#a little bit graphic ig so

[somethingsomethingwords]

So, part 2 of this. Faster than I imagined, but I really wanted to share this one. I honestly just love it. Enjoy 💜

And just like that, war is over.

The last monsters either turn into golden dust or run away from the Gods' fury.

At camp, Seb managed to protect the children. They are all safe, unharmed. They are alive.

Sebastian feels like he could cry for a week straight, then fall asleep for two months and wake up, just to start crying again.

But he still has duties.

Between the traitors and the fallen, they are gonna need every hand on deck.

First step: reassure the children.

They are four in total. The son of Apollo and the Hypnos kid are hugging so thigh he can't tell where one ends and the other starts. Then there is a daughter of Hephaestus that's just staring ahead, eyes wide and unseeing. The last one, the smallest one, his little sister, has a too heavy sword in her hand, and stands between her friends and Seb's back, the last line of defence if he was to fall.

When every threat is gone, he turns around to see all the kids are now crying, small bodies shaking with a weight that no one should bear, especially this young.

Sebastian falls to his knees, not caring about his wounds, and silently opens his arms.

The children rush to him, and the hug is like a balm for his battered heart.

This is why he stayed, to protect their futures.

When he disentangles himself from the hug, kids still clinging together, he looks around.

No one has returned, and he doesn't know what these old half burnt half destroyed wooden buildings could do to help even if they had.

He is about to stand up and start some sort of triage zone for the wayward wounded, when he feels his pant leg being pulled. His eyes meet the eyes of the son of Apollo, who left the arms of his friend but not their hand.

"I think we should go to the city"

He is shocked by this. The idea of bringing literal children to a battlefield horrifies him. He is about to firmly shut down the idea, when his sister speaks.

"We are useless here. There, we can help" as if it's normal, even expected, for these preteens to witness the horrors of the war.

"No, I'm not taking you. It's too dangerous" he hates the idea so much.

"We can help. We have to. We can heal them, or help them sleep" says the small child of Hypnos, and he hates that they are starting to convince him. After all, he has his own reasons for wanting to be there. Namely a pair of green eyes and two of the cutest dimples ever.

The last kid, the one that still hasn't spoken, is the final nail to the coffin.

"I know where we can find a car" she simply says, starting moving towards Hades knows where.

He'll just have to follow them and drive then. He doesn't even have a driving licence, for fuck's sake.

So he makes a plan. He is taking the children to the city. But first, he stops to prepare five bags with as many packs of ambrosia, bags of nectar and gauze as he can.

After giving one to each of the children, they start walking towards the car. There is no point in just waiting around, he tries to convince himself.

The car ride is bumpy, but nobody complains. They are all silently preparing for what they'll see, and storing all the energy they can master.

He leaves the car somewhere, and starts just going. He will find what he is looking for soon enough. It's destiny, after all, and he promised.

After two turns, they can see an improvised medic camp.

With his hands full of the smaller ones, he gets closer.

The first to notice them is Lewis. The son of Apollo looks exhausted, face pale and hands glowing. But when he is near, they just hug for the longest second ever.

"Seb, what.." starts saying Lewis, but his own brother interrupts him.

"We are here to help, Lew. I can help with small wounds so you can focus on the big ones, and Oscar can help people sleep, if we can't help them" Lando sounds so logical, and Sebastian really hates everything that led to this moment.

Lewis looks at the kids, then nods, sad.

"Ok. But I want you to never separate from each other, ok? You four stay together" the four demigods nod rapidly, only to disappear in the chaos.

Seb goes to follow them, but is soon stopped by Lewis.

He just looks at his friend in the eyes.

"Where is he?" he finally asks, needing to know what happened to Charles.

"I don't know. We saw you, well him, coming with your armour and making plans with some of the Athena's kids, then splitting his group and attacking" Lewis slowly shakes his head.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he will not be useless as he was for the actual fight.

"Yeah, go find him. Bring him back, or carry his body back to us" with one final nod, Lewis disappears, going to heal as many people as he can.

Sebastian starts walking. He sees friends impaled and foes torn apart. A blond head without half of its body makes his heart stop. He thinks he recognises every body he sees, and he'll never be able to forget a single second of this, but none of them is the son of Aphrodite.

He keeps walking. He goes on and on and on for what feels like centuries, then a small sound makes him turn his head towards one of the lateral streets. There, sitting with a child under his right arm and another one with their head on his leg, that's where Seb sees Charles.

From this far away he can't tell if he is alive or not, so he moves as fast as his leg allows him towards the trio.

He must make some kind of noise, because the child quickly turns her head towards him and raises Charles' dagger, the black metal shiny in her shaking hands.

"Arrêtez-vous. Stop there, don't come closer" says the kid, shaking with fear but still protective of the other. Sebastian feels his heart warm just a bit. His lover has always been able to inspire absolute loyalty even after just a few minutes of people meeting him.

So he stops, and drops to his knees.

"Bonjour, je suis Sebastian. Charles est mon petit copain. Can I get closer, so I can help him?" he hopes his french is not so bad that the girl can't understand him. Charles was giving him lessons, but when he heard him speak his native language there was very little attention dedicated to learning, and a lot of focus on kissing.

The little one does a one eighty. She widens her eyes and drops the blade.

"You are Seb? He was talking about you before falling asleep. I tried to talk to him, but he said he was tired" the kid is now almost crying.

Seb walks closer and kneels in front of the girl.

"You did a wonderful job staying with him and protecting him. Now I'll take care of him" he tries to comfort the kid giving her a smile.

Then he looks at Charles, and everything stops.

His face is pale and with a bad cut from his eyebrow to his chin touching the left eye and his mouth and barely missing his nose; his chest, now free from his breastplate, is slashed open and his right leg lies at a strange angle.

And he has no idea what his internal conditions are.

When he goes to touch him, Seb sees Charles' right eye opening.

His lips mouth his name, but he emits no sound. Then his head minutely moves toward the body on his left leg.

How are they doing? I can't see, Charles seems to say. It breaks Sebastian's heart all over again.

When he looks at the body lying, he can see they are pale and not breathing.

He looks at Charles and shakes his head. Twin tears fall from his eyes, one salty water and the other bloody.

He slowly reaches towards the body, and lifts their head from Charles' leg to the pavement.

"Hey, what do you think about helping me carry him to the medical tents? There my friends will help him" he says calmly to the girl.

She starts shaking her head, and he frowns.

"I can't go back to camp. I have been bad. I followed my sister. I knew she was wrong but I still left. I can't " she starts crying, and starts to stand up and leave.

"Pierre, don't" starts Charles, trying to stop her.

Sebastian and her both stop breathing when he lets out a pained whine.

"You didn't hurt anyone and it's not your fault for your sister's choices" explains Sebastian, taking her hand and lightly squeezing.

Together, they manage to make Charles stand up, then as carefully as he can, Sebastian picks him up. He starts walking slowly towards the tents, two different hands holding his orange t-shirt, but he accelerates when he distinctly feels Charles' hand going lax.

They quickly reach the improvised hospital, and there Seb quickly finds Lewis already looking in their direction.

When he gets close enough, he deposits Charles on a makeshift operating table. He wasn't going to leave his side, but then he remembers Pierre.

Her big eyes are now watery, and he can clearly see she is holding her right arm.

After a silent conversation with Lewis, he takes her to the other kids.

Logan and Oscar are napping, while Lando seems to be rapidly falling asleep. Yuki stands guard, her face firm and fists tight.

When Lando sees Seb, he suddenly stands up.

"You're back" he says simply, half happy half surprised.

"Yes, and I brought a friend. She is Pierre, and she has a cut on her arm. Can you help her?"

"There is no need" says Pierre quickly, shaking her head. But the boy won't let go of her left hand, holding it tightly but gently, so Sebastian leaves them together.

He walks around the tent, not really seeing anything, too focused on where he needs to be.

When he reaches Lewis, his face tells him everything he needs to know. The situation is bad, and the son of Apollo doesn't know if Charles will survive.

Sebastian feels all the bones in his body shatter. After everything that has happened, he will get his happy ending.

He and Charles will go to college, studying environmental science and architecture respectively.

They will find an apartment and move together.

This is not the end. It cannot be.

So he just sits on a chair next to the table Charles is lying on, Lewis still stitching him up and muttering curses as much as prayers, and he himself starts praying to whichever divinity can help, no matter what pantheon they belong to.

He just needs this one favour, this one miracle.

Sebastian doesn't know how long he sits, but it must have been a while. So long he even falls asleep. He only wakes up because the kids arrive, looking dishevelled and tired. So he drops on the ground and just opens his arms. They are soon filled with little bodies.

After shuffling for a bit, they settle down. Skin contact is so needed and appreciated.

He spends the rest of the time watching in front of himself without seeing, and carding his hand through somebody's hair.

He only startles when Charles begins twitching.

He gently pushes the kids off his body, and goes to hold the other's hand.

He is now trembling so much he almost falls off the table.

Then, when he seems to have calmed down, Charles lets out the most animalistic scream of raw pain, back painfully arched, and collapses on the table.

[skitskatdacat63]

THE WAY THEY SPARKLE IN TOO 😭

[embrosegraves]

𝕆𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝔹𝔽, ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝔾𝔽

Mick Schumacher x Reader  Mick's hard soft launch gets a tad spicy "I would apologise but that implies that I regret what happened."

Notes: its implied that a risque video was posted to Mick's ig story but nothing gets graphic, just a bit suggestive

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yn.ln Even our shadows love each other 🥰

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yourBestie Shadow Boy is good for you ↪ yn.ln I'm telling him you said that ↪ yourBestie NO DON'T HE'LL THINK I LIKE HIM NOW ↪ yn.ln Too late 😀 - Shadow Boy

userOne Ain't no way we lost her to a man

userTwo I was afraid this day would come 😭💔

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mickschumacher 🔓 -> 🔒

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gina_schumacher How did you get her to fall for you ↪ mickschumacher I fell for his silly goofy smile - (◔◡◔) ↪ gina_schumacher that doesn't surprise me

mercedesamgf1 🔥

userThree sad day to be a mick girlie ✊😔

userFour 😭i'm😭so😭happy😭for😭you😭

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yn.ln My dad approves 🫶

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YourBestie If only your dad knew what you tell me about Shadow Boy ↪ yn.ln Then it's a good thing you're never going to tell him 🔪 ↪ YourBestie Yes Ma'am 🫡🫡

userTwo see what I mean userFive ??? ↪ userFive I so thought you were lying 😭😭😭

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yn.ln Obsessed Bf 🤝 Beautiful, Stunning, Gorgeous Gf

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mickschumacher I mean I would apologise, but that implies that I regret telling the world about my Beautiful, Stunning, Gorgeous, Absolutely Breath-taking girlfriend. Which I don't.

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YourBestie I'm so glad ig stories go away after 24 hours ↪ mickschumacher oh I made a highlight just for that story ↪ YourBestie I hate you sm

gina_schumacher Little Brother all grown up 🥲 ↪ yn.ln all GROWN up ifkwim 😏 ↪ YourBestie EW EW EW EW EW EW ↪ yn.ln 🤭🤭

welp. there's that.

i hope you enjoyed!

as usual, likes replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[mopopshop]

EX

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself to fall asleep. It's been a long day, and you just want to drift off into oblivion. But your phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the silence. You glance over, your eyes rolling obnoxiously when you see Paige's name on the screen. 

"Hello?" you answer annoyed.

"Hey," Paige's voice comes through, smooth and confident as always. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Do you need something?," you reply, trying to cut the call short.

"Just thinking about you," she says, a hint of a smirk in her tone. "Missed our late-night chats, we haven’t talked in a while”

You roll your eyes, but you can't deny the flutter in your chest. "For a reason. Paige.”

"You can stop pretending like you don’t miss me," she says smugly. "It’s just— how’re you  doing? How’s your new girl? What's her name again? Jenna?"

"It's Jada," you correct her. "And she's great, actually."

"Jada… right," Paige says, dragging out the name as if it's unfamiliar to her. "So, what does she do again? I forget."

"She's a graphic designer," you reply, not exactly knowing why you’re still engaging in this conversation but you answer anyway, feeling defensive. "She's really talented."

"Mm-hmm," Paige hums, clearly uninterested. "You know, I saw her IG. She’s... cute, I guess."

"Paige," you warn, but she continues, undeterred.

"I mean, she seems nice and all, but don't you get bored? She's so... vanilla," Paige taunts. "You and I, we were… shit baby just thinking about it I-“ she chuckles, sighing and seemingly remembering the times you were together. “You telling me you don’t miss that? Us?"

You clench your jaw, trying to keep your cool. "Jada makes me happy, Paige. Can you just accept that?”

Paige laughs softly, and you can practically see her shaking her head. "I mean… sure, if you say so. But let's be real, baby. You can't replace me that easily. No one knows you like I do."

You feel a pang in your chest at her words. There's truth in them, and that's what hurts the most. "Why the fuck can’t you just let me move on?"

"Because," she admits, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't let you go. I can't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try"

You sigh, feeling the weight of her confession. "You need to stop calling me"

"I know," she says, sounding genuinely remorseful. "But it's so hard, you know? I see you with her, and it kills me. I just... I miss you."

You close your eyes, fighting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I… I miss you too," you admit softly. "but— we aren’t together anymore, like I said for a reason"

"I know," she repeats, her voice cracking slightly. "But just... humor me for a little bit longer, yeah? Talk to me, like we used to. Please."

You take a deep breath, knowing this conversation is only going to make things more complicated. But you can't help yourself. You still care about her, despite everything.

"Okay," you say quietly. "Last time P, seriously”

"Deal," she agrees, her tone perking up. "So, tell me about your day. Did anything interesting happen?"

You start talking, and for a little while, it feels like old times. But deep down, you know this can't last. Sooner or later, you'll have to make a choice. And this time, it has to be the right one.

———

[lovelyhan]

Hii!! minghao + "oh really?" / "yes, really." / "lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart." from the prompts enemies to lovers? :D

— rush hour ⟢

pairing: minghao x reader

summary: you used to be good friends with the newest dancer in your agency, but your competitiveness gets the better of you when he overtakes your spot as the top performer of the month—for three straight months.

word count: 6.7k words

tags: enemies to lovers, dancer au? unresolved sexual tension, smut

warnings: promiscuous behavior in public, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: this . got really REALLY long :D like long enough to have its own header and everything LOL it probably helps that hao has been clawing his way back into my bias line these days, so the brain rot kinda just spilled out,, anyway, thank you sm for sending this in!! i hope you like it :3c

smut tags: porn with some plot ig, public sex, vaginal fingering, exhibitionism, hao is kinky as fuck, dirty talk, degradation

svt taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @spk93 - @tommolex

minghao taglist: @zeenanigans - @renjunphile - @pluviophile-xxx

Saying that you hate Xu Minghao is a bit of an overstatement. 

After all, you were the one assigned to show him the ropes when he was accepted into the agency. While you’re no professional mentor, you like to think he was able to rely on you during those first few weeks. He’s been in Seoul for a better part of two years, and although his Korean can already pass as a native’s, you knew he still struggled every now and again. It’s a good thing that verbal communication isn’t direly needed in your line of work.

Minghao was an excellent dancer—one of the best you’ve seen with your own eyes. You once took pride in having a budding prodigy like him as an understudy. Whatever steps or routines you’d ask him to try out and make his own, not only will he deliver, but he’ll blow your expectations out of the water while he’s at it, too. 

It doesn’t help that he knows his own body well enough to channel each movement with passion that makes him look alluring to everyone who dares to watch any of his performances. Minghao isn’t vain or conceited or anything like that, but he’s completely aware of how attractive he is, and that’s a trait that’s further amplified by his dancing. 

You suppose the funniest part about this senior-junior relationship you have with him is how he always asks for your input about his routines. Even if Minghao has long proved that he doesn’t even need a pseudo-mentor like you, he still takes the time to hear out whatever you have to say—eager eyes always shining every time you indulge him with an answer.

Another thing that inevitably brought the two of you closer is the fact that you both take the same train and get off at the same station. Your apartment is in a different neighborhood from his, but you find comfort in the newfound company you’ve been given since Minghao’s arrival. Though he doesn’t talk much outside discussions about work and other dance-related topics, having someone familiar to sit right next to you on the train is more than enough to quell the day’s fatigue.

Your other colleagues sometimes voice out their envious comments jokingly—saying that you’re extremely lucky to have such a hot guy as constant company. Almost always, you respond with a vigorous shake of your head before insisting that things between you and Minghao aren’t at all like that. Besides, you know better than to nurse a romantic relationship between your colleagues. You wouldn’t even let yourself have a crush on any of them. 

What they don’t know, however, is that on very rare occasions when your body feels just a little too heated, and your sheets a few threads too thick, it’s Minghao that flits into your mind as your hesitant fingers reach between your thighs. 

You touch yourself to the thought of him taking you in one of the dance studios. Specifically, in front of the full-stretch mirrors as he fucks you from behind. You imagine him whispering how good you are for him, how you’re taking his cock so, so well. 

Subverting the mere image of the kind man who constantly seeks your validation for his performance has you creaming on your own fingers within minutes, and if you weren’t such a terrible person, you would’ve felt bad for thinking about him in such an obscene light. 

Then again, what Minghao doesn’t know won’t kill him.

His first month in the agency comes and goes like the changing seasons. Next thing you know, it’s time for monthly evaluations again. 

While others would usually dread these assessments, you looked forward to them. You know that they’re less a measure of talent, and more a measure of hard work. Sure, talent could be one of the main driving factors of getting a high score, but you know better than anyone else that talent is nothing if you don’t work hard enough to cultivate it. 

That’s the kind of mindset that always landed you in the top of the rankings for every monthly evaluation.

And it’s the same mindset that puts you immediately beneath Minghao. 

The agency is always prompt with the release of the results. They’d post the typewritten scores next to the dancers’ names in the bulletin board at the ground floor cafeteria for everyone to see two days after the monthly evaluation.

It was a bit of a challenge to squeeze past the other dancers to get a good look at this month’s results—the crowd being more chatty than usual. Your closer friends insisted that you’d be number one as usual, and that you didn’t have to check at all. 

Part of you wants to believe them, but the unsettling feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach doesn’t let you become complacent. It doesn’t help that everyone around you seems like they’re sneaking glances your way—only to look away when you try to catch their gaze. 

When you finally make it to the front of the board, you notice that Minghao is already there—already dressed to kill for today’s sets and routines. His black hair is still damp like he just got out of the shower and rushed straight to work, eyes glued to the bulletin board. You would’ve let your gaze linger a bit longer on his gorgeous face, had it not been for the surprise that awaits you on that single sheet of paper plastered right in front of you.

1. Xu Minghao — 100 points

Your vision tunnels in, white noise ringing in your ears. 

You could vaguely make out the characters of your name just below Minghao’s, and just a few points from a perfect score. But you didn’t care about that. All you could focus on was the fact that you’ve been kicked out of a spot that’s been yours for as long as you can remember. 

No wonder the others were buzzing amongst themselves, flashing you brief looks before whispering their thoughts on the matter to the nearest willing ear. Not a single soul has ever garnered a hundred fucking points from monthly evaluations. The evaluators cut no corners when it came to assessing their dancers’ level of skill and technique, and seeing how they deigned to give Minghao, a complete newbie, a perfect goddamned score—

“Congratulations, bro!” 

“Minghao, you’re a fucking beast! How long did you even practice?”

“That’s so cool. No one’s ever gotten a perfect hundred before.”

“You’ve gotta tell us the secret, please!”

Like a bunch of bees, the collective of dancers start to crowd Minghao—giving him congratulatory gestures and greetings alike. Your understudy simply gazes at them as if in a daze, but ever-so slowly, a smile cracks through his typically stoic demeanor. 

“Uh, thank you…?”

He’s whisked away to the cafeteria before you can blink, and you can only watch in shocked desolation as they all usher themselves away from the board.

Away from you. 

You don’t miss the way Minghao tries to catch your gaze in the midst of it all, the smile he showcased for everyone to see falling the moment he realized you’re still rooted in place. Yet he doesn’t try to break free from the crowd, nor does he attempt to call your name out loud. 

Not that you have any plans on answering if he did.

It’s only after today’s session has concluded that Minghao manages to pull you to the side for a conversation. You’re already halfway out of the building when he catches you, and you can tell that the sheer euphoria of knowing you came out on top is still humming in his veins. 

It pisses you off.

“Thank you,” he says simply. 

“For what?” You try not to sound too gruff, but the pensiveness in your voice comes out anyway. “Letting you take my spot?”

Minghao’s grin dips into a grimace—mirroring his expression from earlier. “What? I meant to say thank you for showing me the ropes. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have—hey!”

You’re probably being immature. No, you’re definitely being immature. Instead of accepting Minghao’s gratitude like a normal fucking person, you continue brisk-walking to the building’s entrance without letting him finish. Of course, he chases after you, asking if he did anything wrong or if you’re simply in a bad mood or both. 

You don’t answer him even when he continues pestering you on the way to the train station, and he doesn’t stop despite the lack of responses from your end. It’s beginning to get on your nerves, too, because he was never this goddamn pushy during all those times you went home together. What’s stopping him from being the quiet companion he’s always been?

“Can you just shut the fuck up, Hao?” you end up snapping at him when you finally get off at your shared station—earning yourself a bunch of questioning looks from nearby commuters. “You don’t have to fucking rub it in anymore than you have. I already know the results, okay?!”

“Rubbing what in?” he asks, exasperated. “I’m just asking you what’s wrong because you don’t normally act this way. Is it so bad for me to worry about my friend?”

“Friend?” you echo mirthlessly. “No fucking friend of mine takes away what belongs to me.”

This time, when you storm off, Minghao doesn’t follow you.

Fortunately, that all happened on a Friday. It takes you the entire weekend after that heated encounter at the train station to realize that maybe you went a little overboard with what you said to Minghao. 

As you replay your conversation in your head, you’re filled with a crippling sense of embarrassment. The top spot for monthly evaluations belongs only to the best—you know this better than anyone else. The only reason that the evaluators deemed you as a second placer is because Minghao is that proficient in his dancing. 

You’re one of the people who was able to watch him closest. You’ve seen the work he put into practice firsthand. You even called him a prodigy. 

So why did you make a fool out of yourself by having a meltdown at the fact that you got beaten by someone who obviously worked harder than you did?

Hard work beats talent any day. But Minghao has both honed to perfection. 

If you’re going to reclaim your rightful spot on the top, crying about it is the last thing you should do. You’re going to have to put in double the effort to call yourself worthy.

As expected, Minghao has started to distance himself from you after that spat. You don’t blame him. As much as you wanted to apologize for your behavior that night, you wouldn’t want to remain friends with a sore loser if you were in his shoes. 

But as his second month in the agency breezes past, you notice that, not only has he distanced himself, but he’s become somewhat…hostile.

He treats everyone else the same way since he came in—stoically with a few words of affirmation here and there. You, though? It’s almost like he’s forgotten all about the time you were assigned to look after him. There’s always this cockiness lingering in his eyes that grates at your nerves more than you thought it would. He’d throw you haughty glances whenever he catches you flubbing some parts of the choreography from the corner of his eye. 

The worst part is that Minghao is more vocal now compared to when he first came in—not seeing any problem with pointing out how you’re starting to slack off during practice. 

“How are you expecting yourself to take back the crown when you’re already breathless after such a simple routine?” he gloats when he catches you lingering by the water fountain, lips curved into a smirk.

You glare at him while you take a sip from your water bottle. “Fuck you. I’ve been rehearsing all fucking day. Who wouldn’t be tired?”

“People who rank first in monthly evals,” he says boredly. “Oh, but you wouldn’t know about that, now would you? At least, not anymore.”

You’re so fucking close to tearing his face off with your own fingernails that you’re slightly grateful that Minghao gets called back onto the dancefloor to polish his group’s routine. Minghao’s constitution changes in a flash—that arrogant look he reserves for you alone making way for his usual aloof expression while he makes his way back. 

He always looks cool and amicable to others, but when no one’s looking he makes sure you catch the patronizing tilt of his lips whenever he pulls off some high level choreography with zero mistakes. As if to remind you that you’re never going to take back what he stole from you. Not in a million years. 

Okay. Maybe you do hate Xu Minghao. 

You hate him a fucking lot.

…

Minghao proves that the results he reaped from his first month in the agency are no fluke.

For three consecutive months, you’re forced to stand in front of the cafeteria’s bulletin board with his name plastered on the very top. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought that the evaluators were only editing the month indicated on top of the sheet with how stagnant the results always are. 

The agency’s rising star consistently comes out on top with little to no effort, while you’re desperately clawing your way back to glory at second place. 

You didn’t know what the fucking deal was. You worked your ass off twenty four-seven. Even if you weren’t in the studio, you made sure to study all sorts of routines and choreographies so your body would remember the movements deep into your bones. 

But then you remember that even if hard work beats talent, you can never beat a man who has both at his disposal.

You’re at your wits’ end at this point—so close to giving up on the title you thought would always belong to you. Your evasive behavior did you no favors in maintaining a good reputation among your colleagues either. If you listened to their hushed conversations closely enough, you’d catch them saying how pathetic you’re being. Ostracizing yourself all because you’re insecure that your understudy became your adversary. 

The only reason you hate what they’re saying about you behind your back is because all of it is true.

Your usual group of friends doesn’t sit with you at your usual table at the cafeteria anymore, but you don’t really mind that—learning this late into your career that silence can be more beneficial than it seems. But every time you see Minghao laughing at a joke told by one of your colleagues, you can’t help but feel that familiar bite of resentment you’ve come to associate with everything he does.

If only he didn’t overtake you during his first goddamn month here. If only he wasn’t the one assigned to be your understudy. Maybe the blow to your pride wouldn’t have been this bad. Maybe you wouldn’t be licking your wounds in your loneliness. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have lost a friend you actually liked having around.

…

With an upcoming dance competition, it’s no surprise that the dancers at your agency often stay behind to polish their performances to perfection. Usually, practices would adjourn hours before the sun even sets, but these days, you find yourself exiting the building no earlier than nine PM. 

The excessive practice time has been taking a toll on you—this much you know. Your muscles have been sore for days, and no amount of painkillers and Salonpas can easily cure your affliction right away. So for tonight, you decide to take it easy—packing up once the clock hits six o’clock. The last thing you want is to accidentally pull something you shouldn’t, thus rendering your participation in the competition null and void.

But as you walk towards the train station, you realize that perhaps staying later was a smarter move after all. All around you, commuters of all ages and walks of life brush past you in their haste—the need to arrive home as soon as possible like a cloud on everybody’s heads. The closer you got to the station, the more it dawned on you.

It’s fucking rush hour.

You’ve always avoided going home during this time for two reasons. The first is the influx of commuters that’s literally and figuratively too suffocating to deal with, especially when your physical constitution isn’t in the best shape. 

The second is…because you noticed that, ever since your platonic breakup, Minghao has started leaving the studio at this hour. Later than your previous commutes home, but earlier than your new work-yourself-to-the-bone schedule. Sure, he’s still the biggest fucking prick to walk the earth whenever he feels like taunting you during practice, but he doesn’t seem interested in working overtime. 

If you’re being completely honest, you’re over the monthly evaluation results. Honest! You’ve just come to accept that nothing is ever set in stone.

Things change all the time. Humans used to believe the earth was flat. The Athenians once thought of Plato’s bullshit as the gospel truth, and—

You dared to assume you’ll be on top of the world forever.

What happened months ago was a reality check, and slowly but surely, you’re relearning the difference between ambitious and obnoxious. It’s a humbling experience that you’re honestly grateful for happening because…if it weren’t for that harsh reminder that there’ll always be someone out there who’s better than you, then you wouldn’t strive to improve at all.

You let out a quaint sigh when you settle into the train. As expected, tonight’s commuters have filled it out to complete capacity, and you wouldn’t have caught the last available space near the doors if you hadn't sprinted like a madman. Though your aching muscles practically scream in complaint, you comfort yourself with the promise of a long soak in your bathtub the moment you get home.

The smooth tone of the announcer’s voice rings from the overhead speakers, telling all passengers to step away from the doors, as the train is about to leave. Not that any of you can help it. You’re all packed like sardines in what’s usually a pretty spacious train car if you came in just an hour earlier or later. 

All of a sudden, you find yourself missing those days where you’d sit on the side where you could see the sunset breezing past the windows—listening to the stories of someone you can’t even hold a civilized conversation with anymore. But before that train of thought can progress any further, you shake your head as if the mere gesture alone can dispel your longing.

You try to press yourself back to avoid getting crushed by the automatic doors, muttering a quiet apology to the person behind you since you ended up subsequently squeezing him further into the crowd of cramped passengers. When the doors finally close, you hear him say a quick it’s okay, back at you, you’re forced to whip around in the limited space with your mouth agape.

Right behind you is Xu Minghao, looking just as distressed as you are.

He’s changed out of his usual practice clothes—having exchanged it for an oversized crewneck and sweats. His expensive headphones hang unused around his neck, and you wonder if you wouldn’t have noticed each other if only he was blasting music directly into his ears…

The urge to take back your courteous apology is strong, but you would much rather not give him any more of your energy than you already have. You’d take all his insults and badmouthing head-on in the studio, but it’s been a really long day, and you don’t have enough fire going to extend his hostility inside a crowded train in the middle of rush hour. 

“Why’re you out so early?”

You can feel gooseflesh prickle the skin of your shoulders when you feel Minghao’s breath next to your ear. A glare settles between your eyes as you jolt away from him in the limited space that affords you to do so. 

“Watch it, asshole. You’re way too close for comfort,” you hiss. “And the time I go home is none of your business.”

Minghao shrugs. “I dunno, you always stay late to practice. Is it so bad to be curious?”

“Yeah, because if it hasn’t occurred to you yet, I actually hate your guts, and I don’t appreciate you talking to me like we’re friends.”

He falls silent for a moment, and in the next moment the train lurches into motion—nearly catching you off balance. You’re quick to brace a hand against the door, but you startle again when you feel a large hand around your arm, touching you in a way that’s meant to steady. You spare Minghao another glance, but there’s less vitriol laced in your gaze and more confusion.

“Are we…” he whispers, gaze shied away from yours as he maintains a steady grip on your arm. Then, he gulps. “Are we not friends anymore?”

Again, you scowl. 

Is he being real with you right now?

“Dude, I am completely over the monthly evaluations if you think that’s the reason I’m being the way I am with you,” you hiss. “I was going to apologize after I said all that hurtful stuff in the past. But then you went ahead and started writing your very own villain arc. So, ask yourself: were you even my friend at all, Hao?”

The sound of that nickname making its way past your lips is familiar yet foreign at the same time. During these past few months, you’ve never once called Minghao anything else but asshole, dick, jerk, self-centered punk, and other variations of those words. You don’t want to admit it, but calling him by something that’s close to an endearment makes you feel like there’s cotton sticking to the roof of your mouth. 

Minghao doesn’t respond yet again, and you force yourself to face forward—leaning your head against the glass of the door so you wouldn’t have to look back at him anymore. You’re pretty sure the salaryman right next to you has been eavesdropping on your conversation this entire time, but it’s not like he has any other choice given the circumstances. 

You let the constant whir of the train engine lull you into a calmer disposition, heartbeat finally equalizing after everything you just shot at Minghao. That’s probably the most you’ve said to him all month, and to say that you’re not the least bit embarrassed about how you admitted wanting to apologize for a past transgression is a blatant lie. 

But what’s done is done. You’re just going to have to accept the fact that the man you once thought of as a good friend; the same man who’s now the main antagonist of your life and career, is standing behind you in your rush hour commute. Just twenty minutes more, and he’ll be out of your hair soon. 

Much to your delight, Minghao keeps his mouth shut until the train pulls over at the next station. The doors open with a mechanical ding, accompanied by the announcer's voice yet again. You’ve heard the monologue thousands of times, but you don’t quite hear it over the throng of passengers rushing to get off the train. 

You make way for them by scooting towards the back of the car, and Minghao does the same. But instead of shuffling away from you the moment there’s more room to move around like you thought he would, he lingers closely to your form. 

However, the amount of people that got off on this station is quickly replenished by a new horde of passengers—quickly filling in the space you thought would last for at least a few more stations. Once again, you find yourself slowly being squeezed closer to the corner of the car, but for some reason, Minghao wedges himself between you and the unassuming college boy whose wireless earphones are plugged in as he scrolls through his phone. 

When you realize what he’s trying to do, you say, “You don’t have to protect me or anything. I’m fine on my own.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “You obviously didn’t see how you looked like you’re about to get crushed. Just thank me and we’re good.”

A biting retort is already resting on your tongue with how passive-aggressive that response of his sounds like. What the hell is his problem? It’s not like you asked for him to shield you from the other passengers. 

And yet…

“Thanks, I guess.”

You watch him visibly stiffen at your words, and you feel your heart slamming into your ribcage the moment you utter them. Did you really just thank the same man who’s been making your life at work a living hell for months?

The train starts to pick up speed again before you can answer that yourself.

You practically glare at the corner you’ve been forced into the entire trip to the next station. Minghao is right behind you, but you can’t be assed to worry about that when you’re chewing your lip out of frustration. Part of you feels relieved that you swallowed your pride and thanked him, but the part that’s been receiving the brunt of his antagonism for the past half year hisses in disagreement.

He’s an asshole. He’s a self-centered prick that uses people as stepping stones. He’s—

“...Sorry.”

You refuse to turn around. You refuse to believe that he’s actually—

“I’m sorry for being a jerk to you,” Minghao murmurs, and you feel his fingers graze your shoulder as if to emphasize the words with the sincerity of his touch. “I just… I didn’t know how to act when you lashed out at me back then. Y-You were my only friend, and I thought you’d be proud that I achieved something after working so hard for an entire month.”

You’re at a loss for words, completely stunned by the honesty in his voice. You’ve only known Minghao for a short while—been on good terms with him for even shorter—but you can always tell whenever he’s lying. 

This is not one of those times.

“A…friend of mine told me that I tend to act based on how I’m treated,” he continues. “I know that doesn’t excuse how I’ve been acting around you for so long, but… I guess when I got the hint that you hated me, the only way I could cope with that is to hate you right back. Even if I really didn’t.”

No. This isn't real. You’re dreaming. This is probably a side-effect from all those late hours you’ve spent in the studio—

You let out a soft squeak when you feel him rest his forehead against the back of your head, sighing so deeply, it makes you wonder how long he’s been thinking about apologizing properly. Minghao grips your arms again, not to help maintain your balance, but more to anchor himself onto his own. 

“I don’t care if everyone else in the studio looks at me like I’m some sort of god on the dancefloor,” he admits, voice so quiet, you could barely hear him. “The only person I’d want to look at me is you.” 

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure he hears it. 

“Can we please go back to normal again?” Minghao pleads. “I miss hearing your comments about my dances. I miss going home together.

“I miss you.”

The sincerity in his voice singes through you like a red-hot iron poker. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. All you can focus on is the stuttering breaths Minghao takes from behind you. 

If you’ve ever imagined reconciling with him, this certainly isn’t the most optimal venue. But now that he’s bared his defenses, you don’t see any benefit to keeping up your own.

“I’m…sorry and I missed you, too,” you admit somewhat sheepishly, thanking the higher deities up there that he can’t see the way your blood rushes to your cheeks. “But I don’t really know how to—”

Your sentence is cut off mid-way when the train abruptly runs into a bump on the tracks, forcing Minghao’s body against yours when he momentarily loses his footing. It’s an accident, and you wouldn’t have minded since some turbulence in this part of the city isn't rare at all. But that split second where Minghao got thrown against you from the impact made you all too cognizant of how thin the material of both your skirt and his sweatpants are.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao sighs before bracing an arm towards one of the walls to your left. The rustle of his clothes gives rise to the scent of his cologne wafting to your nostrils—a fresh, not-too-musky aroma that makes your head spin despite.

Just your luck, the train pitches to the side and you feel Minghao’s groin brush against your ass once again. This time, you’re not strong enough to hold down the soft whimper that tumbles out of your lips, and you don’t even feel ashamed about it.

Suddenly, you remember a time from back then where you’d spend your nights getting off to the same man who’s unknowingly sparking your arousal in the unlikeliest of places. You’ve once fucked yourself to the thought of him, so what’s the use with getting embarrassed now? As long as he doesn’t know, you should be fine.

Except Minghao isn’t deaf, and he definitely picked up on that suggestive little noise you just made.

Experimentally, he lets one of his hands dip lower and lower until his fingertips brush the hem of your skirt. That sinfully short skirt that keeps riding up your thighs every time you do a rather bold move during practice. His eyes are completely trained on you even if you’re still facing the corner, and when he feels you shiver, all the blood in his system rushes down south.

“You’re into this?” Minghao chuckles, bracing his hands on your hips before sliding his growing arousal against the ridge of your ass. “My… I didn’t think mending our friendship again would go this swimmingly. How about I take you out to dinner first?”

“Hao!” you chastise him with a poisonous look, but from the way you subtly rock your hips in time with his movements, Minghao can tell that dinner is the last thing on your mind right now.

He chuckles softly, keeping one hand steady on your hip while the other dips beneath your skirt again. When his fingers immediately press down against the gusset of your underwear, Minghao has to bite down a groan because of the wet patch that’s already accumulated at the center. 

“Not only did you ditch your shorts, but you’re already this wet? From a little grinding?” he hisses into your ear. “Needy fucking slut.”

You can’t help the way your pussy clenches at the harsh name he just called you. It’s all so strange. You never once reacted this way whenever he called you a bitch or anything similar, but you suppose when you’ve made amends with a friend you’ve secretly been wanting to fuck since you first laid your eyes on him, there’s no use keeping up any charades.

“Your hatred was all just an act, isn’t it?” he laughs, nudging your underwear to the side so he can get a feel of just how wet you areas you spread your legs to accommodate him. “Do you rile me up on purpose because you can’t deal with the fact that you actually want me?”

"You're delusional," you bite back.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

Another low laugh rumbles in his chest and you swear you don't get wetter with each hum of it as he presses closer to your ear. "Lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart."

You’re about to answer him when the announcer’s voice rings from the speakers yet again, saying that the next station is approximately five minutes away. This promptly rips you out of your lustful haze as you realize you’re very much still in public, where dozens upon dozens of passengers still share the same car with the both of you. Minghao seems to pick up on your split-second realization, but doesn’t seem fazed by the idea of getting caught doing this in the presence of strangers.

“Lots of passengers are going to get off at the next station, but not a lot are going to get on like the last one,” he whispers before plunging two of his fingers into your sopping cunt without warning. 

You have to physically cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from gasping out loud. When you turn to look at Minghao again, eyes ablaze with disbelief, he simply flashes you an evil smile.

“If you want to come on my fingers, do it in five minutes, whore.”

The sensation of his long, slender digits curling inside you forces you to brace yourself against your tiny little corner of that train car. Your skin prickles everywhere as Minghao grinds his half-hard cock against your backside, all while he works between your pussy lips as if he’s thought about it dozens of times before. 

His digits dip in and out of your entrance like he doesn’t know what he wants to do first. Poke and prod at every inch of sensitive flesh there is or fuck you until you’re a moaning mess for everyone to see. Either way, you’re panting all while Minghao maps the expanse of your pussy with his touch alone, and every time those sinful fingers brush against your clit, you jolt in response.

“Shh,” he coos. “Don’t be too obvious, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want the entire train knowing how much of an impatient fucking slut you are—whoring all over my fingers ‘cause you can’t wait to get off the train.”

You involuntarily clench at his filthy words, begrudgingly unearthing a kink you didn’t even know you had. But at the mere mention of the other passengers, you let your eyes frantically pass over those nearby. You don’t know if they’re really preoccupied on their phones or pretending not to notice the act of indecency that’s happening right beneath their noses. The college boy that almost crushed you earlier is still banging his head to whatever song is playing on his phone, and you take that as a sign to let yourself go.

“Now that won’t do,” Minghao tuts before sliding his fingers back inside you, nudging your thighs even further apart before curling his digits just so. “How can you come in five minutes if you’re so distracted?”

“F-Fuck,” you whine as quietly as you can. “Hao, f-feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he laughs softly and your vision goes black for a moment when you feel his thumb graze your clit with just the right pressure. Just how dextrous can he be? “Then focus on my fingers, sweetheart. If you can’t come before the train arrives at the next station, maybe I’ll just go back to hating you tomorrow after all.”

You nearly choke on a moan when he starts to rub your sensitive nub in varying pressures and speeds, nearly robbing you of your ability to speak. “You’re a f-fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a fucking bitch, but see where that got you now?”

It’s almost like you’re hard-wired to rebut everything he says, and you have all those months of shared antagonism to thank for it. But when Minghao crooks his fingers at a slightly different angle, your already sore legs nearly give out when his fingers hit you deep enough to make stars dance in the seams of your vision.

“Oh?” He sounds so smug, you actually want to hit him. “There it is.”

You can hardly believe it. You can barely find your own g-spot even on good days if you don’t put your back into using your toys right, yet Minghao got it in less than five minutes, inside a train full of passengers, no less?

Your brain has all but fizzled out when the pads of his fingers start to massage that sweet, sweet spot inside of you again—milking your body for all those lovely reactions you’re so willing to give to him. Minghao’s cock is an ever-present weight against your ass, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you, and how badly he wants to feel you come apart on his fingers right here, right now.

“You liked being fingered on the train, sweetheart?” Minghao rasps into your ear, relentless in his movements as tears start to line your lashes. “Like it when you supposedly hate the man that’s doing this to you? That’s made you this fucking wet?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’d let him stick his dick into you right now if he wanted, but you know that Minghao isn’t going to risk that just yet. So instead, you focus on the sensation of those skillful fingers—the same ones you’ve dreamt about a long time ago—coaxing out a high you never thought you’d achieve outside the four corners of your bedroom. 

You can think about his stroke game later. Those powerful thighs as he thrusts into you. Not to mention how euphoric it would feel to come around his cock, milking him for that white-hot release until it dribbles down your thighs and he inevitably fucks it all back into you—

The stimulation of Minghao’s dexterous digits coupled with the thrill of being caught are the main players for today’s debauchery, but it’s that particular fantasy that pushes you over the edge. 

One moment, you feel like you’re on top of the world again, and the next you can taste blood in your mouth with how hard you bite against your lip to muffle your moans. A gush of slick coats Minghao’s fingers as he helps you ride out of your orgasm, peppering the side of your face with butterfly kisses.

“Pretty little whore, coming in record time,” he chuckles.

You can barely just start taming your breathing when Minghao takes his fingers out of your panties—tugging your skirt down back to semi-decency before prodding those same fingers against your lips. Still dazed from the high he just let you experience, you open your mouth, lathering your tongue against each digit as the tangy taste of you fills your tastebuds. 

“Good fucking girl.”

The train eases into the next station, and just as Minghao predicted, the car frees up just enough for you to get comfortably seated by the windows again. He sits right next to you the whole time—hand never straying from yours as he holds it firmly in his. For some reason, that gesture of his flusters you more than the stunt he just pulled five minutes ago.

When you both get off the vehicle, the awkwardness begins to settle in your system. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to him after all of...that. Is there even a protocol to follow after getting finger-fucked on public transportation?

“Hey.”

You startle when Minghao breathes out while the two of you make your way out of the station. It’s the first time he’s broken the silence since arriving, and your heart pounds in anticipation of what he’s about to say next.

“I really am sorry for all the shit I said to you these past few months,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his head like he’s just as clueless about what to do as you are.

You blink up at him. “Um, yeah. You already told me, Hao.”

“I just figured it was worth repeating.”

“Giving me a mindblowing orgasm is a good enough apology on its own, you know.”

He stops walking for a moment, and you look back at him with brows raised.

“Really now?” he asks, and—there’s that smirk again. That no good smirk. “I don’t think I’ve received a ‘good enough apology’ from you yet, sweetheart.”

One glance at his sweats, and sure enough, the evidence of his own raging arousal is still up for grabs. You feel your pussy tingle at the mere thought of what’s to come once you voice out your agreement, even if your overworked muscles are begging for a break.

Oh, well. Might as well stock up on more painkillers on the way.

⟢ end notes: i really really REALLY went overboard on this one and there isn't even any piv sex in action holy fucking shit LMFAO TT to lovely user yourfavoritefreakyhan, i hope i didn't scare you off with the word count JSHFD I REALLY JUST GOT CARRIED AWAY AHAHS hao has been testing me for DAYS and it manifested in this . anyway, pls don't expect every request from my ask game to turn out this fucking long bc this rly was just a heat of the moment creation AJSDHSJHF

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k Pt. 1 | AO3 A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

[speirslore]

when you get hurt hcs [officers + roe]

a/n: requested <3 usually in my writing the reader is implied to be a part of easy company in a vague way bc i know ppl have different preferences but some of these include getting shot (not graphic or anything) so ig that implies they're on the front lines

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck

[dick winters]

you hit your head prettyyyy hard, and you're out of it, probably definitely concussed

it happens right in front of dick and he tries really hard to keep calm

he wants to be strong and level-headed for you

shows more obvious affection then any of the men have ever seen from him; pets your hair, holds your hand, is always by your side

he immediately gets you a medic and transported to an aid station and doesn’t want to leave you

but when dick's back with easy, he gets uncharacteristically easily angry and frustrated...

he gets quiet and withdrawn and a little snappy with zelensky and nix... and they both immediately know why

whenever he can go see you, he's there.. he even gets behind on all his paperwork (but nix offers to help)

which dick is hesitant to accept for many reasons, he feels guilty, like he's not focusing on his duties but lew is always good at keeping the reports concise lol

very fragile with you, he isn't underestimating you but he just absolutely does not want to push you or hurt you

is a stickler for the rules, follows absolutely everything the doctor says

he has to wake you up every few hours and you keep insisting it’s unnecessary and dick is absolutely not having it

you try to get up and move around and all dick has to hear is the sheets moving and he just gives you that stare, a little bit like a disappointed mom, and you're right back laying down

he’s way more clingy than usual, wants to be by your side, subtly holding your hand

in that moment it definitely hits him how much he loves and cares about you... he hasn't really had time or space to process those feelings until now <3

[lewis nixon]

it does not look good at first

it's really scary for everyone there, you loose a lot of blood and lose consciousness

lew is not there when you're first shot in the leg and everyone is very glad that he didn't have to see it

but when he finds out... oh he is not keeping cool, is not pretending even a little bit to be okay

starts lashing out and snaps at the driver who's taking him to the hospital to drive faster, mad that they didn't tell him sooner, mad that you were injured, mad at the war, furious at absolutely everything

lew has to be monitored by dick not to go full self destruction mode and get incredibly drunk

he hates just sitting with the constant uncomfortable feeling and reminder that you're hurting

he will not leave your side at first when you’re sleeping a lot, on a lot of medicine, and out of it

one nurse does approach him when he's the only vistor in the hospital left, "sir, the visiting hours-"

he just looks up, obviously devastated, voice cracking, "i'm can't leave. you can drag me out but i'm not going, thanks."

they back off after that

does go through a phase where he hates going once you're more conscious because he kills him to see you like that and face this feels irrational guilt he feels for not being there

because he definitely has the tendency to avoid his problems and things that hurt him

but it hurts you too and you don't fully understand

you look up at dick and harry, slightly delirious from the morphine, tearing up, "does he not want to see me anymore?"

after that they do drag lew to see you and you just straight up tell him feeling guilty is pointless and not fair to himself (or you)

and then it's right back to not leaving your side and always trying to make you laugh or smile

[ron speirs]

okay so i love the angel of the company x speirs trope

by now he's the co of easy and your relationship is a widely known secret...

he assigns you and the group of other men to a patrol... it wasn't an overly risky or bad order, a standard order from sink

but you guys make contact and you're shot in the arm

it just absolutely wrecks him

the guys feel like he's just going to go across enemy lines and find the soldier that shot you himself

the rest of the guys are furious too because everyone just absolutely loves you

for a short time, he's mad at the other soldiers on the patrol and you have to reminder him they didn't do anything wrong

but ron is really just irrationally mad at himself for not being there, for not being psychic, he's just angry he somehow didn't stop this

ron is not controlling and not possessive and he knows you can hold your own but he feels responsible for taking care of you and making sure you're safe

even if he can't quite articulate all of those feelings yet

he doesn't understand all the emotions he feels and doesn't even have time to try to understand them

he listens so attentively to the doctors, he can recite everything they've said word for word

like with chuck, he demands the absolute best from the doctors

this incident shows his more compassionate side and the guys start to see how much he really cares about you... bc they're protective of you too!

you have to comfort him and his voice breaks

and he feels weak and he feels bad that you're comforting him and not the other way around

"i'm messing everything up, doing everything wrong," he says more to himself but you frown, eyebrows furrowed and everything

"you're so hard on yourself, ron. when it's not your fault, it was routine, you didn't shoot me. then i'd be really pissed." you smile and he smiles weakly... but he's on edge for a longgg time after this

[carwood lipton]

unfortunately you and lip just cannot catch a break

your leg gets injured while he has pneumonia

it's not a major injury but a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and slightly grazed you and you need a few days of staying off of it

lip really tries to be comforting

and wants to be there for you and he is!

but it's very hard for him, he just wants you to be okay so badly, even when he himself isn't okay

trying to lecture you about staying off of your leg and asking others for help but breaking out into a coughing fit and then you're trying to help him sit up and to go get some hot water for him

and then he's back to telling you to stop and starts hoarsely calling for luz

it's a MESS

but carwood is a natural caretaker and has been one for most of his life

it makes him hover sooo badly especially because since he's sick too he doesn't have a lot of work to keep him busy

but you're not complaining honestly, it's nice to have more private time and something of a break, even if you're both miserable

you get the special privilege of an actual private back bed room with a mattress and blankets

kind of a bonding experience

you just laugh because what the fuck

it's kind of romantic, first time in a longgg time in an actual bed together

you just go back and forth talking about your future and the life you want after the war

"i don't like this wallpaper," you murmur into his chest

he laughs and that turns into coughing again and you're just rubbing his back trying not to bend your leg... domestic bliss <3

[buck compton]

buck... does not take it well

he takes it extremely hard

like his reaction to joe and bill...

you have pneumonia and the peniciln you need isn't available in bastogne

and it's even worse that he finds out you're sick only a few hours after that and that you've been sick and struggling for the past few days

maybe his reaction would've been different earlier on in the war

but now, it just feels like a destructive domino effect that's sparing no one

it's obvious after all of his friends injuries and your pneumonia that he couldn't stay on the front line... his red bleary eyes and slightly trembling hands said enough

when he gets taken off the line, you're both in an aid station together for a few hours before you're both transferred to different hospital

so his presence is silent reassurance

you want so badly to comfort him but you're so sick and he doesn't want you to, he feels so guilty leaving you

but you hoarsely tell him he needs a break and to process what happened

you're feeling slightly better this day so that makes it a little better... but not that much

both of you have been through hell

but there is a light in the tunnel... or at least you feel that way

buck isn't on the front lines anymore and you both have a chance at a life together post-war

he does not want to leave you, it has to take a lot of malarkey's coaxing him and promising to update buck

[eugene roe]

gene can't decide if having medical knowledge makes it better or worse

and if being the medic and being the one to have their hands covered in the your blood, was better than leaving it in the hands of someone else

he decides it's awful... definitely worse

the very few hours he slept, it was just dreaming of your terrified face

and he wakes with a jolt and is completely miserable

and life just goes on...

a lot of pacing and murmuring

gene closes in on himself when he's upset and stressed, so he becomes even quieter than normal

and the other guys are worried like ??? do we need to intervene and lip just stops them, "leave him alone, he'll be okay."

prays for you a lot, gripping his rosary so tightly and the photo that he has of the two of you when you were still in england

when you both felt some semblance of normalcy

he can't abandon the company to stay with you full time at the aid station to his incredible frustration and disappointment

it's just hard for him to go on like everything's fine, it shatters whatever illusion he has of fairness and hope and safety

whenever someone else gets injured or they need supplies, he'll take any excuse to ride back to the aid station to see you

and if anyone else goes, they always see you and give gene an update

winters definitely notices and tries to give him opportunities to see you

likes watching you rest and sleep (because you definitely needed it, even before you got injured) in the sweetest, non-creepy way

gene loves to just sit with you, see you with his own eyes, and know for certain that you're okay

[risoria]

Art raffle for Hanaa's fundraiser

Hello everyone! I am holding a raffle for art commissions slots!

The raffle is to raise money for @enghanalulu's fundraiser, linked below. It has stalled and is very low on funds - currently only 290€ have been raised.

Her fundraiser has been verified by 90-ghost here, and again here. She also has an instagram account where you can see her old posts from way before october 2023. It is so surreal and awful to see her normal ig stories laughing with friends and going to cafés, etc...

You can of course also speak directly to her on here! Every little bit of help means a lot, I'm sure!

Here is a little bit of Hanaa's story. "Hello, I am Hanaa, a graphic designer from the southern Gaza Strip, Al-Bureij refugee camp. I work as a freelancer with agents from the Gulf and Europe to generate a simple source of income that helps and assists my working father who owns a small car workshop." Both Hanaa's office and her family's house have been destroyed in the bombings.

Here's how the raffle works: donate a minimum of 20€ to Hanaa's fundraiser and send me proof of the donation (a screenshot, which must be taken today or after today, until the raffle ends) on here, and I will enter you in the raffle for a halfbody commission (usually 35€). Every 20€ is one "ticket", so 40€ would be two entries so double chance to win, etc. You can also choose to donate 10€ if you want, and win a bust commission (usually 25€). So, if you do donate 20€ and win, you could choose between one half-body commission, or two busts. (I hope this makes sense... I tried working it out in my head but I'm sure when the winners are drawn we will be able to work it out!) The raffle will be going for two weeks, so until October 22nd, and I will randomize 3 winners.

Please share this post, so more people see it! <3 (and also please be a bit patient with me as in the past seven days i've moved to a new house and started a new job so it's quite a Lot but I want to help in any small way i can...)

fundraiser link:

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

05/26/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Vico Ortiz; Samba Schutte (Tangy & Zangy); TellTaleAwards; Emmy4Taika; Watch Party Reminders; OFMD Big Bang 2024!; Fan Spotlight; MerMay; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

== Vico Ortiz ==

Finally got some of the pictures from the Them Fatale Vico participated in a while back!

Source: Vico Ortiz' IG stories

== Samba Schutte ==

Awww, Samba made an amazing new desert! This time with the theme Tangy & Zangy <3

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Tell Tale Awards ==

The Tell-Tale TV Awards voting are up! There are several categories with Queer shows so if you have the time please take some time to fill them in! You can vote for up to 3 per category. Not only does OFMD show up, but Good Omens, Deadloch, Dead Boy Detectives, etc.

OFMD Categories Below:

Favorite Cable or Streaming Comedy Series (Round 1) - Our Flag Means Death

Favorite Performer in a Cable or Streaming Comedy Series (Round 1) - Rhys Darby / Ruibo Qian

== Emmy Considerations ==

You asked and they made it happen! Thank you to our friends over at Our Flag Means Fanfiction for more Emmy Consideration graphics, this time for Taika! Here's the Google Drive

Everyone is encouraged to make your own as well! If you do I'd love to see them so please be sure to share!

== Watch Party Reminders ==

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 May 28-31 (we're skipping Memorial Day) Times: 3:30 pm PT / 6:30pm ET / 11:30 pm BST Need access? We're doing a WP on the RhysDarbyFaction Discord server, feel free to hit me up on tumblr @gentlebeardsbarngrill or @ aspirantabby42 on Twitter for access.

== OFMD Big Bang 2024! ==

For all of you who're seasoned OFMD tumblr folks, you probably have heard of OFMD Big Bang before! For our newer members of the fandom check out the description below by OFMD Big Bang Tumblr.

What is the Our Flag Means Death Big Bang? A big bang is a writing and art challenge pairing authors and artists to complete a long work of fiction. The OFMD Big Bang is centered around stories which take place in the Our Flag Means Death universe with a minimum word count requirement of 10,000. 

Interested in joining? Author and Artist sign-ups open on June 1! Here's the upcoming Schedule. Visit the @ofmdbigbang tumblr for more information!

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Today's Cast Card is Stephen Papps, aka an English Lieutenant from "Mermen". Thanks @melvisik!

Source: @melvisik's Twitter

== Big Gay Energy Podcast ==

Our crewmates over at Big Gay Energy Podcast have a new episode out! This time they're discussing Season 1 Episode 10! Listen in on your favorite podcast platform via their Linktr.ee.

== Mermay ==

= Snejpowa =

Day 26: Teal More Mermay! I love that some folks took Teal and did something with Stede, and others with Oluwande! Thanks @snejpowa for this iconic Stede scene, you can feel the wobble!

Source: Snejpowa's Tumblr

= blueberreads =

Wow! Check out this gorgeous rendition of Oluwande and his Teal earring for Day 26 of MerMay by @blueberreads! That is gorgeous!

Source: @blueberreads' Tumblr

= GooGooGoJob! =

As usual @googoogojob has some more stunning work for MerMay! Day 18: Calypso's Birthday / Day 19: Rowboat / Day 20: High on a Rocky Ledge

== Stjernegaupe ==

Our friend @stjernegaupe has so many more MerMay fun submissions! I love how they interpret the various prompts! I want the Revenge for a flag!

== Love Notes ==

Hey Crew! I hope the weekend was kind to you and you got to do something fun!

I'm a bit off today. I hope you can forgive me for not saying much. Please remember that you are such a gift to this world. I think about you all a lot, and I hope you know you're doing great. Just a little love note from someone else today. Have a good Monday-- whether it's a holiday or a workday. Take care <3

Source: AlexaAubreyPoetry on Instagram

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika =

Tonight's theme is just these two giving each other hugs cause I need more of it in this life. Gif Courtesy of @usersukuna

[niichanism]

wanted to put this fic Somewhere lol it’s uhhhh that “what if ace got sold into slavery in Marie Geoise instead of being executed except long lost brother Sabo is (somehow) in deep cover as a CD there and impulsively pilfers money from the revolution funds to buy and protect his brother” logistically i run into problems w this concept but i do think like. childhood friends fake dating except it’s high stakes fake master/slave is like. 1. potential funny 2. hot 3. compelling in that acesabo are living in their own actual personal hells together shfhdd

tw: mob character/ace attempted SA, non-graphic maiming of dick, ace honorable suicide ideation ig, sabo…… just poor sabo lol, the cd slave brand thing soRRY ACE idk the usual “i don’t like spoilering much so if you’re sensitive don’t read this it’s borderline dead dove”

————-

In the span of a week, Ace had gone from being Blackbeard’s captive to the World Government's prize, and finally, unexpectedly, into the greasy hands of professional slavers. 

That was a twist he hadn't expected. He couldn’t quite get his head around it. 

Ace much preferred the rough touch of pirates or marines to this sickening cushiness, treated with care while strung up like meat. They bathed him in sea water. He was so nauseous he could barely twitch his limbs. His skin only recoiled wherever they washed away dirt or tended to wounds from the fight. He was scrubbed pink, patched, or soothed where every blemish would be. His ribs were still broken. Almost good as new, the lackey had reported to her overseers.

As confusing as it was infuriating. Then, somehow, reading the lusterless eyes of the other captives, he understood. They were gagged like Ace was. They had the faint, forlorn expressions of long-term prisoners. But how neat and tidy they were– their hair, skin, and even what little clothes they had were as well-kept as the circumstances allowed. Again, Ace’s body thrummed with a knock-out combo of adrenaline and disgust. He recalled Sabo saying that nobles don't care about anything but appearances. If it can’t improve their status, it's worthless to them. 

Ace would rather die than be some dolled up or dressed down status symbol for the rich. He'd rather jump and let the ocean take him. He’d rather have fallen in battle to a scumbag like Teach or even met his end on the navy’s chopping block, flipping Garp the bird one last time. 

Then, the silver lining— he’d see Sabo again, at least. There was always the chance that he’d find an opening once they hit landfall. If he could, he’d burn this place to a crisp and take all these poor folks to far greener pastures, one way or another. He just had to keep his wits together. No matter what, he wasn’t going to let anyone buy him. 

Or if they did get that far, he’d make sure they regretted it. For now, the issue was that all the adrenaline and disgust had nowhere to go. He kept his ears open for any hints as to when they’d finally reach this mystery destination, because the boredom was beginning to gnaw at him like rats. Eventually one of the trader lackeys came swaggering up to him. Ace had a really good fucking sense for when someone was looking to pick a fight. The guy had a bit of a beer belly and the seediest possible leer, two beady eyes on pallid sailor skin. 

“So this is really him…” he said, gruff and low. “Not bad at all.”

The man tipped his face up at the chin. Ace tossed it out of his hold, ignoring him otherwise. The man chuckled. The only other slaver in the room glanced over and growled. “Careful with the merchandise–”

“Relax,” said the first man, annoyed. “I’m not gonna do anything to damage him– if he behaves, that is. I’m just gonna feed him something.” Gag. It was worse because he was hungry. Ace set his jaw as best he could around the ball gag. If he thought of all the scumbags he’d dealt with up to now, he felt like he could crush anything between his teeth. 

The man wrenched a hand into his hair and jerked him forward. Manacles and chains trapped Ace’s knees on the floor of a cage. The man stood just outside the bars with a taunting look.  “Y’see, Fire Fist, I work hard, and so I’ve got this little game,” he explained, as if Ace gave a shit. “I get a kick out of testing the goods before we get to Marie Geoise. I get a little spin before even the Celestial Dragons get their hands on ‘em.” First, that the trader was already palming his crotch was disgusting, but secondly– Ace closed in on one particular detail. Marie Geoise? For a moment his mouth went slack, saliva pooling beneath the gag. The trader’s grip tightened in Ace’s bath-damp waves, threatening to rip hair from his scalp. His mind was still spinning: Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. The last puzzle pieces falling into place. If that was what they were doing, then… “Man, I could talk about it for years if Gold Roger’s son sucked my cock,” the slaver chuckled, letting go of Ace’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Fuuuuuck. His bounty had always seemed a bit suspect, shooting up when he’d done nothing of note to earn it. In the back of his mind, he’d sometimes wonder if the marines knew. 

 There was a clinking and rustling as the man popped his fly open and lowered his trousers.

 It was so outrageous, so beyond what anyone would have fucking dared to do to him, that Ace only felt a numb sort of shock first. He didn’t want to look at the filthy thing, already hard and eager. Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. Gold Roger’s son. The man shuffled closer to the bars, then manhandled Ace’s head low so he could smear the tip on his cheek. Ace’s eyes went wide. The rage hit him right after. “Yeah, a pretty thing like you will need the practice,” the trader drawled. “If the dragons don’t tear you to shreds first. Nasty fucks, them.”  Everyone knew the Celestial Dragons were self-righteous, inhumane sacks of crap who treated anyone else like dirt. Everyone knew that their slaves had it worst of all, beaten and broken with a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping. And it seemed that soon, everyone would know that Ace was Gol D. Roger’s last remaining flesh and blood. “You’re shaking, sweetheart,” the slaver jeered. “A big, bad pirate–? Hilarious. Not so scary without your devil fruit power, are ya?”

Off came the ball gag. The first thing Ace did was spit. A thick, leathery thumb pried into his mouth. Ace sputtered, fought, then bit down– fuck, he was hungry. The man’s glove prevented the drawing of blood, though he did make a small grunt of discomfort and tore his hand away.

 “Don’t need my devil fruit to fuck you up,” Ace hissed. He glared at the dick half a foot away from his face. Ace had sucked a lot of cock in his time. Bigger ones, smaller ones. Sometimes drunk, sometimes as a penalty for losing a bet– fair was fair– but this was something else. The man hunched over to indicate the heavy metal collar around Ace’s neck. Ace felt his spine chill. He missed a few hours ago when he was content to wonder things like when do we get there and where did my necklace go, aw. Marie Geoise meant that the game had changed somewhat.“You know about this? I’m sure someone explained it to you,” he said roughly. His hard, flinty eyes sparkled with glee. “Try to take it off, or even touch it a certain way, and it’ll explode. Splatters your fuckin’ brains on the wall. I’ve seen it before– gruesome stuff. Real shite way to go.” Ace ran his tongue over his teeth, glaring daggers. Not much to look at, though, so he checked around with some choice words in his throat. A few other gagged folks were either watching with bated breath or pointedly looking away. The only other free man in the room was halfway out the door, glancing back like this foul display was only worth an exasperated shake of the head. 

“I see,” Ace said, eyes flicking back. “Brains on the wall, huh.”

“There’s just me and you right now, Ace. Could always say it was an unfortunate accident,” the slaver said. “If you get what I’m saying, then open wide.” Ace resisted as best he could with that steel grip in his hair again. The power of the seastone cuffs had long seeped into his veins, making him sleepy. Gritting his teeth was the most force he could exert– eventually he locked his jaw and stopped struggling. “It’d be easy,” the slaver pressed. He touched anywhere he wanted, hair, lips, freckled cheeks.  Ace hadn’t felt clean to begin with, but now… now he wanted to vomit on this guy’s shoes. “Just one press of a button, one tug of that collar, and boom. World keeps spinning. I can’t imagine anyone would miss scum like you.”

A rough squeeze on either side of his jaw finally forced Ace’s mouth open. With one last grimace, he gave up. Let his tongue hang out. The man’s brutish face softened with satisfaction. Ace loathed allowing even that much.  “That’s more like it, baby,” the slaver crooned, grabbing his cock and jerking it. “Yeah. You play my little game nice, and we’ll keep your head on your shoulders. How’s that sound?” Ace scowled, but he was so visibly tired. This gave way to a slow, slow nod, a sigh– and then his stomach vaulting as he opened his mouth. Again, not the first time he’d had a dick in there. Though there was the chance it’d be his last. The trader moved with concentration, hot flesh sliding past Ace’s open lips. There was a groan, and both meaty hands pawed at Ace’s head. Ace didn’t wait a second. He didn’t suck for an instant. He moved his tongue out of the way and then bit down as hard as he possibly could. The scream was delightful. Nobody could look away after that. 

That beer belly wrenched away from his teeth as quickly as possible, whole body toppling back onto the dirty ship floor. The big idiot shrieked, holding his groin and rolling. 

 Ace had to laugh, then grin again with blood on his teeth. He raised his voice enough to be heard over those wails of pain. 

“Hey, go on and do it, you think I give a shit?” he said, then spat out the taste of iron. He tilted his head back, offering his own capital punishment with brazen ease. “I’ve got my pride. I’d rather die a man than a coward.” 

He got a lively string of expletives in response. Didn’t do the guy much good, since he seemed unable to get off the ground just yet. Ace’s head was still very much attached to his shoulders, for better or worse. 

The screaming was pretty entertaining, or at least Ace’s fellow would-be slaves seemed to think so– he searched for eye contact in the dim light and found a few sure smiles. And a few very worried looks. Well, Ace hadn’t really calculated his odds on this one. 

Morbidly curious, he leaned over to check the damage. From what glimpses he could see– yikes. “Damn, that thing’ll never work again!” he hollered in a pitying, cheerful voice. “Go on, waste me for it. Unless you don’t have the– the balls?” That seemed pretty funny to him at the moment, and he burst out laughing. 

“Should’ve bought me dinner first, asshole!” 

“I’ll fucking kill you–”

“Do it,” Ace goaded. It was impossible to stop himself. Self-preservation had never been a strong point for him. At least, he thought, he’d go out with a good laugh, doing something he loved— picking a fight. With all that blood rushing in his ears, he wanted to believe that he was content with that. 

Better to go down as a free man, without troubling anyone, and before facing a whole world that would know exactly how and why to hate him. 

With a howl of rage, the dickless wonder tried to maneuver onto his knees, get closer to the bars of the cage. Fever-brained, Ace imagined that he’d only have to yank at the collar a certain way to spark whatever demonic mechanism ended in explosions. Truly a shite way to go– not because of the gore, but the injustice. It made him angry. Maybe he’d bite this asshole again. Light cascaded into the darkness from the door. Two other slavers arrived, no doubt summoned by the screaming. The man from before walked over, surveying that Ace was still chained down– he very much was– then he tsk’d at the mess. He nudged the fallen with his boot, cross with disgust and sympathy pain. “I told you this would happen someday,” he said. “Why stick your dick in the bitey part of the pirate?” Ace laughed, breathless. His mouth was so dry that it hurt. The blood hadn’t helped.  Predictably, there was another slew of vicious threats, and Ace was beginning to realize that he’d mentally prepared himself for nothing. Nobody was getting any closer to that kill switch on his collar. 

There wasn’t any relief in that. Just dread, doubled when one of the other slavers spoke again. “Moron, we’re on strict orders to deliver that one to the World Nobles. That’s a done deal– you should’ve known you couldn’t touch–”

Eugh. The stomach ache was back. Ace dipped his head, not wanting to look at any of that anymore. There was some struggling. Whether someone approached the kill switch or not, Ace couldn’t bring himself to care. “You can’t lay a hand on him!” He squeezed his eyes shut. He had been untouchable for a hundred different reasons before all this. And after this, probably, not so much. Marie Geoise. He remembered the rage welling up in him the one or two times he’d seen the deadened-red slave brand on a survivor. Sure, he reminded himself, there were survivors. 

Self-preservation had never been a strong point of his. “Fire Fist, no rations ‘til you’re on death’s fucking door,” came a harsh voice. Ace spat again.  The door slammed shut, leaving the ship’s human cargo in the sparse light of one hanging lamp. Ace breathed out. “Whew. Fuck.” A few good-humored huffs later, he noticed something:

In all the commotion, the slave traders failed to gag him again. Little blessings. Ace breathed– slightly– more easy. 

“Sorry for all the noise, everyone,” he said. In other cages, in other chains, they blinked back at him. He was winding down, but he laughed again, near croaking. “Damn, I hope they’re all stupid enough to try that.” 

Maybe he could take out a few World Nobles that way. Justice for Sabo. He’d probably think that was pretty funny. 

—

It was incredible what you could do by shouting increasingly high numbers.

That was the kind of senseless world the Celestial Dragons inhabited. From his despicable place in the audience and with dread heavy in his gut, Sabo watched the guards yank Ace to his feet and drag him away. Sabo didn’t sit down. The auctioneer’s voice rang in his head: We have a winning bid! Gold Roger’s son, Portgas D. Ace, to Saint Robspierre! Hearing that esteemed name was like a ripple in a pond, a jerk of a trigger. It always took that extra split second for Sabo to remember that that was him, and it had never haunted him quite as much as it did just then. Currents of relief and distress canceled each other out. Sabo felt numb, heart pounding in his ears, knees locked up where he stood. On either side of him, World Nobles lifted their heads to survey him with open disdain. “Congratulations, Saint Robspierre,” a beady-eyed woman simpered, accompanied by her nodding, useless husband. “How fun for you.” “Thank you,” Sabo replied with mechanical ease, a glass smile. He couldn’t be in this space a minute longer. “I think I’ll go look at him.” The perfect balance of civility and entitlement. It was a surprise that this quaint, simple rudeness was more the norm here than not, but he’d adjusted. He felt dozens and dozens of eyes on him as he reached the staircase aisles. He ignored them, shoulders rolled back and head held high. Guards fell into line behind him. Another irritating norm.

He didn’t want an entourage if he was going to meet his brother under circumstances like these. Still, he had to go. For a thousand reasons, he needed to see Ace as soon as possible. That wasn’t slave auction protocol, but he could do whatever he wanted here. Anything except the right thing. * Keeping his face neutral when faced with his long-lost brother was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. He always hated this iciness he had to let in. At the moment even his blood was frozen solid. Of course the World Nobles’ auction house had a room for branding people. Sabo knew this was coming, but his vision was blurring anyway. He didn’t think it would be so soon. He thought he’d have more time. 

Ace was still completely naked with his back to the room. Under grease-shiny dark waves of hair, there was the clear buckled leather of the gag pulled tight. Those seastone cuffs strung him up near spread-eagle. It looked torturous. The painful part hadn’t even started yet. 

Like so many times before, all of Sabo’s fury channeled into his fists. Now, it all felt like too much for mortal knuckles and palms, even with gloves dulling the sensation. It was like his bones creaked. He couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, the red in his vision, Whitebeard’s jolly roger splayed and trembling across his brother’s broad back. He could use Dragon Claw and kill everyone else there. He searched the room for the key to Ace’s cuffs. Maybe he could break them? Even in deep cover, it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to use armament haki. Escape the auction hall with Ace, and then– Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. And then what? Get the godforsaken “holy” land shut down, with a thousand marines and admirals on their ass? Ace probably wasn’t in the best shape to be thrown into a mess like that. And it would be a mess. His starting plan was less reckless, sure, but there was an increasing chance that it was going to make him throw up, crack open, crack something. 

The branding irons were lined up on the wall. The fire was stoked. The three or so men in the room stiffened up at the sight of him, and lowered their heads in immediate deference. It made Sabo violently ill this time. “You’re going to brand him?” he asked. One of the men lifted his head in a rush. “Saint Robspierre, thank you for the honor of your business–” “Are you going to brand him?” Sabo asked again. It astounded him how out of control he sounded.  But it was nothing worth worrying about when the men ducked their heads again. “No, Sir– of course– he will be branded, but we understand our esteemed clientele like to participate– we were waiting– but of course we can begin at your leisure—”

Infuriating. Sabo glanced over at Ace just to watch the soft heave of his back, the rise and fall that felt like his last tether to sanity. “Quiet,” Sabo said. He needed to think. It often worked to his advantage that people weren’t used to questioning Celestial Dragons on anything. So far removed from humans, indeed. He walked closer to Ace with a knot in his throat, head pounding. His approaching footsteps made Ace struggle again anew, little grunts of protest slipping past the gag. Sabo paused at his side, looking for injuries, half-afraid to look at his face. One glimpse of freckles was enough. Any more and he wasn’t sure his act would hold up. He could question the need for a slave brand, play it like he wanted his new toy just the way it was. Marking Celestial Dragon property was a law, yet laws could be overturned at a whim. The issue was not the rules but the unspoken, sick, crazed rot of this place.

 Mercy was weakness. Empathy was below them. Any significant deviance from the status quo was unacceptable. Any sign of anything abnormal hit the rumor mill and rattled it for days, down a grapevine so tense and maddening that Sabo understood it’d bite him in the ass within hours. 

If he asked to skip the branding, that would only warrant enough unwanted attention to make everything else harder. It was already going to be a tough ask to lay low with the pirate king’s son on a leash– because that was how they’d advertised it, of course, making the Celestial Dragons froth at the mouth with interest. It’d been even worse when they saw him, too, because he was– the wanted posters didn’t do him justice. No, they wanted as little attention as possible.

Sabo turned around. “I’ll do it,” he said simply, carelessly.

“Of course, Sir– if it’s no trouble to you–” He crossed the room, gliding his gloved hand down the pole of black iron with that hateful symbol at the end. Was he really going to do this? It was no question that Ace could handle the pain, Sabo thought. And if it was up to him, he could at least ensure a light touch, a lack of unchecked sadism. It made sense. Unfortunately, it made sense. He’d make it up to Ace no matter what. Beg if he needed to. Ace would understand. Ace would understand, right? “If it pleases this Celestial Dragon,” one of the auction house men said, “you’ll want to hold it over the coals until it is bright red. Press evenly over the skin– just beneath the shoulder blades is customary, Sir.” Sabo searched for the smallest possible brand and took the iron off the wall. It was much lighter than a pipe, yet it felt a thousand times harder to hold. 

“This is your first purchased slave, is it not, Saint Robspierre?” Sabo looked up to tell one of these low-class bastards to fuck off with the small talk, only to freeze in his tense, neutral expression at the joyful look on Saint Martine’s face. Three Celestial Dragons stood in the doorway. Right, Sabo could do anything he wanted under this cover only because all of these soulless elites could do the same. Ace jostled his chains at every end. Sabo even couldn’t imagine how pissed off he was if Sabo was this pissed just breathing the same air as them. Why was this suddenly a party? It seemed much more likely in that moment that he really would kill someone rather than lay a fucking finger on Ace.

This smug-faced World Noble fancied himself on speaking terms with Sabo because of the time they’d spent together. Time that had turned into deals. Deals that had turned into laundering money back to the Revolutionary Army– how smug Sabo had felt when his targets were providing information and resources toward their own downfall. 

It couldn’t come soon enough. “Yes,” Sabo replied. It was like the muscles of his face had a mind of their own: he even managed to smile again. “I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“I don’t blame you,” one of the nobles chuckled. 

“As long as you share,” sneered another. Her nose wrinkled. “That one deserves every punishment we can think of. I can’t believe they even allowed Roger’s devil spawn to live that long. What was the navy thinking?” 

“Incompetents. Naturally, it falls to us to rid the world of that criminal’s blood.”

“Just sharing air with it is vile, really,” said the old man. The ignorant, cold disgust on their faces made Sabo nearly tremble with rage. “Vermin like that need to pay for every breath it takes until it’s begging for death–” “It would be a waste to rip him to pieces just yet,” Sabo cut in, his voice like steel. He circled haki away from his hands and let his hatred for the Celestial Dragons color his voice. “I’ll be training him first. Trash like this must be made to understand their place.” Sorry, Ace, he thought vehemently. Just a little longer, then you’ll never have to see these fucking people again. In that regard, at least, Ace was the lucky one. The trio laughed. “Of course, Robspierre. With your tastes… I’m surprised you didn’t indulge sooner. But there are finer specimen with… less abhorrent blood.”

Sabo’s blood boiled. He turned. The sight of Ace suffering was tantamount to setting his eyes on fire, but he just focused on that rise and fall. That was what mattered. These rotten bastards could yap all they want, the coddled little dogs that they were, but they weren’t going to so much as touch his brother. 

“But I indulge plenty,” Sabo replied, offering one last tight-lipped smile. He was fairly certain he understood what he was being lobbied for. “When I get bored of him, I’ll keep you all in mind, of course. It’s hardly fair of me to have all of the fun.”   Their mouths curled up. Good. They’d scurry back to their equally rotten friends and maintain Sabo’s reputation. Stay out of his hair for a while until he could figure out how to best ship Ace out of his place.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to …” With a heavy exhale, Sabo wandered towards the fire, dull branding iron in hand. “Ooh!” shrilled the woman. “I want to do it.” “He’s mine,” Sabo said icily, stabbing the brand into the coals with a little too much strength. He watched scorching light engulf the metal and wildly lick at the sides of the pit. He imagined the whole of Marie Geoise inside that fire. “Now, now. Sometimes watching is just as rewarding as doing the work,” Saint Martine conversationally told his friends. “And it is Robspierre’s very first time, no?” At this point, it was better to ignore them. He didn’t want this moment to have an audience. He didn’t want it to happen at all. But according to his plan, this was the single big obstacle before he could shelter Ace deep in his assigned estate. Better to get it over with, even with those invasive, beady eyes on him. He was going to throw up if this went on any longer than it had to. He checked that Ace’s gag was still on, that he’d have something to bite into. He quickly surveyed the toned canvas of Ace’s back, taken up so wholly by that skull and bones. Sabo had a lot of curiosity about that– about his brothers in general. Just learning about them would be the privilege of his life if Ace ever opened up to him again. 

  Sabo hadn’t been so nauseated and dizzy in years. The brand was about the size of his fist. Deciding the placement for Ace’s sake was difficult. The chest would hurt. Limbs were too far removed from tradition; it’d be pointless. The jolly roger must’ve been important to Ace, so he had to leave it untarnished. On the shoulders, it’d be painful and harder to hide. 

The chains jangled. He was panting, horribly tense. Sabo winced. That was going to make it hurt worse. 

Get it over with. Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. Ace, I’m sorry. 

It lasted two seconds and felt like an eternity. He had a steady touch. The sound and smell of sizzling flesh repulsed him. His chest throbbed. Knowing that this was a brand meant to imprison the body and soul beyond help, that this was Ace being so crudely violated– it felt like the worst thing Sabo had ever done in his life. 

Ace didn’t scream. At most, there was a deep, clipped groan, almost like a throaty sigh. Sabo quickly removed the iron, frantic eyes scanning over his work. He’d at least succeeded in leaving a lighter touch– the geometric dragon’s claw was a marred light pink on the firm flesh just above his ass and below the small of his back. With any hope, it’d be barely noticeable once it healed.

 Sabo sighed, too. “You can’t be done already,” one of the World Nobles gasped behind him, dripping with sincere disbelief. Celestial Dragons were not just heartless; they were also so petty, having nothing but sick tradition to cling to. “You have to make him scream, Robspierre.” “While we’re at it, melt that filthy pirate insignia off his back–” “Delightful idea– we could also carve it up!” “Why, that mark’s far too light–” “As I said,” Sabo bit out, eyes blazing, “it would be a waste to maim his body before using it. And why darken the mark? Everyone ought to already know he’s a slave. He’s never leaving this place.” 

His throat was near painfully dry. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, shocked by the tension. He’d let his haki slip half on accident. It cramped the room, intimidating every other inhabitant who only had the barest subconscious awareness of it. “When I’m done with him, do as you please,” Sabo said. “But I’ll appreciate complete privacy to better inspect my—“ His voice went too tight; he started again. “You wouldn’t want to miss the rest of the auction, would you?” 

[patiann345]

I'm flabbergasted, I'm shocked, I'm disappointed, and frankly? I'm indignant.

In a series with so, so very little in terms of representation in canon, a series that had what I THOUGHT was 2-3 confirmed POC (we'll get to that 2-3 bit btw), 1 Jewish man, a handful of women who's writing is hit-or-miss, and no queer characters because according to one of the creators "their identities don't matter"... (Tell that to the straight characters like Henry, Thomas, Allison, Susie, Linda who's not even a character and didn't need to exist in the first place-)

Preview for that graphic novel dropped! Spoilers!!

Norman Polk is white.

I'm. astonished. For the record, because I know someone will likely bring it up, I am aware that there was never a point in the series where it was ever actually confirmed that Norman was a black man. But it was very much the consensus for most people that he was coded to be POC. To see this is just.. it's disheartening.

Dreams Come to Life seemingly (egg on my face for thinking Norman was black ig???) had 3 POC characters; Norman, Thomas, and Jacob. This was... maybe changed to 2 later on, as JDS went back on coding Thomas as a black man (an announcement they made in a Discord server of all things?? Never publically???) which they may have gone back on again later since the wiki (not official, for the record) recognizes him as black.

3 characters, and we're now down to possibly one; I say possibly because it depends on how Thomas is represented in this book. If he's black, we've got 2. If he's white?

One. One character who's never made an appearance in the games; only in spinoff material in a book. One.

In the simplest way I can put it, I'm upset. There's lots more I can talk about here; how I think this opening is a disservice and bastardization of the original writing for cutting so much out, how while it can look worse (I've read a good handful of fnaf books I KNOW it can look worse) I can't say it really looks any good, how Buddy looks like he's 12, how the yellows are garish and piss-looking. But what has me the most upset is Norman, because he was 1 of 2-3 POC characters, out of a cast of dozens upon dozens. And sure, there could be more. But we only had 3 confirmed. Maybe 2.

And now we may be down to one.

I actually spoke with my partner a few nights ago about how nervous I was about the graphic novel. Because of how the cover looked, I wasn't expecting anything great. But I knew there was a chance they'd double down and be like 'Nope, actually Thomas is white, always was' I was anticipating that, and I still am. And I looked at them and told them something roughly along the lines of- "I can live with them making Thomas white, cause of them trying to back-peddle once, I wouldn't be surprised, but I don't know how I'd handle them whitewashing Norman."

I still don't know how to handle it. To say I'm disappointed is an understatement. People have done amazing designs of Norman for AUs and personal headcanons. Hell, all the staff really. And a majority of them, you'll find, are black. Almost everyone thought he was black. Not this pale Afton knock-off (seriously his hair looks greasy as hell, I know it's a stylization of the lighting but it looks gross)

I'm just throwing my thoughts out here for anyone who cares. Maybe most people won't mind, and fine. Again, it wasn't stated, it was seemingly coding, but clearly, we were wrong because he's paler than the fucking moon. But this is upsetting. This is genuinely upsetting to see. We have so little rep in this series, and the number is somehow dwindling.

What. the Fuck.

[n7punk]

i'm bored and was trying to hunt something down (spoilers: i didn't find it) so i present to you: amazon POD she-ra merch that actually pops off a little bit. what i'm looking for is not just the plain key art, preferably with some kind of dynamic silhouette. there's 27 pages of this shit and it's a lot to slog through for the average person when most of it is boring, so here's my highlights. also, i'm tying to link every version of a specific design i notice, but some designs only look good/interesting on certain pieces so stuff definitely slips through and if you see one you like, you should search its keywards to make sure you get all of its designs. also these default on white or black but if you open that specific item (hoodie, etc) you can try it on multiple base colors on that item. you can also select various mens, womens, youth, etc sizing options.

the horde:

horde logo: baseball, pullover, shirt, tank, hoodie, tank, .

the horde (lineup): shirt, shirt, shirt, vneck, hoodie, longsleeve, sweatshirt, . there's a variant of this design that is instead a square, but i hate it.

the horde (squad): tote,

okay by character now:

glimmer:

glimmer orb: shirt, tote, shirt, hoodie, vneck, sweatshirt, tank, longsleeve, raglan, shirt, pullover, . idk she's just cute!

adora: yeah slim pickings here almost everything is she-ra

split adora: shirt, sweatshirt, pullover. i don't like just slapping a rectangular graphic on a tshirt, but i do think this art is pretty cool and unique and it's like the ONLY time adora herself shows up.

catra dorito: pullover, shirt, tank, longsleeve, raglan, sweatshirt, tote, shirt, shirt, tank, raglan, longsleeve,

she-ra:

"fierce she-ra": shirt, tank, v-neck, sweatshirt, hoodie, longsleeve, pullover, longsleeve, raglan, . more debatable inclusion but i like the colors

for the honor of grayskull: shirt, hoodie, tank, tote, hoodie, vneck, raglan, longsleeve, tank, . this style of shirt isn't so much my thing but if it is yours then it's well-done.

rainbow circle she-ra: shirt, tank, sweatshirt, vneck, hoodie, vneck, longsleeve, . i didn't actually like this one until i saw it with the blue background and i still hate that the logo is the wrong color?? but here it is anyway.

honorable mentions: only hunting down one link example of these, you can search the rest.

entrapta, scorpia, mermista, angella, bow, catra, sea hawk, glimmer, perfuma, netossa, spinnerella, frosta. this "line" series is just the character key art with some color palette-apropriate lines in the background, plus their name. i'm not grabbing all the variants of these since there's so many, but see some examples below.

there's also a variant of the same concept where they just change the shape of the background lines/image size

scorpia, hordak,

also honorable mention: this weird series where they're in a geometric shape surrounded by a line with a circle in it that i feel like is supposed to emulate the first ones language aesthetic?

catra (triangle), she-ra (circle)

things i don't like but are unique and i think kids would like:

she-ra sts, girls never quit, kind heart.

dishonorable mention: whatever the fuck is going on with this eyes thing

catra, glimmer, mermista, scorpia, bow, frosta, perfuma, netossa, angella, spinnerella, entrapta, sea hawk,

also if you want just the logo on a shirt you can do that too ig.

[3416]

1634 primer pt. 2 (2023-present)

hey again... since the 1634 primer (2015-2023) was a success, i figured i'd start a newer part two to keep that one from getting too long and unruly, so this will be a continuation starting the summer of 2023! with auston's extension signing him through the 27-28 season and with the contract talks for mitch (and hopefully inevitable extension, knock on wood) coming at the end of the 23-24 season.... i feel that there is a ton of content to come, so let's do it x2:

mitch marner got married on july 29th 2023... auston came to his wedding in canada after skipping other teammates weddings the same summer... here's auston being spotted watching mitch and steph during their first dance (his face...).... auston being in the official wedding video (gifs)... tarps off with mitch yelling in his face.... mitch making sure that auston's in one of the pics he posted in his photodump on ig <3 despite not posting many guests... here's a pic with them, michael bunting, naz kadri, and tyson barrie

last year we got auston calling mitch 'mitchelly' and 'his guy' in our leafs thanksgiving video, but this year we got them all randomly assigning thanksgiving dishes to random teammates (video)... and auston chose to give mitch the apple crumble "because it's actually his favorite" (gifs)

for media day, mitch got roped into a stupid game where you try to roll a coin into a fork... when he sees auston in the bg, he tries to wrangle him into it too... auston's noises of dissent like he's used to mitch trying to boss him around, i rest my case (leafs blueprint ep later showed auston smiling while mitch begged so... i was correct)

in the 2023 bardown callout video, auston turns into a giggly happy mess when mitch comes in the room mid-answer (gifs)... mitch also picked auston as the most likely to rip dress pants bc he's got "big legs" (gifs)... followed by a look that can only be interpreted as him fighting his own demons

auston, mitch, willy, and mo all did this goofy video where auston and mitch pretended to be sobeys workers and were given instructions behind the scenes... mitch sees auston in the outfit and his first thought is immediately "dude you look good as a sobeys worker" (gifs)... and then proceeds to make auston do pushups for fun (gifs). they were also given costumes with matching pb&j hats... and there's THIS picture i still need them to answer for.

all of them also went and did a little crossover with the blue jays... where mitch and auston were still a duo on the baseball field (vid here) (pic)

first glimpse of them playing hockey to start training and of course... they're hovering around each other from the first moment

this little preseason moment where mitch keeps his hand on auston's back for a bit... just to touch him

in the opening game of the 23-24 season, auston matthews scored his 300th career goal (followed by his 301st and 302nd for his 8th career hat trick) with an assist by mitch (who collects the puck for him too), which marks 100 goals he's assisted on for auston if this graphic is to be believed. auston went on to score 2 more hat tricks within his first 8 games, many of his goals being assisted by mitch.

another warmup video where they pass in sync too... and the maple leafs official account calling their warmup a TRADITION

the commentators still never shut up about them.. there have been 4892342 moments where they comment on mitch and auston being able to find each other or being partners out there or having chemistry... here are just some of those audio moments: 'with marner by his side, they'll find each other', 'trying to get that fourth goal for his partner', 'his partner mitch marner'

a leafs blueprint episode revealing they sit next to each other in team meetings.... and auston looks at mitch like he's the sun, but WHAT'S NEW

here's jesse from the steve dangle podcast talking about how mitch and auston are more in sync than normal center-winger combos and how matthew knies fits with them.

auston being so happy about mitch shootout goal the first time AND the second time

a game against nashville where auston was ready to go after a man who crosschecked mitch and where they held hands even though they didn't score themselves (pic) (gifs)

random pics of mitch and auston being attached at the hip during breaks here here here here

auston and mitch... have changed their pregame handshake to something that looks like... they both? kiss their gloves? before highfiving????... see for yourself ... pic by pic of a different day too

some cellies :') here and here and many more to come, im sure

bench moments so far: x x x x

they also still constantly walk into places on the road together as evidenced by this tag i've started and here's a pic from their global series trip where they're getting off the plane together

here's the first part of the primer in case you missed it and here is the @1634archive, where i've got a bunch of pics dewatermarked of them for you to peruse. it'll be updated as the season goes. for misc moments and gifs of 1634 that aren't substantial enough to get bullet points here, you can check out my tags #1634 and #egifs where it'll probably mostly be mitch and auston stuff. if there are any broken links or anything, don't be afraid to shoot me an ask so i can try to fix it!! enjoy!!

updated: 11/14/23

[lovelyhan]

— thirst trap ⟢

pairing: seungcheol x reader

summary: when your boyfriend posts a deliberate thirst trap for millions to see, you end up feeling just a little bit sulky.

word count: 2.8k words

tags: established relationship, fluff, smut

warnings: implied hand kink? graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: cheol ghosts us all on ig for almost a month then comes back and drops those fucking selfies like it's no one's business!?!?!?!?! i want to BITE him !! heads up that this isn't proofread :')

smut tags: phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

svt taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose

seungcheol taglist: @changk6un - @renjunphile - @pluviophile-xxx

Seungcheol updates his Instagram page sparingly—this is a well-known fact.

Though he's, by no means, an inactive user, your boyfriend often leaves his fans and followers wondering when he's going to bother dropping his next selca because of how long the intervals between his posts are. He uploads an average of two pictures per month. Three if he's feeling generous.

So when he finally posts one after almost a month of radio silence on his socials, it's practically a godsent miracle.

You still have his post notifications turned on, despite the fact that he often asks you to choose from an assortment of shots before posting them altogether.

After all, there are instances where Seungcheol has to make quick PR, when he doesn't have the time to ask which boyfriend pics you'll allow him to post for the world to see, and which ones you wanted to keep for yourself.

Times like this, for example.

You don't get to check his latest post right away when your phone dings with the notification—as you were wrapping up some leftover work you decided to continue at home. Although, you were half-expecting another brand collaboration of some sort. He's been getting lots of those lately.

But when you finally find the time to pull up on his Instagram page, you're greeted by an adorable mirror selca on the first slide, and it has you pouting at him.

Well, adorable isn't the right word for it, really.

Seungcheol's head is tilted upward while he stares down at the screen of his phone—looking smug as hell especially with the way his dark hair fall over his eyes. But he's finally using the cherry patterned phone case you got for him last Christmas, as well as the Shin-chan popsocket that Jeonghan gave him as a souvenir from his trip to Japan. Coupled with his natural curls, you're able to overlook that tantalizing look on his face in favor of gushing about those other details instead.

You double-tap the picture before checking out the other photos. There are three slides in total, and you can already picture Seungcheol showing off his dimples or making a kissy face to balance out his borderline sultry expression in the first slide. He knows damn well that he's daddy-coded and tends to even that out with some aegyo here and there.

The second photo gives you a better view of his whereabouts—one of the boxing gyms just a few blocks away from their company's office building.

Seungcheol has taken you there once before to give you a feel of the basic training regimen, but after a few sessions, you concluded that you're just going to have to stick to your regular workouts after all.

You snicker when you realize he's wearing that silly designer Pop-Eye cardigan—showing off his dimples as expected. You've been together for so long, that you practically have Seungcheol's go-to poses engraved in your mind.

When you finally swipe to the last slide, however, the smile on your face vanishes in an instant.

The cardigan is off, and you're met with the sight of your boyfriend donned with a fitted gray shirt. It's not your first time seeing it, and it's not his first time wearing it, but you're pretty damn sure his followers have yet to see this particular form-fitting shirt while he's at the gym.

You puff out your cheeks in some form of indignance. It's only been three hours since Seungcheol posted the pictures, but he's already racked up 900,000 likes in that timespan. You're not sure if you feel happy about it or not.

Heat prickles the back of your neck as you scroll down to see the caption he attached to the post.

Mind over body🖤

"Mind over body my ass," you scoff before taking a nosedive into his comment section. If Seungcheol's showing something off here, it's definitely not his mind.

Reading through all the thirsty things his followers are saying about him used to be a past time of yours, where Seungcheol would turn red from embarrassment as you recited each one aloud with a scandalous tone. If you play your cards right he's perfectly easy to fluster.

But now, as you scroll through the fifth comment asking him for a headlock, you feel a nasty feeling coiling in your chest—one that you immediately realize is possessiveness.

You knew that dating an idol means that you're virtually sharing him with his fans until he decides to quit. Even if Seungcheol has never made you feel like he's anything but yours, the fact still stands that he's being perceived by thousands of people all over the world.

He knows that. He knows that damn well, so of course he'll treat everyone and their mothers to a goddamn thirst trap on what was supposed to be a quiet Friday night.

You scroll back up to the collection of photos Seungcheol decided to grace the world with—biting your lip when you realize just how well his biceps fill out the sleeves of that stupid shirt. If only he hadn't taken off that stupid Pop-Eye cardigan, you wouldn't be having such a dilemma right now.

It doesn't help that you're starting to notice how nice his hands look in every picture. Fuck.

Despite being on break from group activities, Seungcheol has had a couple of solo ventures keeping him occupied over the past few days. It's been about a week since you last saw him in person, and a month since the two of you fooled around in bed.

Surely, the jury won't condemn you for becoming all hot and bothered because of how tempting Seungcheol's thick fingers are in those photos, right?

Just when you're about to put your phone down and schedule a relaxing evening with one of your vibrators, a text notification hovers at the top of your screen.

Cheol: hey, baby, how was work? is it ok to call now?

God fucking dammit.

Me: just finished. yeah, you can call :)

It doesn't even take Seungcheol a full minute before your phone starts vibrating in your hand. You sigh, answering without another thought.

"Hi," Seungcheol says.

"Hi," you tell him back. "Aren't you tired? You went to Music Bank today, right?"

Your boyfriend sighs, and you hear some rustling on the other end of the line. He must be in bed by now.

"A little, but it's not like we were the ones performing at the music show today," he chuckles. "If anyone's tired, it's definitely Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung. They haven't had a proper rest day since the album was released."

You sigh. "And you're having a group comeback in a couple of months, too. Poor guys."

"Yeah. That's why I asked Wonwoo and Mingyu to come with me to check on them. Idiots don't usually have a proper gauge of their own personal limits."

"That's rich, coming from an idiot leader who doesn't know how to take his own breaks either," you interject, rolling your eyes even though he can't see it. "Speaking of breaks, what made you hit the gym today? You usually don't go that late."

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment—probably trying to figure out how you found out about his plans for tonight, before realizing that he just dropped the world's most unsubtle thirst trap in the history of thirst traps.

"Oh, you know. Just to clear my head and stuff," he says, before quietly adding, "That, and Mingyu told me the fans were starting to miss me on Instagram."

You can't help the huff that escapes you. So Kim Mingyu is the mastermind behind this after all.

"What?" Seungcheol laughs airily. "Don't tell me the photos I picked were ugly."

"It's the exact opposite actually," you say before clearing out your desk so you can settle yourself on your own bed. "You did too well and now I'm going to have to fight the thirty-thousand people in the comments asking if you can suffocate them with your arms to establish dominance."

Another laugh—this time, a low rumble in his chest. "Oh? Did you like the pics I took that much, princess?"

Now that you're under the covers, you feel more comfortable—more inclined to be honest about the inappropriate reactions you had to those stupid fucking mirror selfies.

"Mhmm," you whisper. "Your fingers looked really nice in them, Cheol..."

The sound of him groaning at the other end of the line shoots straight through your core, making you clench your thighs together. These damn work schedules. If the two of you weren't so busy, he might already have those thick digits buried inside you by now.

"Yeah?" He questions huskily. "You've been thinking about my fingers, baby? Where do you want them?"

You take your lower lip between your teeth, inching your legs apart as your free hand starts to glide between your thighs. The gusset of your underwear is starting to get soaked by the minute, but you feel no semblance of shame for it.

"Inside my pussy," you gasp a little when you press down your clit through the fabric of your panties. "Love it when you finger me while we make out, Cheol. Always so hot..."

"Fuck," he sighs, and you hear more rustling in the background. "Put me on speaker phone, princess. I can't go to you right now, but I can still help get you off. That sound good to you?"

You whimper before removing your panties altogether spreading your slick along your glistening seam. "Yes, please."

As the two of you get comfortable, you hang onto the sound of Seungcheol's voice like a lifeline. There's just something so unbearably arousing when he's talking to you with his sex voice. Though it doesn't sound that different from when he's performing Hip-hop Unit songs, you know the desire laced in his words is reserved for you, and you alone.

Those people in his comments can only dream of getting what Seungcheol spoils you with on the regular.

"You all good, baby? Can you hear me well?"

You swallow thickly. "Uh-huh."

"Good. Now, I want you to tease yourself just a little. Make yourself wet enough first," your boyfriend commands, and you can practically picture him licking his lips.

In return, you let out a soft whine. "You already made me wet because of those pictures..."

"I did, didn't I?" He laughs, that evil, evil man. "But you're not wet enough, princess. I want to hear your cunt squelching around those tiny fingers through the phone when you fuck yourself. You can do that for me, right?"

You let out a shuddering breath when you gather some more of the slick trickling out of your hole—using that to rub your clit in tight circles. If you listen hard enough, you can hear a rather...suggestive noise on Seungcheol's end. Thinking about him pumping his thick cock in his fist sends another rush of arousal through you.

"'M playing with myself, Cheolie," you whimper. "Are you, too?"

He lets out a sigh so sexy, it makes you yearn for his presence even more. "You bet I am. Hearing you admit that you got all worked up because of those pictures made me so fucking hard, princess. Been so long since I last had these fingers shoved up your needy cunt."

"C-Can I put them in now?" You practically beg. "P-Please, Cheol. I need—"

"Go ahead, baby. Slide in two fingers for me. I know you can take 'em."

The soft moan that tumbles out of your lips is pornographic even in its subtlety—burying two digits to the hilt as you continue rubbing your clit with your other hand.

It isn't enough. Your own fingers can only reach half of what Seungcheol can, but you're going to have to make do.

"Shit. That's what I'm talking about," Seungcheol groans when he picks up on that telltale squelch he's been yearning to hear again. "Your pussy's always such a mess, isn't it? Doesn't matter if you don't have a cock to split you in half right now. You'll get wet from just about anything."

"That's not—ah! That's not true," you mewl as you curl your fingers inside in an attempt of finding your g-spot. When the pads manage to graze a sensitive patch of flesh that has you writhing on the mattress, you know the effort isn't entirely fruitless. "I only get wet for you, Cheolie."

"And I only pop a boner when my needy princess starts to get worked up without me," he growls. "You like the pace you've set right now, baby? Now, imagine it's my cock hitting you over and over—making a mess of that perfect cunt while you squeeze me like a vice."

Your rhythm falters at the image he plants in your mind. Fuck. It's just now occurring to you how much you missed being spread open on his cock.

"Seungcheol," you whimper, hips starting to gyrate on the mattress. "I miss you so much, fuck."

He hisses through his teeth. "I miss you, too, princess. Can't wait to see you again."

"Can I use one of my toys?" You ask, half-hoping he'll relent even though you know his answer's still going to be:

"No," Seungcheol replies firmly. "You're gonna get off to your own fingers and the sound of my voice like a good girl. You understand? Now get on your knees and lie on your chest."

His instructions confuse you a little, but you still do as you're told, pruning fingers never straying too far from your slick heat as Seungcheol mutters the dirtiest things on the other line.

"You always come so hard when I fuck you from behind," he growls. "Try fingering yourself again, princess. You'll understand why."

You press your cheek against the cold sheets, easing three fingers into your sopping entrance before establishing a pace you're comfortable with. The moment you finally settle into the new position, you curl those digits again before your back practically arches into the mattress—ripping out a pretty little moan from your lips.

"You can reach a lot deeper now, can you?" Seungcheol laughs but you're still floored by the pleasurable sensation and the fact that he knows your body so well, he can tell you how to make yourself fall apart even if he isn't with you. "Keep doing just that, princess. You'll be coming on the sheets in no time."

"Fuck, Cheol," you breathe, thighs quivering as you continue to thrust your soaked fingers in and out of your pussy. "Wish you were here with me... Want you to blow my back out so fucking bad, shit—"

"I will, baby. I will," he promises, just as breathless as you are. "It's sad that I'll end up coming on my stomach instead of inside you, but it's the yearning that makes it all worth the wait, right?"

Fuck. He's so...

"I'm so close, baby," Seungcheol continues. "Play with your clit and come with me."

You don't need to think it through—tireless moans spilling from your lips as you obey your boyfriend's instructions. The lovely angle that Seungcheol just introduced to you coupled with how hypersensitive your puffy clit has become is sending your brain into a frenzy that you didn't think you were going to experience tonight.

"Your cunt sounds so goddamn tasty, princess. You're close, aren't you?" Seungcheol babbles, and the deep sound of his voice only serves to turn you on further. "That's it. That's my good girl. You'll take everything in that greedy pussy. Be it your fingers or mine, those little toys or my cock—you take them all so fucking well. Don't even get me started about whenever I dump my load inside your needy hole."

How are you supposed to last long when your boyfriend has gotten the art of dirty talk down to a T? You didn't even think it's possible for you to get off without any of your toys, but the sound of Seungcheol's voice whispering all that filth into your ear has the electric impulses of an orgasm skidding across every synapse in your fucked out brain.

Your boyfriend lets out a long-winded groan on his end, and you can picture those white hot streams of cum dribbling from his tip and onto his toned stomach. And you're not even there to see it.

"That's it, let go for me, princess," Seungcheol whispers hoarsely as you slowly sink down from your high. "I promise I'll stuff you full next time we see each other."

"Promise me you won't post any more thirst traps, and we'll call it quits," you interject, still feeling a bit blissed out, but coherent enough to carry on your initial sulking.

"Hm? Why's that?"

"Because news flash: I actually don't like sharing my hot as fuck boyfriend to his own fans," you growl. "If you're gonna take pictures like that, send them to me and nobody else!"

Seungcheol barks out an incredulous laugh. "Aww, my possessive princess doesn't want me to post gym pics anymore? I don't wanna let down the fans, baby."

"Oh? Which one do you want more, your fans' attention or this pussy?" you proposition him.

Your boyfriend groans. "Baby, if you rile me up again, I might end up sneaking one of our cars out just so I can pay you a visit."

"What's stopping you then?"

Seungcheol sighs like he doesn't know what to do with you.

"Alright. I'll be there in twenty."

⟢ end notes: i...don't know what came over me tbh i saw those pics of cheol and thought, i NEED to write something and voila! honestly thought i was a jeonghan n shua stan but i've been feeling so rabid for cheol these days that i might just be a 95z stan after all 🥹 i hope you guys like this horny brain child i finished writing at exactly 2:43 in the morning of dino's birthday LMFAO i definitely did NOT plan to write this, so let's thank ig user sound_of_coups for sponsoring today's content 🤭 edit: i wrote a lil sequel of sorts here! the chelrot just won't stop yk...

[whrrlvr]

i’m sick so cal + andre sick hcs!

i’m in pain help

cw: uhhhh slight mention of shitting, not graphic but i figured ig tag it

andre!

he HATES being sick he dreads it so much

if he has a slight cold he is so dramatic about it

which is kind of funny cause i think he has a pretty decent immune system so he isn’t sick a lot

he’s just a little crybaby

i think he’d try and make sure he never gets sick so people think he’s a germaphobe

he can handle blood and guts, but the second someone coughs within 3 feet of him? hard side eye and he’s scooching away

you will NOT catch him helping cal out when he’s sick

if one of his parents got sick he will lock himself in his room as much as possible

modern au, he so would have hated covid and quarantine

he would have been one of the kids in november 2019 taking the cases around the world seriously and was the only one prepared for lockdown

going back on track

so when he actually does get sick?

send mercy

he’s so miserable and he will call cal whining about how he hates being sick

you would think he was a baby the way he can’t take care of himself

when he’s sick from school is like the only time he wishes he was at school

not cause he actually misses it, but because he likes the routine (autismcoughcough)

and it means he’s not sick

as soon as he’s feeling a little better, he’s deep cleaning his sheets, getting a new toothbrush etc

he doesn’t wanna take any chances of getting sick again so soon

cal!

on the other spectrum, cal does not care about sickness

like yes it sucks but like… excuse to not do anything hello?!??

he can function quite well while sick, you’ll see him walking around during sick days as if he didn’t have a care in the world

i also see cal being cool with going to visit andre face to face when he’s sick, to take care of the big baby who can’t handle being sick (/lh)

he wouldn’t be, like, a pro but bring tissues and some video games they could play

i think he gets sick quite a bit too, so that adds to how he’s so casual about being sick

he’s just used to it

BUT he never gets sick with the rest of his household

it’s either he brought the virus into the gabriel house and they caught it once he was feeling a lot better or he just never gets it

he typically makes some canned soup for them so they can rest tho

he’s also a very touchy sick, he is usually seen cuddling up with some childhood plushie while in fetal position

in the beginning, he’d ask andre to come visit him when he’s sick but after being refused too many times he’s content with online msgs or phone calls

extra!

it’s the day. the day the weather station said it was zero degrees meaning it was time. however, after five minutes of cal hearing that, the phone rings. he had just finished getting dressed for the occasion when he picks it up and hears andre on the other side.

“hey, did you hear?” cal asks, knowing the answer to that question.

there’s a pause and all he could hear was andre’s breathing before he cleared his throat. “yeah, but i think… i got food poisoning? been shitting all morning. we should put it off.”

it was suspicious to cal. the one day it’s zero degrees and andre has food poisoning? the andre that’s immune system is so strong that he has, in the past, avoided getting food poisoning with his family?

however, cal just hummed at andre. maybe he’s just not ready yet.

[allurilove]

it’s so crazy how my two male wife’s don’t get any love, BRO I LOVE MASOCHISTS SO MUCH 😔😔 I am such a fucking simp for Survivor yan and neighbor yan, so can I get dick hcs for my two girls? If you feel like it can you throw in how you think they look? <3 (I love calling men girls)

Can I also engage in yearbook yan slander? He seems like the type of dude to call girls females (I get such an ick when men do that)

love youuu 💋💋

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

I hate that too, omfg. Honestly yearbook guy just cannot take a break ig, everyone hates him 😭😭 is there one brave soul that’s gonna come out and say they do like him? do yall even exist ? 🤨

(maybe he would call women that? just not in public.)

Survivor yan… I mean he didn’t lie when he said that he is a grower. I think that when he’s soft he’s probably at around two-three inches?. and then when he’s fully erect he’s about 5.5-6 inches. girth wise 2.5 cm. I don’t really know if he is cut or not, so yall can decide that. I would imagine he has hair down there due to the lack of razors in his world.

for his appearance all I can think about is Louis Garrel. I mean I just like Louis so…

there ya go!

For neighbor yan, I would say he’s a bit on the bigger side. Hes a little awkward with his dick, and he doesn’t really like to touch himself unless he’s thinking about you. Neighbor would be a solid 8 inch, 3cm in girth, and he’s uncut (maybe) And he doesn’t have much hair on his body except for on his damn legs.

Neighbor would have that sweet looking face. he would look like someone that’s totally normal, and a bit adorable. He has soft brown eyes, light brown hair, and occasionally wears glasses. He wears graphic t-shirts, regular straight up and down jeans, and converse.