into the process. Usually his tattoos take much, much longer, and are much more elaborate.

But Petey has a gift for being good, but quick. He's not keeping you in his chair for a minute longer than he needs for it to be perfect.

Eddie stands in front of the floor length mirror, trying not to flash his junk at everyone while he looks at the finished artwork. It's really there. Looking just like it did last night, Eddie's pretty fucking sure.

He lets Petey put the protective bandage over it, and then buckles his jeans, thinking they're done, but Steve is talking to Petey. Gesturing with his hands, and Eddie listens, figuring out pretty fucking quickly that Steve is planning to get a Sharpie tattooed along his hip bone. Hidden, out of sight. A secret they can share. 

And Petey knew about it. He has the design drawn up and everything. Steve's looking at it, making a few tweaks that Petey does immediately, then produces the revamped stencil. Steve nods, pleased.

Steve's not really a tattoo guy, so the fact that he planned to do this, really means something to Eddie. This is also for him. Another gift, another way for Steve to take care of him. To promise he's not going anywhere, not ever.

Eddie lays on an empty table, keeping off his ass while Steve's having his turn under the needle. 

When Petey's done, Steve stands in front of the full-length mirror himself, inspecting the new ink branding his skin just as Eddie had done.

Eddie watches as Steve's eyes shift towards Gareth as he sits in a chair, flipping through a binder of flash art, just for something to do, Eddie's sure. If he's uncomfortable, he's not showing it.

"Are you next?" Steve asks, looking at Gareth through the mirror, and at first there's no response. He tries again. "Gare?"

Then, Gareth looks up, meeting Steve's eyes in the mirror, "What? Me?"

Steve nods, and Eddie loves him maybe more in this moment than he's loved him in his whole fucking life. Steve doesn't have to include Gareth in this. He could have balked when Gareth asked to come along, not knowing where they were going. 

Steve could have re-staked his claim, but instead he's secure enough to know that what Gareth means to Eddie is different than what Steve means to Eddie. Gareth fucked Eddie last night, sure, but Steve's so confident in their love that he's willing to let Gareth have a reminder of that inked onto his skin, just like he got.

"Only if you want," Steve offers, and Eddie stays out of it. This is between them.

And Gareth nods, and gets it along his ribs, Petey acting like he doesn't know anything about anything the whole time. Like he can't put one plus one plus one together to get three. Probably five, even if the other two are absent tonight.

Eddie's gotta admit, Steve and Gareth leaving with matching tattoos wasn't on his bingo card for the day, but they pay Petey, tipping big time for him doing this for him. For all of them.

Eddie wonders if Jeff and Goodie will be mad that they weren't asked to come along. But he's pretty sure it wasn't the same to them. And that's okay. They made his fantasy come to life, all of them. He doesn't need more.

He just needs them to stay, exactly as they are.

It's late when they leave the shop, the glow of the streetlights hitting the pavement. 

"I was promised food, what's still open?" Gareth asks, and Steve motions for them both to get in the car. Steve will take care of it. Of both of them.

He always does.

Eddie has to lean crazily in the seat of the car to keep pressure off of his fresh ink, and he listens as Steve and Gareth banter over where they can get a bite to eat. Neither one sounds overly confident that they know what's open now on a Tuesday night, but they're sure debating it like they do.

Eddie closes his eyes and just listens. It's normal. His husband and his best friend, going back and forth, fussing over something as normal as what restaurants are open at this hour in this town they don't even live in. 

Like they both weren't balls deep in his ass twenty-four hours ago. 

Like they both didn't just get proof of that, permanently inked onto their skin.

Like neither one is concerned that they might regret it later. 

Like Eddie can't still feel the echo of all of them, with every move he makes.

Thing is, Eddie's pretty sure they won't regret it. Because Eddie doesn't regret it, will never regret being close in a new way to them all, at least for one night.

And unlike Goodie, he'd wait in a line for that any day.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Black Friday prompt! 🖤

Notes:

Title is from "Right Hand Man" from Hamilton.

This started as an entry for one of the prompts during Corroded Coffin Fest in July, but got way too long for the 1000 word limit. I held it back, and then fleshed it out for this pop-up event instead.

Am I thinking about the conversation Jeff and Goodie surely had as best friends once they left that room? Absolutely.

Also? Happy to see you again, Road Manager Steve Harrington, my beloved. I adore getting to write him. And Petey is also a holdover from Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. Eddie needs a tattoo guy? It's gonna be Petey. Because I said so, lol.

Thanks so much for reading! 🖤

[myfriendthedictionary]

in the midst of your anger, please do not forget the brave people who came out to cast a blue vote in those red states. not just the swing states, but the known red states. i have seen so many people writing off entire areas in tones like ‘of course it was going to be red’ or ‘of course trump was going to get it’ and overlooking the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of people who voted blue in these red states. who showed up in the face of overwhelming odds, oppression, and active voter suppression and who still voted. people of color live in red states. women live in red states. queer people live in red states. they exist, and they voted with you, despite everything around them. there are people who waited in line for hours to make their vote count. there are people who drove across the country to return to vote in a state where their rights have already been encroached upon. so i am begging you, do not abandon them now. do not imply that these places are lost causes. do not let the results justify a ‘nothing can be done’ approach on your part. fight for these people, too. fight harder and more fiercely than ever before.

[rqnarok]

summary: dark!old man!logan would do anything for the sake of you going back into his arms. 

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. obsessive behavior. fem!reader. logan calls himself ‘old man’. pet names. unspecified age gap. unstable power dynamic. crying. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. not proofread. 

You’re not sure if you can even call him your ‘ex.’ 

The both of you never had the ‘talk’, and never did have any middle ground stating what kind of relationship this is. 

Logan’s way older than you - way more mature - “Need t’be fucked by a real man, ‘s that it, baby?” way more experienced. 

No matter how heated the night before, Logan still turns everything cold with his aloofness - and you - you never feel brave enough to speak up against it. 

With a heavy heart and numerous self-loathing sessions, you concluded that it was time to let him go - convincing yourself you deserve someone more. Someone you’d be comfortable with to ask for something more. 

And you did, well, that’s what you tell yourself as you busied yourself with everything else. Withdrawing from him little by little, texting him things such as  ‘Can’t meet you today, sorry’ or ‘Something else came up..’ to avoid ending up on his sheets.

Logan’s not stupid. He may be old, a fucking hundred years old something but he’s not dumb. He knows what you’re doing. 

Reading the texts you sent him, he’d grumble curse words under his breaths before tugging off his glasses in a harsh movement. 

He just didn’t think you’d last so long dodging him. Logan expected you to give up on the first day of the second week—he was wrong because it’s been a month, damnit.

Sometime during the unlabeled relationship that went on for almost a year already, you put Logan’s number on the list as your ‘alternative’ contact, making people ring his number when yours is not answering.

And Logan always answers your phone calls. He’d justify himself that it’s merely a habit that he’s still trying to break, but truthfully it’s to make sure you’re hanging out with the ‘right people.’ 

Logan fucking hates it when he’s hearing a guy’s voice on the other line—toughens himself to respond, lowering his voice and curting his answers. He’ll let them know you’re busy. 

In the second month, you run back into Logan in desperation. 

Your eyes are all puffy from crying because your last date was such a prick! He called you nasty-horrible-sickening names before erasing your number off his phone for no reason. 

Logan opens his arms to welcome your hiccuping figure standing before him. Shushing you down and rubbing circles on your back - telling you to tell him who hurted you. 

This dependency you hold on him makes his cock twitch. That he’s right: you still seek him out no matter how long it takes. 

You don’t even notice how bad it gets—that’s the best thing. You never learn, huh?

That’s alright - because he’ll try for real this time. Groans out praises after praises to you, “What’s that, baby? Y’feel good?” Logan jeers overhead, holding himself over you with his hand gripping onto the headboard, “Too good?” He chuckles as his other hand thumbs on your puffy button.

His rough fingers pad up your clit, sending electricity throughout your body. Making you writhe underneath him and Logan scolds you in the softest way he can, “Stay still f’me, will ya?” 

You can’t answer. You can’t even speak outside of high-pitched whines, a mess of your own saliva drips until it reaches your chin. Your whole body is finally sticky after it’s been cold for weeks. His fat cock driving onto his home over and over, better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Yeah, y’just need your old man, hm? No one else can t‘care of this pussy like I do, sweetheart.”

He maliciously slows down his movement to watch his length entering your wet folds, humming at the vulgar squelching sound, “Come take a look a’her, baby. She’s squeezing me in - misses me so much.” 

The sight of him is trouble, messy greying hair and beard; chest full of scars. Everything you should’ve stayed away from.

”Yeayeahyea- Missed you so m-much. Ah-” 

But you cannot think when he’s holding you like this - when he angles himself so his tip is continuously hitting against that spongy spot inside you that makes your body weak. 

A string of ah ah ahs are leaving your mouth as he growls next to your face. “‘M cumming —”

His head falls back as he feels how your dripping pussy milks him dry, instantly following after as he buries himself deeper to make sure none of his cum drips out, “F-fuck. Good fuckin’ girl.” 

When he’s finished, Logan falls atop you in tiredness before rolling himself slightly to the side so he doesn’t suffocate you with his weight. Pampering your tear-flushed cheeks with slow kisses - the feel of his beard burning onto your skin like a streak of fire.

“C’meback, sweet girl.” He whispers in a quiet voice, hoping you’d give in completely. 

And you do - you always do.

Moments later, he’d have you resting on his chest, fingers combing through your hair to calm you down from the noises inside your head.

You don’t have to know that he was the one who drove your date away. 

It’s a mistake that the boy called Logan’s number because he was so impatient to hear back from you. A goddamn mistake. 

Because of that, Logan became aware of his existence and tracks him down. Threatens the other guy to stay the fuck away from you. 

Poor guy almost pissed his pants in fright. Running away scared shitless after Logan let go of his collar. 

Logan doesn’t know when exactly he turned into this wild animal. A sick old fuck who’d do anything to keep you in his embrace. 

Why does it matter? Everything is in its right place now. He’ll make sure you’d never have to know about the things he’d do for you.

[edge-oftheworld]

okay, I definitely don't know exactly what I'm thinking but I'm going to try. I guess it comes down to the fact that luke is constantly (still, after 13 years) being objectified in like, a we-own-you kind of way. Not deliberately for everyone involved in even mildly perpetuating it, but it is to 5sos culture the way that rape culture is to society in general: it's persistent, it sneaks in in what we consider to be societal or fandom norms. It shapes our opinions and our worldviews and it's like how you can't ask a fish how the water is: the water just is, the fish doesn't know anything else. It's not anyone's fault per se but god we have to do better.

and the thing about 'babygirl' specifically is that, you know who else gets treated this way by society as a whole? 1) young people, and 2) women, girls, anyone in the broad category that is seen as opposite to 'men'. opposite to the people who do the owning and the objectifying and it's a patriarchal problem with its tendrils reaching worldwide. these are the two groups of people that if you are in, you don't have any power. so on the surface it looks harmless, cute even, to call a grown man babygirl. internet terminology is weird; people just say things that aren't quite words and they catch on when you understand the sentiment behind them. we call heaps of men babygirl. sometimes i see people call ashton babygirl. it's one of the things that seems innocent and quirky, at least to start with.

but it's only innocent when you're punching upwards, taking the people who have all the power and levelling the playing field, so to speak. but the thing is, it's not quite so simple as 'oh look a rich white privileged man' when said white man was a child star (and at this point, hopefully we know how people treat child stars consistently, we've seen it play out again and again in different ways, from the carter family to britney to everyone caught up in the 1d/5sos wave to whoever the teen stars are today, and I don't need to explain it) who grew up in the bush, brought up to be kind and hardworking and go the extra mile for people because no parent in rural nsw actually expects their kid to have to navigate asserting themselves in the music industry before turning 18. I'm not saying it was all awful or his parents didn't do a great job. but I am saying that being a white man doesn't exclude luke from living a recipe for exploitation for being pretty and cute and young and talented, so many adjectives we often associate with girls. a marketable stereotype designed to be fuckable and agreeable and never get angry. babygirl.

I could go into some theories I have as to why: but the same thing in a weird genderbent way often seems to apply to luke. people want to own him because he's all of those things; they don't, sometimes the bitterness about that turns into some culturally normalised trend of coming up with an imaginary version of him. but it's more than that, more than being the heartthrob frontman of the band, and comes down to chance as well. he happens to be the youngest of the band; the others are extremely protective of him (and for good reason, i'm also certain the feeling is mutual just not expressed completely the same, but people see what fits the categories in their heads), and he does challenge the gender binary as part of his self-expression (which is a neutral thing, it should always be a neutral thing, there should never be a shift in power between what's deemed masculine and feminine, but there is and this is a prime example of the impacts gender inequality has). we've seen him going from wishing he could express himself in a more gnc way to actually doing it. people caught on early. and of course, most fans mean well but there's always a vulnerability to laying down the masculine for something more feminine even partially. it's baked into the same culture that came up with terms like 'babygirl'.

he also gives off this vibe, probably a youngest child thing too, or having seen him in the public eye from such a young age, looking uncomfortable a good portion of the time, that kind of elicits a we-want-to-care-for-and-protect-you response. and I think what's dangerous about that is that you don't ever think that caring about someone could be at all related to taking their power away. but it can be, especially if you're unable to express that protectiveness in the form of actual conversation (which for a fandom this size, is impossible) and so it kind of sits there unexpressed, without any of us ever hearing in a personal conversation exactly how luke thinks and having the chance to negotiate, what is a better way to treat you? do you feel like we're treating you as a child even though you're 28 and married and a self-made millionaire and an expert at towing the line of vulnerable enough to be so much more human and relatable than most people on this planet while valuing privacy and personal goals and also more than capable of having children of your own too?

all this combined, you have the ingredients for this babygirl fansona (is that a word?) constructed without the guidance of the very man we are perceiving through this lens--even when you can interact with people in person it's very hard to actually change their perception of you. we get crumbs, like the fact that he likes to feel pretty to help with his confidence on stage, like bits of how he's grappled with growing up in the public eye and the ways in which being far ahead of your age in some ways always results in feeling behind in others. these then just feed into 'how babygirl of him' because we don't see the other bits, the ugly bits everyone has that no one has any obligation to share with the world. we hear him talking about mental health but we don't get to witness every minute of his life that led to the things he's talked about, it's very uwu-ified, it's easy for people to take things at face value and the fact that he's someone who tries so hard not to ever abuse positions of power he's in, and then strip his masculinity that still exists even if he's not always masculine, because we still associate masculinity with abuses of power, and then put him in a pretty box that was conceptually given to us for young women, but luke, the most (and therefore some sort of token pretty boy) out of all the band members, is close enough.

finally I want to touch on another trend that could be an essay on its own (it won't be an essay of its own with luke as an example though, out of respect I don't want to dive in too deeply, though I don't think I can respectfully not mention it either). people have a tendency to infantilise neurodivergent people, or anyone who seems vaguely neurodivergent, which is something that people do subconsciously pick up (hence why it's so important to have a name for it if that's you, because people will supplement it with descriptors that are often derogatory, babygirl might not quite be in that category but it still implies a loss of power as I've talked about). People also have a tendency to feminise neurodivergent boys and men in an outright derogatory way: anyone who doesn't like rough sport or who wears makeup or dares to have any kind of feelings. which includes neurotypicals, of course, but when you're neurodivergent it's often a step further; given; unescapable. and this is why I think that something most people think is innocent can become a cherry on top of a stack of other seemingly unrelated things, why it fills me with rage too. every time over the last 13 years luke has done something like get distracted or lose something or be a little bit socially awkward he gets infantilised. every time he gets scared it's 'poor babygirl' or something to that effect. once is cute. after a few hundred times it only erodes his ability to self-actualise and take control of his own narrative, his own gender expression and everything he shares, in a patriarchal, neuronormative world.

and so if you've read this far, I don't want to say you're bad if you've ever referred to luke as babygirl. you're not. but hopefully you've gotten to have a think and start to question, what does this term I use in pop culture actually mean? could it be insulting someone? is it affecting how I view someone and do I need to listen to them a little bit more open-mindedly?

also, hopefully it's okay to say this since luke has started talking about it a little but as myself, someone with adhd, i do also ask that you go and listen to more neurodivergent folk and figure out how to treat us with actual respect. please listen to people all across the gender spectrums too about their experiences with masculinity and femininity and the kinds of experiences that they've specifically gotten when they haven't fit nicely into a binary, however they end up identifying in the end (and as for luke, please don't assume anything about him in that vein. ever. there is one person who gets to decide that and it is luke) and what kind of things they might find offensive and why. this isn't you-have-to-know-everything-at-once but rather a call of, hey, there's a lot of diversity out there and the more diverse experiences you learn to empathise with, the more understanding you're gonna be as a person.

i have so so so many thoughts and feelings about the way this fandom constantly refers to luke as babygirl without taking one single second to think about why maybe it's a problematic thing to do to luke specifically but i lack the ability to organize those thoughts and feelings into anything coherent and concise. can someone else please read my mind and do it for me.

[beloveds-embrace]

I just read the poly 141 w/ past abuse reader and omg I love them all so much 😭. Would it be possible for a pt.2 (obviously you don't have to) but like how 141 reacts if they encounter readers family or something along those lines you know? (Ps. I love your writing. It's just *chefs kiss* you are amazing and I hope you have a wonderful day lovely!)

Thank you for your kind words!! I love compliments sorry i soak them up like sponge but ne ways here is part 2 (though it’s on the shorter side) and i hope you have an amazing day!

Part 1

CW: mentions of abusive and neglectful family

You knew it would happen, sooner or later. You knew this fragile peace you had been given wouldn’t last; it was only a matter of when that all of it would crumble apart and you’d be left-

“Calm down, love.” John’s hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the tenseness out. His eyes are warm and so is his voice, his face, only for you. He squeezes, the touch grounding. “Take some deep breaths for me. Everything’ll be fine. We’re right with you, remember?”

You do as he says, twisting the fabric of your clothes in your hands. Your lips are chapped- bitten raw even when you keep getting glossy kisses from Kyle and Johnny who have stolen your chapstick. Though you want to reply to him, you are far more focused on the that is parking right outside your shop.

You are being stupid, and you know it. Your parents are simply picking up a flower bouquet order. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less, but you know how they are. Nevermind the fact the bouquet is for your sister’s baby shower that you are not invited to anyways.

There is no reason for you to be so scared that all four of your boyfriends tagged along today for your sake (they would have tagged along anyways the second you mentioned your parents would be there).

You know, logically, that your parents are just here for the bouquet, but the familiar dread still claws at you, a reminder of all the ways they’ve made you feel small over the years. And yet, with John’s warm hands on your shoulders, Kyle’s steady presence, Johnny’s easy grin, the fond pecks, and Simon’s quiet strength surrounding you, it’s different this time. You’re… not alone.

Yet when the car door slams shut loudly, a shiver runs through you, but Kyle’s hand finds yours, grounding you along with John. “We got you, yeah, dove?” he murmurs, giving you a reassuring smile that brings a little calm to your nerves. You nod, drawing a deep breath just as the door chimes and your parents step inside already looking so unimpressed with your shop. They’d always thought your passion for flower and plants was useless.

But they pause, taken aback by the sight of you with these men. You can feel the judgment in their gaze, the thinly veiled disapproval that once would have made you shrink. But now, with your boyfriends beside you, you… don’t feel quite so afraid. You don’t feel like you need to bury every part of yourself and only show the smoothed out edges your parents forced on you.

Your mother’s eyes narrow as she looks at you, at the way you aren’t immediately bowing your head and making yourself smaller even if you remain as quiet as you’ve been taught, and then she looks at the men standing protectively around you. “We’re here for the bouquet,” she says, her tone clipped, as if even this brief interaction is an inconvenience. No greeting, not a single ounce of warmth. Typical, and by now the hurt has become far less sharp than it had ever been.

“Here it is, mother.” You say, your voice small but steady. Your hands only shake just a little as you show her the bouquet, thought it’s Johnny who gently takes it from your hands, all but shoves it towards your mother, and smiles at them.

Your father’s gaze shifts to you from Johnny, his mouth opening as if he’s about to say something scathing, but Simon steps forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard- and his mask makes him look even more intimidating. “Anything else you need?” he asks, his voice calm yet leaving no room for confrontation, or even any other request.

You don’t mind this attitude, you realize. You are just- so glad it’s not you on the receiving end.

Your father hesitates, clearly taken aback and unused to being addressed so rudely, and you watch as he realizes he has no power here. None of his usual tactics- snide remarks, dismissive gestures, cold silence- can reach you. Not with these men shielding you, grounding you, and reminding you that you are worth so much more than their disdain.

“…We are leaving.” He clears his throat instead, shooting you a scathing look that says they will definitely be calling you later and belittling you, but… you know you will not be alone to deal with that later. Not anymore. Your mother is shooting you displeased glares, her hands white around the bouquet. But she says nothing, and for that you are glad.

As they leave, at last, John chuckles softly, leaning down close to kiss your shoulder. “They didn’t expect that, did they?”

You shake your head, almost laughing, a strange, freeing sensation bubbling up in your chest. Kyle comes close and wraps his arms around your shoulders, an embrace so warm and gentle. “See, love? You don’t have to face them alone anymore.”

And you realize he’s right. You don’t have to hold up a crumbling wall on your own anymore. These men have become the family you never had- solid, unwavering, reminding you every day that you deserve love and peace.

For the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can truly let go of the fear they instilled in you. For the first time, you feel like you can simply be yourself and be loved all the same for it.

[sageteapost]

Hi! i saw you write for ffxv and read the dating drabbles you made and wanted to request more expanded hcs for Noctis if thats okay? Like what else would come with dating them, love language, jealousy level and maybe even tropes if that's okay- pls feel free to add or change anything to this broad request 💀 tysm in advance and stay safe 💕

❝Hmm, I see...❞

authors note: ABSOLUTELY ANON!! Could always write more about Noct haha. And no worries, I've been cooking for a long time about this.

cw + tags: Mostly fluff! Gets spicy for like, a split second, but that's it. Not proofread, sorry for any typos! [Established relationship. GN! Reader.]

summary: A more expanded list of dating headcanons about Noctis from this post!

As for love languages, Noctis is tied with physical touch and quality time. Surprisingly, he's a big cuddler and very affectionate. At least in private. He's a bit shyer about it in public especially with the title of Prince and trying to keep proper images sometimes, but he's much more open about it during more intimate moments.

Kisses, cuddles (just be prepared to deal with how he becomes a koala), the whole thing. Just as long as it's all in the safety and comfort of being at home.

He's actually kind of playful with his affection. It's actually a bit more different than from what you'd might expect.

And if he's feeling like it, he can be handsy. At first, he's very shy about it, but slowly grows more comfortable and wilder.

Very soon, you'll have to deal with a sleepy prince who loves to nip at your neck sometimes.

Like I said in the previous post, Noct loves spooning. Not only does he sleep better, but he loves your body heat.

I think he's the type of guy to absolutely cover himself in blankets to feel nice and toasty, but also loves to blast the AC so it's freezing (me).

So, if you like sleeping toasty with weighted blankets as he spoons you, you're in luck.

As for how Noctis deals with jealousy, it's more on the quieter side compared to someone like Gladio. But definitely still enough to stand up and say something.

However, he's not the type of guy to immediately jump the gun if anyone started talking with you. He trusts you. It's only when they get a bit too close or try to be handsy is when he'll step in.

By confronting them, he doesn't make a huge spectacle about it. He'd simply just whisk you away. Maybe make a quick snide comment on how you're taken or just make up an excuse to say you're needed somewhere else.

Noct makes it quick. Either because it's the royal status that prevents him from doing too much or the fact, he's not super into making a huge spectacle out of things.

This may fall into some of the things you'll have to deal with in dating him, but it's not really the fear of losing you to someone else but more of the feeling that maybe he's not good enough for you. How you deserve someone else who isn't riddled with anxieties or the heavy duty he carries on his shoulders as the future king of Lucis.

Noct will become extra cuddly and clingy afterwards. Gently kissing you everywhere as if to reassure himself that you're there.

But what really helps him and makes him feel better, not just after moments of jealousy, is when you tell him those words.

'You're good enough', 'you're worth every single second of each day,' and 'I love you, regardless of who you are and the burdens that may follow you.'

ANY of those words of reassurance or a variant of them will make him melt.

Come now, the man has had very little chances where he could choose what he wanted for his own sake and happiness, and you reassuring him that he's deserving of it makes him over the moon.

[lawsvalentine]

Marry You • Law x Fem!reader HC • (Fluff)

Part II, Part III

CW: fluff 🥰 and law being a stressed baby boy

Cee’s Note: soooo my dumb ass accidentally deleted the anon that requested this 😅 so shout out to that person bc this was a good idea and I hope I answered all your questions

Tags 🤍: @nympheclipse @pinkcrystal-rose @uchihabbynic @csnovas (my fellow Law girlies) @roronoaswifey (i know you would like this or whateva 🙄) @noawithlove (bc of your current Law brainrot 😉)

Leading Up to the Wedding

Oh mans is lowkey freaking out

Not in a bad way, so don’t fret about if he is unsure if he wants to go through with this

He wouldn’t have proposed if he wasn’t absolutely sure that you are the love of his life and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you

He’a just more concerned with wanting everything to go perfectly

We all know Law is the “man with the plan” so if anything falls out of plan he will literally turn into groomszilla lol

But despite this he tries hard to keep his cool, calm and collected composure for your sake. He always puts you first despite his own fears

Day of the Wedding

It’s the day of the wedding, and his nerves are still ever present, he’s more stressed than he was dealing with the straw hat crew 💀

All his crew will be attending the wedding, Penguin and Shachi being his groomsmen and Bepo being his best man/ring bearer

So many thoughts will be swarming his head both positive and negative

He will be thinking about corazon and how much he wished he would be here to see him on his special day

He knows corazon would have both stressed him out more with his clumsiness but also reassure him that everything would be okay and how proud he was of him

He wishes you could have met him and knows if he was still here, he would be a great father in law to you

The ceremony has commenced, everyone is gathered with him, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi at the alter

Law is rocking a fitted tux (not his style but he is wearing his signature spotted hat for a little flare)

You enter the room in a gorgeous white gown and Law looked like he had seen an angel

You looked absolutely breathtaking and he couldn’t believe such a beautiful person was about to marry him

Once you reached Law you greeted him with a beaming smile that made all his nerves vanish

You said your vows first, starting with how you two met and how basically Law had his guard up in the beginning but over time you’ve gotten to know him and learn what a beautiful, intelligent, and kind person he was. You also added a few inside jokes throughout that made Law chuckle slightly reminiscing on special moments you two shared throughout your relationship

You ended your vows expressing how much you truly loved him and how you will continue to love and care for him for the rest of your lives

From your words to the way you looked at him, Law felt so much love and he knew you meant every word that you said

Starting off his vows, he talks about how he never thought he would find love or experience love due to how much loss he has had to witness when he was a kid

He then shares that in the beginning he was afraid to pursue you because he didn’t want to experience the heartache he did when he was younger

But the more he got to know you and the more time he spent with you, you allowed him to open up and express himself unlike anybody else.

He then shares how he is so infatuated with your mind, how you think and challenge him, infatuated with your spirit and how you instantly brighten his day and make him want to be a better person, infatuated by your beauty and how he falls in love all over again every time he looks into your eyes

He ends it by saying he loves you so much and you are the literal sunshine in his life

You tear up at his words, you’re so in awe of the man before you, you couldn’t wait to call him your husband

Bepo brings the rings to you both and you both place the rings on each other’s fingers

After both being asked the age old question, you both say I do and the whole crew cheers with teary eyes as you two share a loving kiss as newly weds

Cee’s note: might make a nsfw part 2 about the reception and honeymoon 😉

[sstormyskyess]

A Tender Surprise

author's note: hii guys i'm finally back to writing!! it took many weeks but i finished a piece [thank god] so i think i'll be back in the swing of things! if you pay attention to my tags you know i love priceghost and i wanna be a part of it 🙏 i hope y'all like this as much as i do!!

cw: smut, unintentional voyeurism, established ghostprice relation/situationship, oral sex (m receiving), sub!simon, handjobs, threesome

word count: 2500+

John Price x GN!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley

If there’s one thing everyone knew about Captain John Price, it was the fact that he always takes care of his team. No matter what, his team is his first priority. That didn’t change one bit when you were onboarded to the team. The very moment you showed up, he treated you like you had always been there without hesitation.

Of course, this wasn’t how everyone on the force treated you. You were an outsider after all; the others on the team barely knew you compared to Price, who you’d known for multiple years before he recruited you.

Ghost was the starkest offender in this case. No matter where you went or who you were talking to, if Ghost was there he was scrutinizing you, and he didn’t try to hide it in the slightest. At the very least, you appreciated his transparency on how he felt about you.

It took months of working together on operations and other missions for him to finally start letting his guard down enough for you to take a glimpse of the Ghost the rest of the task force knew and loved. It was a slow process, but it felt lovely to have his attention in a way that wasn’t unsettling at best.

Although you liked to think that all of it was simply him growing to like you just for you, the change in his attitude was supplemented by Price’s intervention along the way. The captain was a firm advocate of your skills and trustworthiness, and it certainly helped Ghost feel more comfortable around you.

After around a year and a half, you and Ghost have gotten much closer than you would’ve ever imagined upon first meeting him. Much, much closer. Close enough that you two will stay in each other’s private quarters overnight at least once a week, just for the sake of being in each other’s company. You’ve had many a late night talk, comforted each other through the worst of moods, and generally become more of a duo than just regular squadmates.

Tonight is one of those nights where you need someone to be around, just to keep your mind off your troubles for a little while, so you head to Ghost’s quarters just as you usually would. You made it to his door and gently nudged the door handle to check if it was locked or not, and to your relief, the door was open. Generally if he had the door unlocked, it meant he was fine with you visiting. No one else would be crazy enough to just open the lieutenant’s door without asking, so there was no need for concern.

So, you quietly open the door and push it open, taking a peek inside. It’s unlikely he’s asleep, even at this hour, but you don’t want to wake him up in the case he is. You’re met with a pair of eyes looking at you as your head slowly peeks inside, but they aren’t the caramel brown ones you’re used to seeing in the low light of the room. Instead, you’re staring into the soft blue-gray eyes of the one and only John Price, your captain.

If that wasn’t surprising enough, Ghost was there too, but his back was to the door as he sits between Price’s thighs, doing what you could only think is… giving his captain a blowjob. You can’t be fully sure, of course; Ghost is a big guy and he’s blocking off most of Price’s lower half with his large frame, but judging from the way his head is bobbing up and down, it’s hard to think of anything else he could be doing.

All you can do is stand there, eyes wide in disbelief. You had to be dreaming, right? This couldn’t possibly be real. Right?

You mouth out a ‘sorry,’ before starting to back out of the room, but Price stops you with a hand motion, beckoning you further inside. Somehow, he manages to compel you into walking inside fully and shutting the door behind you as quietly as possible, locking it and effectively sealing your fate. You’re not sure entirely what that fate may be, but the quiet sound of the lock clicking shut sounded eerily similar to that of a judge’s gavel dropping onto his bench, an intimidating sound indeed.

For a moment, you stand there awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other and just watching your best friend sucking off your superior casually as can be. You swallow past the lump in your throat when Price threads his fingers through Ghost’s short, dirty blonde hair, an act so intimate that it feels even weirder to witness than the rest of what’s happening in this very moment.

After a few more tense moments of you watching the spectacle in front of you, Price gently pulls Ghost away from his cock and gives him a small, yet warm smile. You can’t see Ghost’s face, but the way he relaxes and slumps forward a bit, you can tell he’s having just as much of a good time as his captain is. Price mumbles something to him and he nods, leaning into the hand on the back of his head.

You’re about to start sneaking out of the room again before Price meets your eyes again. At this point, Ghost finally notices the captain’s fleeting glances over his shoulder and he turns to see what he was looking at. You freeze, your whole body stiffening up when his eyes finally meet yours. You expect him to get angry with you, to shout at you to get out and not come back, but none of that happens. In fact, his gaze travels down your body and his gaze darkens with something that looks like lust.

“I-I, um…” You glance back at the door. “I’ll just go, I’m so sorry for barging in—”

“Stay.”

Ghost’s command stops you in your tracks and you stand frozen in place again, waiting for some kind of indication of what the two of them wanted from you. Did they actually want you to stay and watch whatever this was? You don’t get to question it much longer since Price looks at you expectantly and motions you over with a tilt of his head. Reluctantly, you approach the two and wait for another command.

Price pats the spot next to him on the bed and you sit there, hands in your lap and fiddling with each other nervously. His hand comes to rest on your lower back, a comforting gesture. “You’re free to leave if you’d like,” he says quietly, making sure you were looking at him before continuing. “But, we’d love to have you.”

Now, you were no stranger to fantasizing about your team members every now and then. You figure that was at least a bit expected, considering you were surrounded by a group of handsome men in their prime, but you knew nothing would come from it. So this can’t possibly be real. It just can’t be. You’re sitting on a bed with your captain—who has his cock out and standing proud—looking at your friend sitting between his legs with wet lips from having just been sucking him off. This was far beyond any of the offhand scenarios you’ve brewed up in your head during your many late nights in a number of safehouses all across the world.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to indulge in whatever they had planned for you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you say with certainty, though your voice still shook ever so slightly. Price gives you a kind smile when you speak your consent, then his eyes shift from you to Ghost. “Does that sound good to you, sunshine?” The way Ghost responds so readily to the nickname is endearing, so much softer than you ever imagined Ghost could be. He looks so relaxed like this, so content to be looked down upon so lovingly. It makes you wonder what exactly their relationship is, but you don’t ask simply because it would likely take a long time to explain it fully. Just this few minutes of bearing witness to the dynamic displays such complexity you doubt you could ever understand.

The fact they want you here for it is flattering, to say the least.

Price taps your back to grab your attention. “How about you sit down there with him and stroke him for me?” You nod and Ghost watches you intently as you slide off the bed and settle behind him. Your nerves start to get to you again as you begin to realize the barrier you were about to breach.

Ghost can sense your stiffness and he reaches back to run a hand up and down your thigh. You shiver and shuffle a little closer to him, pressing yourself against his back fully. His touch gave you confidence, letting you slide your hands around his waist and he hums appreciatively at the contact. 

“Go on and get his cock out, love,” Price instructs, but it sounds nothing like the firm tone you usually hear him use when he’s giving out orders. No, his voice is smooth, like a warm velvet sheet draping over you. In a way, it’s even more compelling than his more authoritative tone.

So, you do as he asks. Ghost makes a small noise in the back of his throat when your tentative hands palm his cock through his joggers. The size of him makes your breath hitch and you wonder if you’ll even manage to wrap your hand all the way around him with how thick his dick was. He lays his hand on top of yours, his fingers laying on the back of your hand. Slowly, you reach into his pants and boxers, your hand coming into contact with the soft skin of his hefty cock. He was just the slightest bit wet from a mix of his precum and sweat.

With a slight shake to your hand, you manage to maneuver his hard-on out of his pants and use your sense of touch to visualize what it might look like since you can’t see over his broad shoulders. It’s about as large as you imagined it would be with a couple thick veins along the underside, perfect to trace your fingers along. He shudders and sighs at the pleasant feeling of you doing just that, his head tilting back.

Price runs a hand through Ghost’s hair again to get his eyes back open and focused on him. “You ready to finish up what you started, sunshine?”

“Yes, sir,” Ghost mumbles, leaning into his touch. Price hums his approval, gently pulling his head forward and letting Ghost resume his worshiping of his cock.

You watch, enraptured by his ministrations. Your hand starts to tug at Ghost’s cock, pulling back his foreskin and rolling your palm over the tip to spread the slow drizzle of precum leaking from his cock. It punches out a grunt from him and his hips jump.

After a while, there’s spit coating his chin and dripping down his neck as a result of him taking Price’s cock so obediently. The wet sucking noises coming from his throat had your sex throbbing along with your heartbeat. Seeing Ghost so open and calm was a beautiful sight to see, and mixed with the way Price was looking down at the both of you with such reverence made it even more fulfilling.

Ghost is twitching in your hand, but he’s so good at holding himself back. You imagine anyone else having as much fun as he was would’ve finished by now, but not him. He’s still moaning up a storm though, his chest rumbling against your free hand. He shifts under your touch and takes hold of your hand and slides it under his shirt, putting it on his bare stomach. You get the message and start to paw at the soft layer of fat covering his muscles, tensed up because of the pleasure bubbling up beneath the base of his cock.

Price is grunting now too, praises and encouraging words falling from his lips, spurring Ghost on with a deep, needy moan. He sighs contentedly and extends his hand past Ghost’s hair and onto the top of your head, his fingers rubbing circles into your scalp. “You’re doing well, too, love. Taking such good care of our boy,” he says with a soft smile.

Our boy. Our boy. Something about that made your heart swell and the heat between your legs grow. You have to squeeze your thighs together to  keep yourself satisfied, having gone neglected for what felt like ages. A quiet whimper builds up in the back of your throat. Price chuckles at that and he looks down at Ghost. “You’re going to return the favor, aren’t you Simon?” Ghost nods the best he can with Price’s cock in his mouth and a wave of anticipation rolls through you.

You glance up from where you were looking straight forward to see Price’s hips buck upwards, making Ghost gag with a wet choking sound. It only seems to make him more eager and he grabs one of his captain’s thighs to steady himself, giving him more leverage to take him even further down his throat. Tears start to roll down his cheeks from the exertion and you see the wetness on Price’s fingers when he tenderly wipes Ghost’s cheeks clean. “Don’t push yourself too hard, sunshine.”

You chance running a hand up Ghost’s stomach, giving him time to pull you away if he wished, but all you feel is his abs tightening under your touch. 

Ghost sucks a quick breath in through his nose when you stroke him with a bit more fervor and he grabs your wrist with his other hand. His thighs shake and a shudder falls down his spine; he’s getting close. He groans around the dick in his throat, thrusting into your hand to meet it halfway. He moans around Price’s cock and you feel him throbbing in your palm.

Within a few more strokes he’s shooting his load out onto the floor and your hand, shuddering at the overwhelming feeling of you working him through his climax. He takes a deep, open-mouthed breath when Price pulls him away from his cock, now flushed bright red and glistening from Ghost’s drooling mouth. It registers for you at that point that Ghost wasn’t sucking cock for his captain’s pleasure, but for his own. This dynamic of theirs was much more… complex that you originally thought.

You rest against Ghost’s back and he leans back into you. Price’s fingers are running through his cropped dark blonde hair while he catches his breath. You can’t fully hear all of the murmured praises Price is offering Ghost, but you can tell there’s a gentleness there that was surprising coming from the two gruffest men you’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

A large hand comes to rest on your thigh and you jolt a bit, having been caught up in the second-hand feeling of warmth that was radiating from the pair. Ghost’s hand runs up and down your thigh, his nails scraping along the fabric of your pants just a bit, giving you chills. His voice is more gravelly than normal and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he utters his promise, “Your turn.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[alexibeeart]

MyHouse.wad

On March 2 2023, a user called Veddge posted this thread in the WADs and Mods Doomworld forum:

MyHouse

Excited to finally release this tribute map. Last August I lost a good childhood friend of mine and took it pretty hard. When I was visiting my hometown for his funeral, I connected with his parents who shared with me some of his old belongings. Among them was a copy of an old map of his backed up on a 3.5” floppy from high school. Thomas and I were into amateur Doom mapping in the early 00s but I had never seen this map of his prior to uncovering it on one of the old floppy discs. As a way of paying tribute to him and all the great memories we had together, I took the plunge and installed Doom Builder in order to polish up his map and add a few modern amenities just for convenience sake.

I haven’t touched an editor in over 15 years so it was quite a surprise to find out how easy mapping has become. I may have gotten a little carried away with these new UDMF features and, as such, the map is designed for GZDoom. From the text file:

Doom 2 - GZDoom, hardware renderer

1 map: Not much of a challenge and roughly 10 minutes of play time. All difficulty settings implemented.

Jumping & crouching disabled, freelook is fine

Lots of Doomcute!

Making maps of your house was all the rage back-in-the-day, but I feel like this is a pretty adorable and detailed tribute to my friend and a great way to share something of him with a community we loved. Miss you, Tom.

Download myhouse.wad

Contained within is a link to a Google Drive folder containing myhouse.wad—a DOOM map of a normal 20th century suburban house where you mow down baddies and collect a blue, yellow, and red keycard to reach the exit—photos, text files, screenshots, and some images of a sketchbook.

There is also another version of the mod in a different format: myhouse.pk3. Opening this file to start a new game shows the map exactly the same as myhouse.wad ... until it isn’t.

Read Vegge’s original post, poke around in the GDrive, don’t look up anything else if you can help it, and give this a go. If you’re stumped, you might need to get some fresh air outside. General content warnings in the tags; spoiler cws under the cut. Obviously there is much more to this map than it seems ...

general content warnings for myhouse.pk3: blood, gore, violence, guns, weapons, pov, monsters, zombies, demons, flashing lights, eye strain

spoilery content warnings for myhouse.pk3: liminal spaces, the backrooms, unreality, substance abuse, alternate reality, enclosed spaces, open spaces, animal death, mirrors, mirror world, spiders, fire ... please ask me to tag anything i missed! this is still a very new puzzlebox of a game and it’s possible there’s still more to discover ...

[valiantstarlights]

[The Proposal AU] The Bachelorette Party

Previous Chapter: The Babymaker Blanket

I told @valeriianz I imagined Corinthian being the stripper character in this AU, and this is me having no self-control because I just started writing about it as soon as I said it. 😂 (Also tagging @voukkake because this AU is inspired by her art. ���)

The song playing at Dream's bach party is Pony by Ginuwine because it's the most stripper-y song I could think of rn 🤷‍♀️

CW: Stripper Corinthian, strictly hobsexual Dream, tabletop games, and as a treat, seductive Dream (towards Hob) 😏

"Bye, Hob!" Jo calls as she drags a very confused Dream behind her. "We're going to see Cori for Dream's bach party!"

Dream hears a crash from the kitchen as Hob rushes towards them, still holding a potato peeler, looking wild-eyed and frantic. "You're going to see Corinthian? For Dream's bach party?"

"That's literally what I just said," Jo says as she starts to put on her shoes. Dream just stands between them, baffled at Jo's flippancy while Hob looks increasingly apprehensive. "You gone deaf or something?"

"Absolutely not," Hob says. "Dream--"

"--is allowed to have a bach party organized for him even when you declined to have your own," Jo continues. "And besides! I wanna get some calamari from The New Inn after. We'll be back soon." She glances at Dream and smiles innocently. "Or maybe it's just me and Gran who will be back soon."

Dream turns to Hob. "Corinthian?"

"He's a part-time stripper," Hob says.

"A very sexy one," Jo adds. "He might make you rethink marrying my brother, actually."

Dream doesn't know who this Corinthian fellow is, but he definitely, definitely thinks he's not going to cheat on Hob with him. Even if he and Hob aren't actually a real couple.

"I doubt it," Dream says to Jo. "I am quite set on marrying your brother." To Hob, he says, "I will be back soon, my love. Do you wish for me to get you anything while we're out?"

"No," Hob says. There's an intense look in his eyes that Dream doesn't know how to decipher. "I don't need anything else. I just want you to come back home to me."

Dream...doesn't quite know how to handle that, but he's pretty sure the tips of his ears are getting redder by the second.

Jo makes a retching sound. "Both of you are disgusting, but I'm still taking Dream to his own bach party. Now come on! Even Gran is already there!"

"I'll see you soon, love," Hob tells him, and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His eyes are dark, and more than once Dream sees him glancing down towards his lips.

He nods mutely, wishing he had the courage to reciprocate--for pretend purposes, of course, since Jo is considered part of the audience they're trying to sell their romance to--but in the end, he does nothing and just puts on his shoes before turning around to follow Jo out of the house.

--

Corinthian, it turns out, is the flirty waiter from the welcome party.

"I thought you were a waiter," Dream says as Corinthian slowly stalks towards where he's sitting in the middle of the stage, sexily taking his shirt off. Around them, people (mostly the women of the town) started hooting and hollering as Corinthian's muscled upper body is revealed, and he bodyrolls a little to the music, one hand on the backrest of Dream's chair.

"I can be anything you want, dreamboat," Corinthian says huskily. Dream cringes at the nickname, but allows Corinthian to dance nearer. "No? Too on the nose?"

"Quite," Dream says. "Do you really have to do this entire routine?"

Corinthian shrugs, but even that looks seductive when paired with his half-lidded eyes. "It pays the bills better than being a part-time waiter."

Dream sighs as Corinthian starts grinding and humping the air in front of his face. Dream understands that he must endure this for the sake of wedding traditions, but the music playing over the speakers irritates him, with the hook sounding like someone saying 'bleugh' over and over again.

"This doesn't do anything for you?" Corinthian asks. When Dream shakes his head, he chuckles but still very professionally continues his routine. Dream blanches as Corinthian moves his pelvis closer to Dream's face--still not making physical contact, but definitely too close for comfort. "A pity. 'Cause, not gonna lie, dreamboat, you're pretty cute."

Dream lifts his left hand where Hob's fake engagement ring sits prettily on his ring finger.

Corinthian just lifts both his hands up in a peaceful gesture, then starts unbuttoning his trousers and swaying side to side, his long legs straddling Dream's thighs. More hoots and cheers as Corinthian unzips and teasingly runs the tips of his fingers over his bulge.

"Noted," he says, as the song keeps 'bleugh'-ing in the background. "But feel free to spank me anyway. It'll get me extra tips for the night."

Dream doesn't like the way Corinthian winked when he said the word 'tips,' but what he says next is even worse. "And hey, I promise I'll try my best not to cum when you do. Your fingers look so pretty I want to choke on them."

"This is sexual harassment," Dream says futilely as, with a single rip of the fabric, Corinthian tears his trousers off completely and throws the ruined clothing towards the crowd, where Grandma Johanna successfully catches it one-handed.

"Spank me," Corinthian says to Dream as he starts to gyrate in front of his face again, this time while running his hands over his abs and pecs. "Before they inevitably peer-pressure you to do it."

"What?"

Right on cue, a large beefy guy in the crowd yells, "Spank him!"

"Smack his ass!" an old lady's voice adds. Dream recognizes it as Grandma Johanna's friend Betty's voice.

"Give him a proper lap dance, Cori!" Jo shouts.

Corinthian helpfully turns around and bends over, looking over his shoulder coquettishly as he gives Dream quite the view of his toned legs and shapely buttocks. His black thong doesn't really leave much to the imagination, especially when he's bent over like this. "Go on, dreamboat," Cori says, smiling widely and lasciviously. "It's a show. But if it makes it easier for you, spank me like how Hob spanks you."

And. Of course, Dream thinks. Of course it's a show. This entire trip is a show, and he's supposed to be acting like his life depends on it. Because it does. His life--everything he built for himself away from his toxic parents, depends on how well he acts like the beloved fiancee of this small town's golden boy.

Dream imagines Hob, with his lazy morning smiles, and his strong arms, and his capable manner in the workplace. If Hob ever spanks him, it would be because of something Dream had done. Something unforgivably naughty. If Hob ever spanks him in a sexual way, it would be like--

Dream lifts his dominant hand and strikes Corinthian's ass like how he imagines Hob would spank him if he had been a brat all day. It's easy to imagine, because Dream often feels like a brat, especially when he orders Hob around unnecessarily, asking him to get complicated coffee orders and making him work overtime even when Dream is fairly sure he can get the work done by himself. It's just, Hob is so competent and amazing at what he does, and surely two heads are better than one. And if Hob sometimes unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirt sleeves up, exposing his forearms--

The sound echoes throughout the room, and Corinthian's small moan of "oh fuck," and "Daddy," is lost as the crowd goes absolutely wild.

--

"Hey," Hob says as Dream enters his bedroom. He's sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, open book held in one hand. He doesn't look like he has made much progress. "Welcome back."

"You shouldn't have stayed up," Dream says as he looks at the wall clock pointedly. It shows that it's well past midnight. He and Jo just got back, with Grandma Johanna returning hours before they did.

Jo had dragged him over to The New Inn to get her calamari and, as luck would have it, it turns out that tonight is game night at the inn--a fact that Johanna definitely knows--and Dream was roped into playing Cards Against Humanity and half a dozen other tabletop games with names like Carcassone, which was probably inspired by the French city with the same name, and Tsuro, which means 'route' in Japanese.

(Jo called him a nerd when he took out his phone to get the English translation of the game's name.)

(And yes, apparently, Corinthian also part-times at The New Inn during game nights, where he becomes the DM to a group playing Dungeons and Dragons. Dream was mortified when Corinthian saunters up to him and leans over to whisper in his ear, "Fancy seeing you here at my other workplace, Daddy Dreamboat.")

(He's pretty sure Jo and everyone at their table heard everything.)

"Yeah, well," Hob says, which isn't much of an answer at all. "How was your party?" he asks, when Dream takes off his coat and hangs it on a coat hook behind the door.

"Exhausting," Dream replies honestly. He didn't think Jo would have that much energy in her body, but apparently, he was wrong. She must have drank more than ten cups of coffee before they went out today.

"Yeah?" Hob says, his voice sounding strangely tight.

"Yes," Dream says. "Your sister has too much energy and the appetite of a blue whale. She must have eaten three family-sized plates of calamari by herself, and beat me thoroughly at Sheriff of Nottingham. It's a pity The New Inn doesn't have Scrabble, or I would have decimated everyone at the table."

"Oh," Hob says, and now he sounds relieved. Dream is too tired to parse out what the tone of his voice meant at the moment, but he will definitely be examining it at a later time. "Yeah, no. I can't beat Jo at Sheriff of Nottingham either. She always knows when I have contraband cards."

Dream huffs a laugh as he goes to the ensuite, keeping the door cracked open a little as he changes his clothes and does his nightly routines. "I managed to smuggle golden apples past her tonight, and she accused me of trying to start a war, which was very nice of her."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Hob says from the bedroom. "Game nights at The New Inn are really fun."

Dream hums and starts washing his face. "I saw a game that looked promising on the shelves, but the owner wouldn't take it down for us to play because Jo already borrowed too many."

"What was the game?"

"Betrayal at House on the Hill."

Hob laughs a full-bellied laugh at that, and the Dream in the mirror blushes and ducks his head at the sound. "Of course it's Betrayal," Hob says. "Remind me to bring you to the New Inn next game night, and I'll play with you."

Dream's hand pauses as he applies his night cream on his face. He knows Hob meant 'I'll play with you' in an innocent way, but the note of warm laughter in his voice made the chill from Dream's bones melt entirely.

It's a sensation he did not feel even when Corinthian explicitly told him he wanted to choke on his fingers while dirty dancing in front of him.

He hurries to finish his nightly routines.

"So?" Hob asks, when Dream had been quiet for too long. "You interested?"

He is, but perhaps not in playing the horror-themed game they're currently talking about. Still, he says, "Yes," and is glad that his voice does not shake, even when his hands do as he arranges the creams and serums in his travel toiletry bag. "The game looks very intriguing."

"If you like that, then I think you'll love the other dark or horror-themed games available at The New Inn. Like Nemesis, which is...a lot, or Gloom, which I think you'll win every time. Or, hey, maybe they still have Unspeakable Words. It's not quite Scrabble, but Jo will agree to play because she adores the little Cthulhu minis."

Dream re-enters the bedroom just then, clad in Hob's old university shirt and his own side split shorts, and watches as Hob's Adam's apple bob as he takes him in. "Will you play with me?"

Hob blinks and his eyes lift from looking at Dream's legs to his face. "Wha--huh?"

Dream smiles. "All the games you mentioned," he says, then crawls into bed--not seductively, he doesn't think he can quite manage that, but slower than usual. More intentional. "Will you play all of them with me? Teach me all the rules and go easy on me?"

"Yeah," Hob says, and shifts a little to make more space for Dream on the bed. Or perhaps to shift the fall of the blankets over his covered lower half. Dream unconsciously licks his lips. "I'll...yeah."

"Then I'm looking forward to it," Dream says. Then, with the courage he lacked earlier that evening, he leans closer and kisses Hob's cheek. "Good night, Hob," he says, lips brushing against Hob's stubble, their breaths mingling together.

"Good night," Hob replies belatedly, when Dream is already lying in bed and has turned on his side so he's facing the windows. He turns off the lamp on his side of the bed and says in the dark, "Sweet Dream."

Dream smiles and subtly nuzzles against his pillow--Hob's pillow, which smells like Hob, and pretends that he's actually resting his head against Hob's strong chest.

He falls asleep with a small smile on his face.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

. . . 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐲.

[ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ] —

please read thoroughly before you follow/interact!!

✦ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭-𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞

this is a smut-free blog!! the reason i say that instead of just sfw blog is because i occasionally rb suggestive content (whether it’s fanart or fics), and write + post mild dark content (mild gore, other horror elements, twisted dynamics, yan stuff, etc). those posts are usually tagged with cw dark content or cw suggestive! some of my general posts might also be suggestive/dc-leaning. 

in other words:

i won’t write or rb full on smut, but that doesn’t necessarily mean all my content is sfw. please mind the distinction!!

and with that being said — please don’t tag me in smut / explicit fanart / heavy dc, or send me any nsfw asks!! :’) suggestive stuff (jokes, tension, bare bodies, suguru’s tits, etc) is obviously fine, but i’d prefer to keep this blog free from anything too explicit </3 (additionally, i’m uncomfy around pregnancy/childbirth topics!!)

i understand that the line between sfw and nsfw can be really thin, so don’t hesitate to shoot me a dm if you have any hesitations or questions!! i don’t want anyone feeling like they have to walk on eggshells around me, especially those of you who regularly write/interact with nsfw content!! i’m sensitive to quite a few smut tropes and dc topics, but still an avid supporter of smut/dc writers, and very anti-censorship in general :)

✦ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰?

minors can follow and interact, but once again; please please mind any suggestive/potential dark content that i might rb or write!! :’) i would ask that you stick to the sfw stuff for my peace of mind… i don’t curate this blog to be a safe space for anyone other than myself, so i can never guarantee that the content i post is suited to you + won’t make you uncomfortable — if it does, then you’re always more than encouraged to unfollow/block! i never take it personally, so please don’t hesitate!!! even if this blog is typically on the sweet side, it’s still run by an adult!!!

in the same vein, bloggers who write/interact with smut and dark content are always welcome to follow/interact — just please mind my own boundaries and understand that i might not be comfortable following back depending on how sensitive i am to the particular content you post, and how you tag it!! it’s never ever personal, just for the sake of curating my own safe space on this website <3 but i’d love to chat with you either way!

this seems like a good place to say that i thoroughly support blocking, softblocking & unfollowing for any reason at all!! if my content makes you uncomfortable, or if you find me annoying, or if i’m spamming your dash — or anything else — pleaseeee do whatever you want to do!! never feel pressured to follow me just because you like my writing, or because we’re mutuals, or for any other reason. i will literally never ever take it personally!!

✦ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬

i don’t take requests, but you’re always more than welcome to drop by my inbox with brainrot or concepts <33 or for any other reason at all!! i don’t bite!!! (neither do the mice…. probably……..)

if you’d like to pick an emoji or title to go with your asks, then feel free :3 so far these are my anons:

🐑 , 🌙 , 🌖 , 🍰 , 🐟 , 🦐 , 🌺 , 🪷 , ❄️ , 🍓 , 🪄, 🐰 , 🎀 , 🧸🍪 , 🫧 , 🃏, 🌷, 🦈, 🥭, ☕️, 🪼, 🪅, 🫀, 🧠, 🙂‍↕️, 🌱, 🪐, 🐰🩺, sleepy anon, stsg anon and arinon!!

with that being said: please don’t send me hateful asks, whether they’re directed towards me or any other creators + asks with uncredited fanart attached!! i’ll delete them and block you based on the severity of the ask :’) please understand. and please keep in mind that my brain is a big mess — sometimes i might answer your ask instantly, other times it could take me weeks. it never has anything to do with you or your asks, i promise!! i love receiving them and thinking about them 🥹 just pls be patient with me!!!!

✦ 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮����𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬

many of my favorite characters are awful human beings <3 i’m a lover of all villains and that extends to characters like kenjaku and sukuna, but also ones like makima (csm) and mori (bsd)!! 

if that makes you uncomfortable, or if you think that equates to me condoning their actions / that liking them reflects my morality irl, then please block me!! i post about my blorbos regularly, and i’d hate to make anyone uncomfortable, but this is my little blog bubble at the end of the day. look after yourselves!

✦ 𝐝𝐧𝐢

last, but not least; please do not interact if you are bigoted (racist, ableist, queerphobic, misogynistic, pro-israel, etc) + if you harass people over the fictional content they create or consume!! (under any circumstances)!!!!

(thank you sm for taking the time to read all this, i appreciate it more than you know 🥹 if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask/dm!! i hope i made everything clear & concise!!!)

[dragons-clause]

The Dragon's Clause

Sabo x Fem Reader CW: Forced marriage, intrigue, character death, fantasy violence, blood, magic, language, smut, 18+ mdni

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @manachiichan @sleepykittycx

Chapter 14: Unanimous

Sabo stood outside your door for a long moment.

“I cannot imagine tiring of hearing you speak.”

He was still trying to process what you had said, and his entire being had stuttered. No one had ever flirted with him before. Teased him, certainly, even with the most loving of intentions, but everyone in a position to become Grand Duchess, every noble lady he’d the misfortune to meet, could barely stand to look at him.

He’d noticed some time ago that you had no such issue, but he was, admittedly, scared to give it much thought.

Having chalked it up to your unique upbringing, and spending years at the northern border of your own kingdom, he pushed it out of his mind for the most part. You were a warrior before you were a noble, in tact and fashion both, though you played well the part of nobility it wasn’t what you were. No more than it was something he was, despite his role.

The sight of your eyes, shy and honest, were burned into his mind. He wanted to say something. To knock on your door, or call out to you, to prolong the evening. To spend more time with you even if it was going to be painfully awkward.

He’d been fond of you since the two of you sparred, but he’d tucked anything more than polite appreciation away. Nobles rarely loved as most would know it. There was a transactional necessity involved with marriage, and he’d been raised to view it as more of a pragmatic partnership. The running of a noble household was akin to a business in and of itself, after all.

Having a reliable partner could make or break an entire family’s legacy.

Kingdoms had risen and fallen over couples whose love may never have been even the least bit romantic, but whose chemistry was either disastrous or impeccable. Love happened. There was nothing wrong with it, and there was nothing wrong to exist together without it, but it wasn’t something one expected.

Certainly not as the Grand Duke.

His position was so demanding for the sake of the kingdom and the border. It was almost impossible to think that he’d be able to marry who he wanted. Such that he’d never turned down any of the noble ladies that his father had sent to his door. It wasn’t his place to make such a choice.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he steps away from your door, letting his boots click against the floor. There’d been no sound from you, and maybe his proximity was a little too much at the moment. He needed to go clear his head before he let himself do anything else.

Including thinking more on why you didn’t look away.

“Your grace I-.”

“Hells!” Sabo nearly shrieks, Koala’s voice and presence startling him. He hadn’t realized how much you had discombobulated him. Closing his eyes he wills himself to calm down before letting out a breath and looking over at Koala.

The look on her face makes him groan despite his efforts.

Koala looks, and feels, like that cat that caught the canary, and she’s not even trying to hide it. Her cat-like gaze shifts from him to down the hall and the glee in her features expands.

“Ooooh?” She inquires musically.

“What were you saying before?” He prompts, and feels himself relax as she lets him change the subject.

“We’ve been receiving plenty of positive responses for the engagement party, your grace.” She explains, handing over the list. “The expected turn out from other countries isn’t a surprise, but it seems, with rare exception, most of Goa’s nobility will be in attendance.”

“Despite my parents decline?”

Koala nods. “I can’t say if they’re coming with ill-intentions, or if they’re simply curious about the Lady Lulusia, but there’s only a few who declined, and those houses can barely afford the teleportation costs, so it wasn’t surprising.”

“Hm. Offer to cover the fees for them and see if they’re inclined to attend.”

Koala’s eyes go wide for a second. “As you wish, your grace. Perhaps the Lady has inspired this unique kind of generosity?”

“Hardly.” He insists, eyes still scanning the list. “But utilizing a perceived change in The Grand Duke at this point would be useful. We’ll show as many of the kingdom’s nobles as possible that the,” he grimaces a little as he continues. “Wisdom of the King is nearly miraculous.”

“You’re standing against Sterry then?”

Sabo shakes his head. “I wasn’t standing with him in the first place, but I want him to know what kind of leverage he’s dealing with. Our parents have him convinced I’m a tool to be directed at their whims, because I’ve let them think that. Before he does anything ill-considered, I want to be a reason he stops and thinks.”

Sabo taps the list. “Reach out to the Desert King too. Within reason I want him to attend.”

“… Not the Red Demon?”

He shakes his head. “Luffy and Ace have strong ties with him. And those two aren’t at odds with one another, so I’m not shunning one by currying favor with the other. I just want that merchant to consider my coffers a safer bet than the King’s.”

“Alright, I’ll reach out and make sure he’s aware, and reasonably enticed.” She agrees, keeping her eyes on his face.

There’s a long silence, and Sabo realizes she hasn’t so much as blinked. It’s unsettling, but he can’t leave it as is. Retreat, at this point, would only send Koala to your room. Not that you couldn’t defend yourself, but in this situation, well. Better him than you.

“… Koala?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Is there, perhaps, something on your mind that you’d like to ask me?” He questions, practically rolling his eyes before he returns her gaze.

“Whatever could you possibly - yes, there is.” She shifts gears before Sabo can dismiss her and continues with a grin. “I’ve never seen you so distracted, but since you had the goofiest grin on your face -.”

“Koala-.”

“I know it wasn’t a fight you two had. So tell me about it.”

Sabo smiles, his gaze turned away in memory, and Koala can feel her cheeks heating up. In all the years of knowing the young Duke, she’s never seen him smile like that. Sabo clears his throat, handing back the list and turning away, the corners of the smile still on his lips.

“She simply complimented my voice, Koala. Nothing more.”

Sabo continues down the hall, letting his mind wander once more. He’s careful to not get lost in his thoughts so completely again, checking in with Hack and Karasu before turning in for the night. Terrible memories of his past mingle like ghosts against his memories of you.

“Useless brat! Take the title of Grand Duke then, and begone to the northern border. We’ll see if your foolishness persists in the face of the beasts and bare rock there!”

There was far more than bare rock here. It was almost laughable how little his father knew of his own kingdom. The city of Aquilegia wasn’t as grand as the capital, and barely qualified as a city, but the fields were well-protected, and the hearty people of the territory knew what was needed to survive the harsher winters.

“I see. Shall I cease with training your guards then?”

The look you’d given him at the time had caught him off guard. How could look at him so easily? How were you so fearless in the face of the Scarred Beast of the North?

“He’s caught a fever from the burns? Bah, do as you will, if he doesn’t survive the night I won’t hold you responsible.”

Flames licked along Sabo’s fingers idly. The memory no longer brought him physical pain, but he still felt the need to remind himself that he controlled the fires now. No one would ever burn him that way ever again.

“You’re a little slower than I expected, my lord.”

He hadn’t had the chance to spar with you since then. There’d been too much to do, and he’d barely had time enough to help you with your training. Melding magic and sword. You were making progress. If he held back the next time you sparred, he might not recover.

“Perhaps having someone to spur you into action will help? Meet your brother, the crown prince of Goa. If you can surpass him on your own merits, I may reconsider.”

Whatever was going through Sterry’s head had long been a mystery. At one point the two of them were close. Almost truly brotherly. Was it time in the academy that had changed that? Sterry had helped tend to his burns when even his parents had forsaken him. The two had agreed to make Goa better, even if it meant taking drastic measures.

“… You are far more considerate than I’d been led to believe, it seems.”

Not for anyone else. His civility had danced on the edges of what was acceptable for at least six years. It hadn’t taken long for him to garner his current reputation, even if it only existed within the nobility. The people of the city loved him, and so did the estate staff. Even some of the commoners in the capital hailed him as a hero for his border work, for his strength.

But no other noble lady thought of him as considerate.

“It’s the beast of the north.”“Did you hear what he did to the Lady Talia?”“Who cares what he has to say.”“What a brute.”“I don’t understand why the King tolerates him.”“Have you seen those scars?”“If it wasn’t for his defense of the border…”

It was hard for the words to truly bother him, since it was by design that people thought of him thus. Some of it was because he wanted to quash rumors that he was vying for the throne. There was nothing worse to his plans than the notion that he’d be competing with Sterry for the crown.

“It’s comfortable here. I find I rather like it.”

He puts his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. The way you make him feel is dangerous. He’s torn between wanting to keep you at a distance so he can think clearly, and wanting to keep you close so he can think clearly. It’s almost maddening, except that your presence is so calming.

“Sabo, as both your mother, and the Queen, you disappoint me.”

The memory fades and he stands in his room for a moment. Already your voice and your words were far louder in his head than anything else. You hadn’t even said anything world-shattering, but the voices that seemed to want to drown him not even two months ago were so small now.

There was no consuming cacophony of overlapping voices, just the shifting and fading murmurs of people who no longer mattered. People who, by all rights, shouldn’t have mattered long before now.

“Your Grace.”“Yes Duke?”“- the KIND Grand Duke-.”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sabo sighs. The wistful sound is foreign to his own ears, but he’s lost in his thoughts enough to barely notice.

“I wonder… what would my name sound like?” A rough finger slips across his lower lip, and it snaps him out of his thoughts. The sensation had startled him, but he’d been the one to do it, hand moving apparently of its own volition.

Understanding dawns on him as he flops back onto the bed with an even heavier sigh.

“I want to kiss her.”

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 8

Cw: ageism, mentions of the Dark Days

Rose and Aveline belong to @justrainandcoffee

Tagging: @justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @call-sign-shark

Eva puts herself to good use, using her talent for horticulture as an excuse to visit the farm and spend time there ---she did run out of space at the victor village at least that part wasn’t a lie. She plants, hires workers to raise the animals and till the fields and makes it known that all the things produced there were free to all.

Her aunt had joked and said she should try to run for office, as if they weren’t all rigged anyways. Eva could do it, if victors were allowed to use their influence for anything less ornamental, but the Capitol fears what a victor could do.

She needs a way to chart how far this trail went into Two and Eleven. There were enough ruins to provide a good enough cover, but Eva feared the beasts ---both natural and the mutts--- that roamed these borders. Even worse, what sort of hell the President would punish her with.

Eva does not risk going past the first sign of danger, especially armed with only a walking stick and small pack.

Districts were carved out in ways where you’d be in the wilds for a few stretches to deter any type of travel not sanctioned by the Capitol after the Dark Days. Her grandma remembered how towns used to be here and when the borders weren’t fenced off like that. Even the desert had towns and cities that hosted capitol and district alike.

But then the Capitol started hoarding the things the districts had and began leaving them out of the government. 13, being the more powerful district with great cities and nuclear weapons, retaliated and losing more than just the war. All dead, everything ruined and a cruel punishment to keep it from happening again.

10 had been amongst the last to rebel, their usual caution and fears of repercussions had them wait until they felt victory in their bones. If they’d known Two’s mountains were impregnable, they would’ve never rebelled.

But they had and now they’re all being punished for it 68 years later.

Eva makes her way back to the farm cautiously, careful to avoid leaving tracks that would incriminate her. She is not prepared for what she finds waiting for her on the porch.

“How?” Eva asked, fearing they’d be caught in minutes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if you knew, kid.” Tall, blonde and dressed in simple but sturdy clothing, sitting in her rocking chair to boot. Lyme, Jack’s fellow victor and mentor, had come.

“She could be our symbol.” Clemens suggests as they chat over dinner with their strange new guest.

So many traitors sitting at this table. If Shelby wanted to, he could have them all killed, but he won’t. He wasn’t Snow’s lackey like his predecessor was, he has a secret goodness he cannot hide.

Why else would he fight over Cashmere to keep her off the roster? Why else would he cover up Eva’s fling with Jack? Why else would he have the woman who took Finnick’s innocence murdered in broad daylight?

This man was one of them. She’d known it from the day she saw him.

“No, she lacks the marketability.” Plutarch Heavensbee shook his head. “She’s charming and good looking, but her story isn’t very inspiring. For fucks sake no one even bet for her, nor did she have a single sponsor.”

And while she cared for Eva, not many saw what she saw in her. Not many remember Lucy Gray Baird, especially her own district.

“Her affair with Nelson could help.” Fulvia comments only to be shot down by her boss.

“Districts hate 2, besides she killed his brother and that makes the whole thing unpalatable to everyone even us.”

Unpalatable.

Same thing Tigris was called when they fired her.

Her modifications were seen as stunning and beautiful when she was young, but when age began to take its course, she was mocked and greeted with disgusted looks even from the Capitol who once embraced her.

Coriolanus had gleefully told her why she was being fired, claimed he had received complaints from both the districts and her own protégé, Eva. The last had been a lie, Eva drunk out of her mind at the second stop of her tour had told her to her face that she loathed her for making her kill Laurie.

“She’s not your symbol because the time isn’t right yet, Heavensbee.” Shelby narrows his eyes at the word ‘unpalatable’ as well, his entire life he has been branded with that. His marriage to Grace had proved he would never be able to remove the label, not while the old families still rule. “We will worry about that later, for now we need to find ways to recruit more victors to our cause. They have sway with their own districts, most of them. So far, we have Lyme in 2, Solomons in 9 and if Lyme’s mission is a success, we may have 10 on our side.”

His idea had merit. To use the mentors and other victors to build a network of spies and agents for the rebellion they are building up, to use their influence and hatred for the system to gain followers.

An uphill battle for those in districts loyal to the capitol and a walk in the park for those who aren’t. 10 needed more pushing than its counterparts given how close they are to here, but it was not as impossible as Lyme getting her people to listen.

Jack and his mother had some standing, Atia Nelson worked inside the mountain and flirted with treason. He would join them if Eva got him to, just like Rose, the stylist for 9, convinced Alfie to meet with them despite the risks.

Aveline trusted Seeder and Chaff and the restrictions 11 had didn’t need much pushing to join them. They’d be the first to rebel just as they had done 67 years ago.

The time was coming, Tigris could feel it in her bones.

“How far does it go into your district?” Eva asks the blonde mentor who has yet to convince her to join her.

“Can’t tell until you give me your answer, Smith.” Lyme takes no shit from anyone, made her a force to be reckoned with. That combined with her training made her unmovable.

“Its not just me who dies if this fails, ma’am. I don’t follow blindly, I need to know everything and see if its worth the risk I’m taking.” Eva knows they need a better future with the games gone and Snow dead, but it’s too much of a risk.

They didn’t win the first time, what makes them think they can win on the second try?

“The dinner Mr. Shelby had you get Clemens to organize, it wasn’t just for gambling purposes. They’re all like us.” Lyme gives no hint at her patience wearing thin as she answers Eva’s questions.

“Cardew is Snow’s great-niece.” The dark haired victor points out.

“By marriage, no blood relation and whatever she’s seen behind closed doors was enough for her to join. Shelby is not like Luca, Tigris is his cousin and you don’t seem to have a problem with that.” The blonde points out.

Touché.

“Does Jack know?” Eva finally asks the question that’s burning in her mind since Lyme arrived.

“Not yet.” Maybe not ever, not if you aren’t there. Lyme doesn’t say it, but Eva can hear it just the same.

Jack may hate the games, but he has his family to think of. To join you must accept you and your family could die in the process and even that those deaths will be in vain.

The cemetery was full of brave and drunks, her grandma was fond of saying, said so when Alan volunteered in Gabriel’s place and the train took him to his death.

But Eva’s been dead since that train took her to the glittering slaughterhouse beyond the mountains, Eva’s cousins consider having children something unthinkable thanks to the games and Tigris did manage to have a winning strategy, as loath as she is to admit it.

“I agree to join you on one condition. You must bring Jack next time you visit.”

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober Day 12 The Fall Rating General Audiences CW's/Tags Insomnia, Nightmares, Not so well adjusted Soap, Somewhat well adjusted Ghost, Tactical Cuddling, pre-relationship Characters John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley Summary

It's kind of shit, any tea is, but Ghost gave it to him, so he won't complain. "Uh…" He licks his lips, eyes turning back down to regard the dark liquid in his cup. Huh, the color wasn't so far off from Ghosts.

He's exhausted.

At this point, he's lost count of the hours he's been awake.

Or should he classify it as days now? He's certainly well over 48 hours.

It must be noticeable too, because Gaz won't stop giving him these concerned looks, And Price has this somber expression every time he sees him.

It looks like understanding, and Soap hates it. Makes him feel… seen

And then, of course, there's Ghost.

Ghost sees it the most, half the time he's sitting in the rec room when Soap toddles in, eyes bloodshot from a scant bit of sleep that ends in nightmares.

At first, he didn't comment, just offered him tea and his presence.

But as it continued, Soap watched his concern grow, becoming more blatant. Until it finally spilled over like a boiling kettle.

"Johnny, how much sleep have you had this week?" Soap blinks, lifting his eyes to meet heavy browns as he cradles a cup of tea that he thinks is Yorkshire gold.

It's kind of shit, any tea is, but Ghost gave it to him, so he won't complain.

"Uh…" He licks his lips, eyes turning back down to regard the dark liquid in his cup.

Huh, the color wasn't so far off from Ghosts.

"Handful of hours, I think." He's not sure what prompts honesty, because he's lied through his teeth to everyone else to avoid medical.

He'll blame it on the exhaustion.

"Nightmares?" Ghost's voice is soft, making something pang in Soap's chest as his head sags further.

Wind, rain, shouting, explosions, American and Iranian, bullets, blood, pain, that terrifying feeling of his stomach rising into his throat from weightlessness.

"Y-yeah." He manages to croak, lips thin as he tries to suppress the tremble in his hands.

Ghost stays silent for a long moment, but Soap can feel the heavy weight of his gaze, and his judgment.

"You need to sleep, Soap." He can't help the way his brow furrows, glaring at his Lieutenant just a bit as he opens his mouth in refute. But he badgers on. "I know you know, but I'm serious Johnny, exhaustion'll kill ya just as fuckin dead as the drop would have." And that stills him, has his mouth snapping shut as he drops his eyes back to the table.

The drop.

It's not, a trigger. But fuck, just thinking about the fall makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I-I know." He manages again, hating the way his voice cracks, hating the situation. He's a fucking soldier, for Christ's sake.

Even Ghost, a man with far more trauma than Soap, manages to reign himself in. He sleeps enough to be functional and manages.

Right now it feels like he can't manage anything, not even himself. He's too busy dragging himself through the proverbial mud to notice that Ghosts gone silent again, calculating.

Then, "Up." It's barked, but done so softly, as Ghost pushes himself upright.

Soap can't help himself, a confused noise escaping him as he thinks his cup down and feels a hand clamp around his bicep and lift.

He's practically dragged out of the little chair and then left with a gentle touch toward the couch.

"Lay down." He's pushed, nudged more like, until his ass drops onto the cushions, blinking wide-eyed and confused at his looking Lieutenant. Silence falls again, and Ghost looks almost… nervous.

It'd be cute if the idea of Ghost being nervous didn't terrify him.

"Sir?" That seems to get his attention back, and he blinks, refocusing as he lets out a soft huff.

"Gonna try something, and if it makes you uncomfortable, we'll stop." What? Soap doesn't get a chance to ask what it is, before Ghost lowers himself over him, straddling his thighs before he stretches out, falling over him like a very heavy weighted blanket.

He can help his startled squeak, shrinking himself into the cushions as Ghost bullies his way into the remaining space, laid half over Soap as he curls an arm under his head and lets the other dangle off the edge of the couch.

"Solid?" Soap doesn't trust his own voice, just nods with reddened cheeks and wide eyes as Ghost's head settles onto the couch arm beside his own, chin brushing the sides of his shorn scalp. The longer he lays there, he can't help but wonder if this is what it's like to be lain on by a big cat.

Heavy, warm, and purring contentedly.

Or, in Ghosts case, a soft hum.

There's a small part of Soap that wants to argue that this can't be comfortable for him, that neither of them are going to sleep this way.

But his eyelids are already drooping, exhaustion finally rolling up and over him in a tidal wave of darkness.

And if Gaz snaps a picture of the sleeping pair before he wakes them the next morning, that's no one's business but his and his password-protected phone folder.

[sheopens]

TEACH ME NOT TO FADE -------- i am terrified of touching people who will forget my name in the morning sun, teach me to believe that i am made of such strong identity that i cannot be undone, that something in me is permanent, that i cannot be forgotten. TEACH ME THAT I MEAN SOMETHING.

🗝️ #SHEOPENS ---- a private low activity ( lower than a rat's tummy low ) writing blog for LADY DOOR from n. gaiman's novel neverwhere by evie, 30+, eastern. blog & canon heavily affiliated with @graveycrd's nobody owens.

rules are below the cut!

001.  this blog is very low activity. she's a muse that comes and goes as she likes, so i just go along with her. this of course means that following / following back will always be at my discretion, and might take a little bit of time for me to do. just bear with me when it comes to speed 💜 as it states above, i'm 30+, which means i won't be interacting with writers under the age of 21.

002. all the general rpc stuff applies on here -- icons and edits are mine, gifs used are not but are credited. please don't steal either / any. don't godmod, don't be rude, don't be gross. drama is a hard pass for me. i really don't want to see it, and i definitely don't want to be a part of it. i don't mind using the block button or unfollowing if i need to. i use icons or rp - sized gifs in my replies; small text and the occasional splash of color if i remember to use that formatter .... on your end, i don't mind how you format or if you use icons or not, and more often than not i'll default to matching your style for the sake of continuity ( and it just makes my brain happy, y'know? ) all i ask is please cut your posts.

003. door's main verse is set within what i like to call the GLU, aka the gai.man literary universe. which means i basically see all his works living together in the same universe -- so sandman, good omens, american gods, all of those are sandboxes to play within. there's also a heavy urban fantasy element to neverwhere, so there will be dark themes present & mentions will be tagged as 'trigger here tw' or 'trigger here cw'. anything suggestive or sex.ual in nature will be tagged as nsft. if there is something else you would like to be tagged, please let me know!

004. plotting is highly encouraged! im's are always open for a chat. memes are also a fantastic way to start interactions! i'm also happy to, and i love the challenge of, coming up with au's and crossovers for door. she comes from a small fandom to begin with, so i'm happy to toss her into the world of your muse too. so please come to me with any/all ideas for crossovers and the like. love love love them.

005. graphics / icons are my own using PSD lavender by jikooklover on deviantart. gifs for replies are taken from the following packs tagged on my sideblog under 'resources'. 

[ofmagiick]

pinned post and docs tba, but for now here's the html of the rules on my theme until i can get other admin stuff done:

laws

I.

SELECTIVITY / FOLLOWING - this is a selective blog for my sake, but honestly, if i can see us writing, i will follow back. i am mutuals only, though, and will have anxiety about sending you things if we aren’t, even if you’re cool. i'm iffy on doubles, just because i myself am very self-conscious. it’s a personal thing, chances are i thing your writing is fucking dope.

II.

CROSSOVERS / OC MUSES - two words: fuck. yeah. star wars lends itself to crossovers hella well, we can figure this shit out in a hot second. plus, the galaxy is so vast and diverse, i want to explore more of this universe, as much as i can. as for ocs, y’all brave as fuck, and i love them. just have a rules/about page, and then we’re golden

III.

RP ETIQUETTE - you know, don’t god mod, don’t randomly kill my muse (not saying you can’t, hell, please do, just im me first), don’t reblog threads you’re not a part of, don’t relog my hc posts. and have fun.

IV.

FORMATTING / ICONS - match me, don’t, dance the macarena before posting, i don’t give a fuck. i format how i want, when i want. my icons use citrus, by apocalypseresources

V.

WRITING - kind of a slow writer, and easily distracted. poke me over ims after about two weeks, if i haven’t replied before then. not super here for rape/torture, but i have an odd like for eldritch and body horror...

VI.

GRAPHICS - all graphics on my blog are made by me/for me. give credit where credit is due. be nice. making shit is a lot harder than just throwing an image into photoshop and clicking buttons. people work hard on shit, and i will come for your knees if you don’t credit people, creators, artists, etc… i have baseball bats.

VII.

SHIPPING - fuck yeah fuck yeah fuck yeah !! you come to me with a ship, and by the time i’ve finished processing the words, i’m already hella emotionally invested. crackships are my shit, so please don’t be scared. honestly, i’ll ship pretty much anything. probably even some sketchy shit by other’s standards. if that’s a problem, hasta la vista, and sorry i don’t cut it for you.

VIII.

NSFW - i and my muse are 18+, my nsfw tag is literally ‘a girl’s got needs,’ let’s fuckin’ do this. i’ll write it, but not with minors. other, general nsfw topics might come up, due to the nature of AUs and canon events. i do try and tag as cw // or cw ment //, so please feel free to tell me things you need tagged.

IX.

PLOTTING - do it. done. if i don’t write down whatever idea i have quick enough, it will get yeeted from my head like a brick out the window fuckin adhd, so (with express permission from you) i’ll message at bizarre hours, probably. on the flip side, this is your express permission: i, lily, mun of ofmagiick, give you, [name], mun of [blog], permission to send me ims/ask with plot proposals. it’s signed and sealed as soon as you read this. no take-backsies. you gotta, now. :3c

X.

MEMES - headcanon/ask my muse questions/etc, open to all. interaction-oriented, mutuals only. no reblog karma, but if you aren’t sending me something, reblog from the source, please

XI.

ACTIVITY - it can be spotty. i’m a full-time student, adhd mess. hit me up in ims with reminders or ping me on disco/in a server, its all cool.

XII.

MAINS / EXCLUSIVES - i'm okay with mains, you'll be my go-to version of a character, and the one i'm thinking of if mine mentions yours to someone else, but that's gonna be discussed beforehand. exclusives will have to be heavily, HEAVILY discussed, and likely will be way down the line if ever.

XIII.

CALLOUTS - bitch, no. get that shit away from me. won’t post ‘em, won’t reblog ‘em. call me out if you want, i’ll screenshot it, print it out, and put it up on my wall to laugh at, and remember people are still wasting brainpower to be mad at me. if you have an issue with me, hit me up in ims/off anon, and we can talk like adults.

???

ABOUT THE MUN - what up it’s ya nerd lily with newest brainrot, this time sci-fi. pronouns are she/her or “hey you ditz”, i am legal to drink in the us and far beyond legal adult there, and i id as a goddamned fucking mess mutuals feel free to hmu for discord if you want it