#of all the gin joins in all the world

[unknownarmageddon]

Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying / Of All the Gin Joints In All the World ; Fall Out Boy

[eternally-racing]

off limits | logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x Leclerc! reader

genre: fluff, maybe angst if you squint

wc: 1.6k

warnings: none (i think)

summary: Your brother Charles always likes to say you're off limits, but what happens when you finally meet a driver who doesn't know who you are?

- - - - - -

“You remember my little sister, Y/N right?”

You roll your eyes as Charles keeps a protective arm around your shoulders. He’s acting like you’re in a room of men who all want to get in your pants, when in reality your brother has kept you locked away from the rest of the grid as best he can over the last few years. It made sense when you were younger, but it’s definitely gotten on your nerves, especially on days like today. It was the end of season party, and having your brother attached to your hip at the club was I’m sure not your or his ideal plan. You had begged for him to let you come - you said it was only fair as a trade off since he made you listen to his rants pre and post-race all season long. You get that motorsports is his world and you’re only a guest, but a little more friendship on the grid wouldn’t hurt. 

You’ve noticed yourself get a couple more looks over as you’ve grown up over the years, and when Lando walks over and wolf whistles as he shamelessly checks you out, your brother is already telling him to watch it while he watches the British driver give you a hug. “You know where to find me, pretty girl” Lando finishes with a wink before he heads off to join the rest of his friends. It’s all good fun between you two and you know it’s nothing but playful banter as you both like to get under your brother’s skin, but Charles doesn’t seem to quite feel the same as he’s shooting daggers at the curly haired boy walking away from you both. 

Charles has always been overprotective of you, especially around the other boys in motorsport. He’d say that none of them would ever be worth your time,  that he sees the way they go through women like crazy and that the way they treat their partners would never be good enough for his darling baby sister. Through his years on the grid he had made it clear to everyone that you are and will always be off limits, something that has always irked you to no end. You were more than old enough to make your own decisions, though it seems like Charles will always see you as his little sister.

There’s only one other boy that Charles let you get close to over the years ("let" is a stretch, it was more a reluctant acceptance as it happened), and you can’t help but smile as he walks towards the two of you with open arms. Max and you became friends one day as kids when you scraped your knee on the pavement at a karting race while running away from Charles and he stopped to help you find your parents while you were sobbing - the rest was history.He may have had his ups and downs with your brother, but Max was someone that you knew you could always count on when it mattered. He puts on his best fake bodyguard voice as he comes up to you and Charles and says “Is this man bothering you, young lady?”, earning a laugh from you and an eye roll from your brother.

Soon you’re begging the Dutchman to save you from Charles’ wrath, and luckily with the promise of being his padel partner in the new year he quickly agrees. Charles tries to put up a bit of a fight but before you know it he’s yelling “make good choices” as he’s being whisked away to get a gin and tonic with his self-appointed drinking buddy for the night. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been at one of these events, let alone been able to walk around without your brother, so it feels very much like unfamiliar territory. A vodka cran seems like a good place to start, and you settle in easily at the bar while surveying the scene in front of you. Maybe Charles was right, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into - there’s so many people everywhere and everyone seems to know everyone. There’s got to be a few faces you know in this sea of people, like George’s girlfriend or Danny’s sister, the only problem is getting through it. You’re doing a good job staying under the radar as you squeeze through the crowd until you find yourself colliding head first with someone, your drink absolutely flying into their chest. 

All you can think is “fuck, I should’ve drank a gin and tonic instead too” as you rub mercilessly at the red liquid on the mystery boy’s chest with the one flimsy napkin the bar gave you. It’s only when he replies back with “It’s seriously okay, gin and tonics taste like shit anyways.” in an accent that you can’t quite pin down do you realize that you accidentally have been talking out loud. Your cheeks are beet red and you’re starting to miss the comfort of having your older brother around you. 

“I’m Logan” the boy in front of you says with a smile. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever said yes to something faster in your life. 

The conversation flows so naturally between you and Logan. It makes sense that you’ve never met him before today - he’s new on the grid and doesn’t seem to be close with any of Charles' friends. The freedom you feel is refreshing - it’s been a long time since you got to know a guy like this, just one on one talking to each other. Of course there had been the blind dates that your friends had tried to set you up on but there were all just a little bit off. None of them felt like this.

“I meant to ask you earlier, did you come with someone to the party tonight?”

The question makes you freeze up because you’re having to face the reality that Logan may be one of the only people who don’t know that Charles is your brother in this entire party. Is it selfish that you want it to stay that way? 

“Oh, um, I came with a friend of a friend who dragged me here tonight.” The lie falls off your lips all too easily and you’re not even sure why you did it. Logan had been nothing but a gentleman all night and you don’t think he would treat you differently for being Charles’ little sister. Maybe you just wanted to see it for yourself, what could happen when people didn’t feel threatened around you because of your older brother. Luckily, Logan doesn’t think twice about your response and you’re grateful for that. 

The bass booming through the club is making you start to wiggle in your seat, and it’s enough to make Logan laugh and ask you if you want to dance. Who could say no to that American smile? You’re dragging him up to dance, shimmying your shoulders in a way that only confirms that you’re as bad of a dancer as you mentioned to Logan earlier in your conversation.  At first it’s all so playful, Logan twirling you around and hyping you up, but as the music gets more sultry you and Logan do as well. It’s like there’s two magnets pulling you both together until you’re pressed chest to chest. Logan’s hand around your waist just feels so right. Your heart is beating so fast you’re worried that he might actually be able to hear it himself - he’s so close to you that you can feel the heat from his breath on your neck. The conversation has slowed between you two but you feel like you understand him perfectly. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the boy in front of you that’s making your cheeks so red, but you know that you don’t want this feeling to stop. 

“Will you kiss me, Logan?” you’re looking at him like you can see the universe in his eyes, and simultaneously hoping that he can't see how nervous you are in yours. 

You’re trying not to get carried away, but it’s hard not to. Kissing Logan just feels so right. You grab his shirt by the front in an effort to get closer to him, you want to feel him, and Logan reciprocates by pressing his hands even further into the dimples on your back. You’re not sure how long you go on like this, you both making out like love-sick teenagers. All you know is that you can’t get enough of him, and based on the way Logan reaches out to caress your cheek, you hope he feels the same. You’re trying to memorize every single part of him, just in case this is all you get to have of him. As his hands start to dip lower and lower your heart beats even faster, and you let your hands trail further down his chest along with the tempo of the music. This moment feels infinite. 

It’s not until you feel a hand on your shoulder that the spell is broken as the two of you are shoved apart. Logan reaches to pull you behind him, but once you see a pair of green eyes that are identical to yours staring you both down, it’s him that you want to protect. 

“What the fuck are you doing to my sister, Sargeant?"

----

author's note: this was such a fun one to write! i think a part 2 to this could be a lil crazy and fun so let me know if you want that too <3

[undertheorangetree]

After Party

Summary- Art and Tashi don’t like to share their toys

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Threesome. Voyeurism. Cunnilingus. Fingering. P in V sex. Scissoring. Getting pinned down? Kinda degradation? Praise kink. Patrick haters one and all (sorry king).

Author’s Note- Everyone’s probably moved on but not me baby. There’s something about threesome fics that pull a demon out of me idk what it is. This is filthy/dirty/insane/etc plz enjoy and find the full fic on ao3 link below

This is something she doesn’t think she will ever get used to.

The galas. The fundraising dinners. Being so entirely immersed in the world of celebrity. It had been what she signed up for when she applied as the Donaldson’s personal assistant, but she hadn’t been anticipating quite this much of a culture shock. It’s gotten easier over the past few months, when her assistant position had changed into something more. When her feelings for both Art and Tashi had developed into something more romantic and they had reciprocated. Or rather, been the first to act. Now, galas for their foundation seemed much easier, when Tashi asks to steal her away for a few minutes to kiss in the bathroom or Art lets his hand dip a little too low on her waist when asking her a question.

Perhaps they should be more discrete, but discretion is often far from her mind whenever she is with them. Especially when she is with them.

Though she tries to keep her head about her now as she stands by Tashi’s side, only half listening while Tashi smiles and charms a handful of investors into doubling their donations. Tashi laughs at one of the men’s poor excuse for a joke, only enough to seem polite, before turning back to her.

“Would you get me another gin and tonic?” Tashi asks, voice likely sweeter than it should be.

She smiles, already collecting Tashi’s empty glass to bring back to the bar. “Of course. Excuse me.”

Tashi’s fingers graze her own for a moment as she relinquishes the glass, half a caress, before she is turning back to the investors. Faintly, she can hear her as she explains the benefits of the foundation- how their donations would help them to reach even more disadvantaged children and wouldn’t they like to be responsible for bettering a life?- but her voice grows faint the closer she gets to the bar.

It’s busier than she had expected it to be, easily over a hundred people dressed in their finery jammed together into this hotel ballroom, and at least a dozen of them are all crowded around the bar. She waits patiently, depositing Tashi’s glass as she leans forward, balancing some weight onto her elbows in the hope of relieving her poor feet. She can feel a blister forming on her pinky toe, where the strap of her new shoe rubs incessantly, and wiggles her toes in the vain hope of shifting it. She would never complain, not when Tashi had spent a small fortune on them for her, and especially not when she knows that should she tough it out now and voice her complaints back in the hotel room, Art will surely make it up to her.

The bartender finally manages to make her way to her, a friendly yet frazzled smile on her face as she asks for the order, She gives it quickly and though the bartender turns to prepare it, an unfamiliar voice manages to stop her.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

She looks over her shoulder to find a man standing behind her, smiling in a way she is sure he believes to be charming. She ignores it in favour of sending the bartender an apologetic smile of her own, trying to convey that she is not the cause of this sudden increase in workload, but the bartender only nods before heading off, giving the man the opportunity to join her at the bar.

He doesn’t exactly look as though he belongs here. Though he is dressed well enough, he’s unshaven, his dark hair tousled in a way that just looks messy. He smells like cigarettes and too much cologne, as if he’s trying to hide the smell like a middle schooler. It’s almost as if he had seen the party from the street and decided to join in, though the way he holds himself assures her that he is in no way insecure about that. He radiates a confidence that she could only dream of, one that seems to border on arrogance as he watches her, as if she is a promise rather than a conquest.

Though she keeps her eyes forward, staring at the rows upon rows of alcohol bottles, all glittering in the dim lighting, he does not mimic her for long. Soon, his eyes find her again, watching her with a half smile until the bartender returns with their drinks. She thanks her before making to leave, but the man seizes the opportunity before she can.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?”

She stops, turning back and teetering on her heels as she smiles politely. “I’m not, it’s for my boss.”

“You mean I didn’t even manage to learn your drink order?” He pretends to be wounded, placing a hand over his heart. “I was hoping you and I could get to know each other.”

“I wish we could but this is just a work event for me, I’m afraid.” Another smile, this one more genuine as she switches the glass from one hand to the other, the condensation freezing her fingers. “I don’t get to have any fun until it’s over.”

That seems to pique his interest, elbow resting on the bar as he leans toward her, eyes raking over her before lazily meeting her eye again. “Oh? What kind of fun?”

Read the rest here

[celenawrites]

late night drive (m.)

Summary -

After a stressful work day, you spend the night with two handsome men.

Pairing -

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x F! Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Warnings -

Explicit smut (18+ only), slight praise, usage of nicknames (good girl, sweet girl, lass, etc), Oral sex (F, M receiving), Reader has self-esteem issues and it shows heavily, slight angst.

w.c. - 6.5k

masterlist || ao3 vers.

MINORS DNI, or I'll bite your ankles. This stuff is for adults only. 18+ folks only.

You have met them both at a seedy bar set a little off to the left from the heart of the city. 

Johnny and Simon. You remember them sitting at the bar, glasses half-filled with Kentucky bourbon, faint murmurs of their conversation flowing like a gentle stream between them and their hands tenderly drawing mindless shapes on their scarred skins. (as if they were writing their soft declarations of love with their fingers on each other, invisible to the eye and yet etched into their souls.)

You are uncertain how you caught their eye. You are not sure if there is something in you that they had caught in a passing glance, and decided to open their hearts (and their beds) to you for this one night as a result. 

You had been there after bombing another promising job interview, pissed at your failed potential (you were an A plus student - honors call and all, until you weren’t anymore) and the dead-end job of yours that had you feeling miserable for the past three or so years. It didn’t help that any time you fiddled with your phone, you’d be bombarded with pictures of your schoolmates and college friends marrying, or going on vacations and having a family of their own - growing older with someone, anyone; their lives full and moving and vibrant with colors that usually hurt your eyes. 

Meanwhile, you are just living. 

A day at a time. A week at a time. 

Day to day to day has always been the same. You wake up, work, cook and clean for one and you indulge in past hobbies in order to capture the joy that has somehow slipped past your fingers the older you grew. You have no furry companions you can use as an excuse to go out on a walk, no lovers to send raunchy texts to, and no friends who would abandon their children and husbands to give you company while you wallow in your eternal misery as you drink your pain away with a beer bottle with condensation settling down on its neck, leaving your palms wet and slippery. 

You don’t even try to think about your family. 

So there you are, an untouched glass of pink gin kept in front of you and your hands nervously raking through your oiled hair and your rumpled work outfit (a sky blue blouse paired with black pencil skirt) ostracized you further from the patrons of the bar. And then you’re approached by Johnny who eyes your colorful drink with mild interest. 

Johnny with his wild mohawk and kind brown eyes and kissable lips - who wondered out loud what a pretty little lady like you was doing in a place like this (you almost snorted derisively at the casual compliment, but the fatigue had you more amenable to flattery) and then he asked you about your disheveled state, and you tell him that everyone with a job feels like this on a usually busy weekday. He nods like he understands you, and then he invites you to join him and his boyfriend for some drinks. 

Who are you to refuse free drinks and such handsome company?

The conversation is freeing in a way that it allows your mind to forget that the world exists outside of this temporary, delicate bubble that consists of you, Johnny and Simon. Johnny fills the space with his warm voice, enveloping you in comfort and safety as he talks about anything and everything - he tells you that both of them are in the Army (But none of them would budge to answer any questions of yours. “If I answered that, I’d have to kill you”, he joked, but his hardened gaze told you that there is some truth to it.You decided to not let your curiosity guide you anymore.), the football game on the television hung up on the wall, the movie that came out last week, the bourbon they have been nursing for the past half hour or so (“Simon only likes it when it’s Kentucky”, he says and you understand the need for some delicacies of this life staying the same, no matter what.), and then he asks you if you’d like to eat something. 

You and Johnny share a plate of cheese fries. 

The fries are oversalted(the perfect drunk food, but unfortunately you haven’t even worked up a buzz with your neglected drink), and the cheese is too gooey for you to not eat without getting your hands messy. You cringe at the stickiness, and Johnny laughs at your predicament and you wonder if it is possible for radiant, burning stars to be born as mortals. 

His boyfriend, Simon, does not join you in eating the food. 

His face is covered by a black surgical mask, and he is mostly quiet - letting his more jubilant counterpart lead the conversation. But conversation lulls between satiating your hunger and Johnny encouraging you to drink from his glass. (“Try it, bonnie. Real booze hits different”, he offers hospitably, and then he chuckles as you sputter and choke at the liquid burning your throat. At least he’s kind enough to pat your back, and then he orders a tall glass of water for your poor throat.)

Simon shakes as he dryly chuckles at the antics of his partner, and you feel heat travel down your stomach at how rough and rich his voice sounds. You find it oddly comforting against the commotion of the busy bar tonight. 

After you made a fool out of yourself, the masked man (with his dirty blonde hair and white scars that ran all over his face, only for half of it to be hidden by his black surgical face mask) is much more receptive to having a conversation with you. He seldom talks, but he doesn’t shy away from cracking a dark joke or two that almost make you choke on your own spit. His eyes are dark and intense, and sometimes when your own gaze meets his own, you find it almost impossible to look away from him - afraid that the moment you do, you’d find yourself alone and miserable at the bar again. 

There seems to be a pleasant silence settling between you three, and with a warm face and heavy limbs, you lean into the warm hand that cradles the small of your back and let it gently spell something illegible yet almost affectionate into your skin, the fabric of the blouse acting as a poor guard between your sensitive body and the touch you were not aware you craved until now. 

You look on with heavy eyes as the couple has a secret conversation between them with their eyes alone. Warm, lovely eyes that were scattered across the different spectrum of shades of brown. Eyes that pierced you and stripped you naked until you were nothing more than your deepest yearnings and fears. Eyes that carried a never-ending love for each other, and each other alone. 

They talk in furtive glances, and all you can do is give up on deciphering their language and let yourself enjoy the circles being drawn onto your back by Johnny’s teasing fingers. (You possibly cannot expect to unfurl all of that history and love between them just because you get to be a part of it for a few hours, can you now?)

After they have made a decision and with a nod of mutual acceptance, Johnny turns back to you and you straighten up due to the sudden attention. He looks at you with something akin to desire, and you can only feel your mouth turn dry as he asks you:

“Wanna get out of here?”

They hail a taxi for the three of you. 

Johnny is curious and impatient with his hands as he fondles you and leaves fluttering kisses up your neck. You should be mortified; getting frisky with a man you have known for only a few hours, in a taxi no less. But the attention makes it easier to swallow the humiliation that tries to consume your thoughts. Your back is pressed up against Simon’s side, who is all the more satisfied with watching his boyfriend paw at you like a cat fascinated with his new toy. You tilt your head back, and curse out when Johnny’s lips touch a spot that makes your knees buckle. And then you feel a hand engulf your throat, squeezing you gently and you think you might as well just forget to breathe all together. 

“Such a pretty girl”, Simon whispers against the shell of your ear, and you are glad that the only source of light on your way to their place are the shitty streetlights, because you cannot school your expression into one of indifference. (You like the praise a little too much.You like it out of Simon’s mouth even more.)

After what seems like an eternity of being teased and taunted by sweet words and lazy actions, the taxi finally comes to a stop and you send out a prayer to any deity out there who might be awake at this odd hour and willing to lend you an ear, because you’re sure that this night will leave you ruined. 

You get out of the vehicle on wobbly knees and Johnny is all the more willing to support you while he guides you to the apartment complex where he and Simon currently reside. Simon throws the crumpled bills on the lap of the driver, along with a generous tip for putting up with his frisky lover and the sweet girl they have taken home and for not kicking them out in the middle of nowhere late at night. Simon joins you both in the elevator, and Johnny is all the more eager to pin you against him and finally kisses you on the lips. 

You moan into the kiss, your hands finally tugging on his mohawk and bringing you closer and closer to his body. (Not close enough, your body screams. Never close enough, it screams again.) His hands are all the more eager to explore every soft curve of you; restless fingers groping your breasts and making you arch into him even more. 

“Fuck, bonnie.Yer so soft”, he remarks after breaking the kiss, and you can only pant at how breathless one kiss from this man had left you. You can only wonder what more he’s capable of making you feel. 

You are turned around to face Simon, who looks at your crumpled blouse and your messy hair and the neediness that drips from your eyes and your swollen lips. He holds your chin and tilts it to look at him, before commanding you, “Open up, sweetheart”. 

You comply without any complaints, wanting nothing more than to obey the masked man. 

You open your mouth, letting your pink tongue tease your parched lips as you wet them and he pries your mouth open wider with a firm hand on your jaw. His dark eyes look down on you, and you feel as if you’re going to be sacrificed and all you can hope is that he likes the offering you have in store for him. (You you you, you offer him all of you.)

“Suck on it”, he orders and you swallow the thumb he offers you - letting you soothe your oral fixation while you impatiently resist the urge to tap your foot against the floor as you wait for the elevator to finish its ascent. 

You twirl your tongue around it, wetting the finger in your mouth before you let it out with a resounding ‘pop’, a thin string of saliva connecting your soft lips and the thumb. Your eyes look up at him in reverence, pleading with him to reward you for your good behavior. 

“Fuckin’ hell”, he rasps out, and he almost leans forward, almost closes the distance between you both when the elevator lets out a ring and stops on the designated floor. 

Through drunk giggles and impaired body coordination, you follow the men as they lead you to their apartment. The moment the door closes behind them (locked carefully by Simon, while Johnny guides you inside), they’re back onto you - clinging to your body like you’re the anchor that grounds them in the storm of life. 

And it feels nice to be needed like that, if only for a moment. 

You’re on your knees on the floor as you wait for Simon to do something.

You are naked - your clothes peeled off from your body after Simon unzipped it for you and Johnny had been all the more eager to palm your breasts in his hands - warm and calloused and greedy for more. 

Your blouse is discarded somewhere on the floor long forgotten.

(“Lovely tits”, Johnny had groaned as he had undressed you, and you thanked yourself for wearing a somewhat decent bra today. )

You sit waiting - a paragon of virtue and patience as you look up at the men who would be ultimately ruining you tonight. They talk in eyes again, and you feel a pang of irritation at your inability to decipher all that is said between them with just a single look. 

Your arms are folded across your chest - a decision you had swiftly taken after feeling a wave of self-consciousness hit you in full force. You can feel your ankles getting numb at the posture - the pins and prickles forcing you to momentarily shift your weight from the ball of your feet to your knees, taking the lack of notice from either men as an incentive to ensure you don’t end up with numb legs while you wait for them to finish whatever secretive talk they are having without words. 

Simon turns towards you and notices you struggling on your knees, and then he reaches for one of the pillows scattered near the headboard of their Californian-sized bed. He asks you gently, “Get up from the floor, lovie”, and you do, wincing as you feel the blood circulation return to your sore feet. He puts the pillow on the ground near your feet, bending down to fluff it up a bit for your disposal. You thank him for the considerate action, before assuming your position below him again - the pillow cushioning your knees and providing you much needed relief from the hard marble floor. 

“Look at me, lovie”, he commands and you follow him eagerly, tilting your head up to meet his dark eyes. He looks godly, hovering above you like an ethereal deity - his scarred hands and intimidating gait only gives your body the incentive to feel the thrum of desire in your bloodstream as it flows south, making you ready for him. 

For both of them. 

“A little help here, Johnny?” he beckons and the other man stands in front of Simon, shielding your view of him with his back as he helps the masked man take off his shirt, and if the muffled groans are anything to go by - they’re both kissing and you cannot even see Simon’s face. After a moment, he unzips his pants and lets the garment fall down to his ankles - leaving him in nothing but a dark pair of boxer briefs. 

Johnny falls down to his knees in front of him and Simon has his mask back on. Kneeling below him, he uses his mouth on his clothed cock, peppering him with soft kisses filled with drool and lust. Simon groans above him, letting his fingers card through the man’s mohawk as he encourages him with throaty noises to continue his actions. Eager to feel all of him, Johnny slides his thumbs into the band of his briefs as he slowly slides down the garment from his hips, letting it pool around his ankles as well. From where you’re seated, you can see how thick Simon is, and you cannot help the way your mouth waters at the idea of being used by him. 

You snap out of your thoughts when Simon pulls Johnny onto his feet by his mohawk, forcing him to bare his neck to the taller man and you swear you can hear him whimper when Simon catches his throat with his other hand before giving it a light squeeze. 

The sight before you is nothing short of heavenly. 

“Eager, are we?” he taunts him, taking his breath away with just a squeeze of his fingers and he lets out a throaty hum as he eyes up his partner, noticing the semi he’s been sporting in his jeans ever since he got a taste of you. 

“But it’s her turn”, he motions to you and you straighten your back as both men look back at you. 

“C’mere love”, he calls out to you, and you get down to your hands and knees, willing to crawl to him if that is what it will take for him to let you touch him, feel him under your fingertips. 

He shakes his head, stopping you in your tracks.

“No, bring that pillow with you too”, he orders you, “Don’t want your knees to get sore now, do we?”

You feel his hands pull at your hair gently as he brings out his still hard cock out of the confines of your soft mouth. Your lips are sheen with spit and pre-cum and the running makeup paints a debauched picture of you before these men. 

So perfect. So ruined. And all theirs for the night. 

You look up at him with teary eyes and longing and Simon is almost tempted to allow you to keep going, to let himself finish in your warm, soft mouth. But he has quite a night planned for the both of you(You and Johnny, Johnny and you - consuming his thoughts and mind and even his heart.), and he’d rather not finish in a handful of pumps before you. 

“Don’t pout at me, pretty girl”, he chides you playfully, his chest heaving as he takes in deep breaths to soothe the fire in his lungs that you have invoked within him.

You whine noncommittally, eyes focused on him and only him - and it almost shakes him to his core how much he likes having your attention all for himself. (Greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy, greedy-)

“Gotta get you ready for the both of us, yeah?” you nod eagerly at his statement, and then you feel a pair of arms around your waist lift you up in the air and you shriek as you’re thrown on the soft mattress, bouncing lightly at the impact as your head falls back on the bed. 

“Johnny!” you scream out in surprise, almost tempted to scold him for scaring you but his calloused fingers trace your curves and they tickle your skin that makes it hard for you to control yourself. You let out a soft giggle as the man hovers above you, letting his hands map out every little scar, every little mole, every little mark on your soft skin. 

He grins at you, before bending down and taking your lips in a soft kiss - growling a little as he tastes Simon on your lips. Pulling away, he looks down on you again as he cages you between his arms. 

“Hi there, bonnie," he whispers breathlessly. 

“Hi there, handsome”, you whisper earnestly, before turning your head to the side and kissing the inside of his wrist. 

“Johnny will help you get ready. Won’t you, Johnny?” Simon asks, and Johnny groans as he lowers himself down over your body till his eyes line up with the hem of your soft black panties. You exhale soundly in anticipation, propping yourself onto your elbows so your head is up and your eyes gaze into Johnny’s warm brown pupils. You let out an audible exhale when you feel his hands grab the meat of your inner thigh, before he leaves a tender kiss on it, letting out his tongue to taste your skin. Your head falls back on the pillow below you, and your hands find purchase in the luscious locks of his mohawk as Johnny lets his tongue rile you up by licking and kissing every inch of your exposed skin, avoiding where you needed him the most on purpose. 

“So sweet”, his teeth lightly bite the meat of your inner thigh, and you wince at the pain before whimpering. 

“So pretty”, his fingers play with the flimsy fabric covering your cunt, slowly tugging them to the side and revealing how needy you are for him. For both of them. 

“Johnny, please”, you beg him so sweetly with your fingers tugging on his hair, that he finally gives in to your demands with no further ado. 

It isn’t long until Johnny is fucking you with all he has. 

You have your face buried sideways into the pillow and a leg propped up on his strong shoulder, the position offering him a chance to fuck you deeper that your fingers or any half-hearted partner ever has. 

The pillow is wet from the sweat and spit and tears it has soaked up from you, and you bite the fluff of it, trying your best to mute your incomprehensive noises down - lest the nice couple fucking you right now get a noise complaint from their neighbours tomorrow - but to no avail. 

It’s like Johnny is on a personal quest to make you scream for everyone to hear. 

It also helps that Simon has taken it upon himself to fuck his boyfriend dumb, and what a sight it must be - Johnny fucking into you desperately and letting Simon control the rhythm of his hips as he fucks into him. You’d beckon that he probably has his tongue out - no man can survive fucking someone and getting fucked at the same time without letting it dumb him down like a mutt in heat. 

Too bad the room is pitch black for you to witness the filthy sight. 

At least the dark room allows Simon to take off his mask, even though it stings to know that you may never know the man behind the mask - may never remember the man who is giving you the best night of your life before you return back to your mundane life of spreadsheets, burnt coffee in styrofoam cups and manila folders the next morning. 

You feel your legs shake - the lethal amalgamation of pleasure and exhaustion coating your bones as you feel Johnny hit the spongy spot deep in you that makes you keel and beg into the mattress for the much overdue orgasm that has been building up inside you for the better part of the hour. 

He bends down, letting his tongue lick your neck and his sharp incisors drag over the taut skin as he mumbles about how pretty you sound when you’re fucked dumb. None of that matters to you right now, not when you’re this close to relief - but Johnny doesn’t oblige; either too dumbed down just like you to understand what you need, or denying you what you need on purpose - which is probably the cruelest thing he could fucking do to you tonight. 

You feel another pair of fingers slide up your thighs before said fingers finally map out your swollen clit amongst the mess of sweat and limbs and Simon uses his calloused fingertips to gently rub you until you’re crying and arching your back before you slide down back into the bed, your limbs sagging with relief as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“Fuck, bonnie”, you hear Johnny grunt out, feel him fuck you rougher and feel his hands grope your breasts roughly, but you’re far away now - floating away in a strange, hazy headspace as you hear his groans before his hips finally stutter to a close and then he slumps forward, letting the brunt of his weight fall down on you. 

Simon follows him soon after, slowly pulling out from his partner with a soft ‘Fuck’.

You whine at the impact, pushing at his shoulders weakly as you urge him to get his weight off from your sore body. You sighed out when he eventually obliged, letting himself fall into bed beside you, his fingers gently playing with your messy hair. You feel his stubble tickle your face as he lands a soft kiss against your jaw, “You were so good for us, lass”. 

You preen at the praise, letting his soft words and touch comfort you as you slowly feel yourself regain control of your body and your mind, already missing how you felt just a moment ago. 

You can hear the running faucet in the bathroom next door, and listen to the doors creak and soft footfalls before Simon returns to the scene with a wet washcloth. He taps your knee and you part your legs obediently for him - feeling the wet cloth drag over your innermost parts as he wipes you clean before offering you a few face wipes kept near his nightstand, which you take gratefully and you wipe away the smudged makeup, smearing the ruined mascara all over your cheeks. You hear Simon sigh before he gently pries the thin wipe from your hands, taking it upon himself to help you clean up nicely. In the dim moon light peeking through the windows, you notice he has his mask back on, and you feel disappointed at how you haven’t been able to look at him. You feel Johnny’s fingers gently massage your scalp, and the tension in your shoulders leaves you promptly, making you sag into the soft mattress as he coos at you, occasionally kissing your cheeks. It’s almost enough to put you at ease. 

It’s not long before the boys clean up after themselves before they join you back in bed. Sandwiched between the two men, you feel exhaustion and the afterglow lull you into a false sense of security - and you almost feel like you’re cared for. 

You hadn’t been able to fall asleep, despite your best efforts. Your thoughts have been nothing short of cruel, and you only feel shame creep under your skin the more you think about how this night had transpired. 

You have desperately gone home of two stranger men (who are together, no less), sat down on your knees like a desperate whore (and liked it), had gotten naked for them (and let them see all of your curves and rolls and blemishes), and let them fuck you dumb till you almost forgot your damn name. 

And now you lie between them, unable to put your mind at ease and sleep away the second thoughts.

Mortification seems to be the least of your worries at the moment. 

The worst part seems to be the fact that you wished for nothing more than to prolong the facade of love and gratitude they had for you when they cleaned you up, only for it to be redirected to each other as they checked in on each other with hushed whispers and soft kisses, their intermingled hands serving you a bitter reminder that you cannot overstay your welcome. 

It’s them first. And then you. 

You are just another body they had invited to warm their bed for the night. 

You are quick to wiggle out of the bed, feeling your ears burn in embarrassment as you try your best to locate your discarded clothes on the cold bedroom floor. You find your skirt near the legs of the bed, your cotton panties not far off from there. Your blouse and bra lie near the door, and you’re almost dressed when you hear a light click and see the light of the table lamp illuminate the room in a soft yellow. Johnny blinks, still sluggish from his interrupted sleep as he rubs away the sleep from his eyes, and you stay standing, frozen in your step. You almost feel guilty for waking him up. Were you not quiet enough?

You feel like a child who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar by her mother. 

“Yer leavin’?” he asks with a helpless look on his face, and you almost walk back into his arms.

Almost go back to the space they have created for you - between them. 

The clock reads a quarter past three when they both offer to drive you home. 

It’s not long before Simon wakes up from the commotion. (You turn around and train your eyes on the wall, waiting until you’re certain that his face is covered - having taken the hint that he would not welcome the idea of revealing his identity to you yet.) Soon enough, they’re both asking you why you’re up and leaving and the sincerity in their voices almost convinces you that they want you here. 

But you use work as an excuse to go back home, and despite how obvious that lie is, Simon insists on driving you home nonetheless. (You almost turn him down, but Johnny pipes in, “There’s not gonna be a whole lotta cabs for ye to hail. Let us make sure our lady reaches home safe,”, and you feel your walls crumble slightly, feel your very foundation of self-hatred and pity shake at how he addresses you as theirs. As if you’re now a part of them, like they’ve been a part of each other for years.)

They ask you to stay anyway, promising to drop you off to your home first thing in the morning - bribing you with promises of cuddles in your sleep and breakfast in bed; promising you intimacy you’re wholly undeserving of, and you cut them off swiftly as you tell them that you’d rather be at home right now so that you can wake up later and go straight to office - no detours welcomed. 

Reluctantly, they comply.

So you let them both escort you out of the apartment building and you stand with Johnny while Simon revs up his car and lets the engine warm up before letting you both sit inside. Johnny naturally assumes his place beside Simon, sitting in the passenger seat and you sit in the backseat. You almost feel apprehensive about telling them your address, but your rattled brain cannot seem to care about it - too tired and strung up to give a shit about ‘stranger danger’. 

Simon types out your address on the phone and he soon follows the path - the soft hum of the engine making you succumb to the tiredness you feel and you lie down on your side, the leather seat of the car cushioning your now-throbbing head and you cannot help but close your eyes just for a moment. 

After a few minutes, you hear Johnny talk about buying groceries and he asks out loud if his boyfriend would like to add anything to the list. Simon softly replies back with a few additions - whey protein, some bananas, pancake mix, shower gel and a room freshener spray. Johnny mulls over it before recalling some more things they need to buy soon. (“Dusting cloths. Manure. Oh, gotta get some stuff from the hardware store too!” “Don’t forget to get some cereal and protein bars.” “Roger that, Lt.”)

The conversation lulls. And then it begins anew. 

Simon asks Johnny if he’d like to have biscuits and gravy for breakfast, and he lets out an almost disappointing groan at his atrocious food choices. (Or so he tells him.) Instead, Johnny suggests they have some hash browns. (“Gotta get that carb in for the long day ahead!” and Simon just chuckles dryly at his reasoning.)

Then, they talk some more - about work and people. About how they’d need to go back to work, and how they’d miss staying home together. About how they should get some cigars for ‘Price’, whoever that may be. About how ‘Gaz’ is vacationing in Italy with his family. About how they should have a vacation the next time they get a break that lasts them more than a week. 

They hold hands - at least Johnny does, and he brings his partner’s hand to his face, softly kissing his knuckles, and that is when your curiosity wins over as you open your eyes to witness the sickly sweet scene of two men, two souls being in love. Johnny looks at him like Simon’s his entire universe - and 

You shut your eyes quickly, feeling like an outsider between them both. 

That’s maybe because you are one, your brain supplies you with this thought rather unkindly and you dig your nails into your palms to distract yourself from it. 

The scene oddly enough reminds you of your parents when they were still in love and when you were young and sleeping in the backseat after an exciting evening at the city fair. It is far too domestic and tender for an outsider like you to intrude upon, and so you keep your eyes shut - unwilling to witness them and get your heart broken again. 

As their conversation fades to silence again, you bravely open your eyes - squinting in the dark as the only source of light are the street lights outside. You witness Simon with his hand on Johnny’s thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles against the soft cotton of his black joggers. You witness Johnny humming to himself with a satisfied smile on his face as he occasionally looks at Simon with love in his eyes. Pure, unconditional love brimming in his brown, almond eyes. And when you look at Simon, his eyes reflect the same - unfiltered affection and absolute devotion; all these emotions reserved for the love of his life. His only love of his life. 

It makes you sick. 

Sick with yearning. Sick with the green monster of envy. 

You’re so sick with it all. 

This time when you close your eyes, you feel a tear drip down your nose as you let the soft whirr of the engine and Johnny’s humming act as the lullaby you needed to hear before you sleep.

You feel someone shake you softly by your shoulder when you come into consciousness. 

“Wake up, dove”, you hear Simon call you, “We’re here already”. 

You stare up at him as he hovers over you from outside the car. His masked face gives little away about how he’s feeling at the moment, but you feel embarrassed all the same - for intruding upon them and for sleeping in their car as they drove you home half-asleep and still in their pajamas. 

You get up and use the back of your hand to wipe away any drool, snot or tears you might’ve let out while you were out like a light in the backseat of their car. The opened car door lets in the chilly night wind, and you shiver at the drop in temperature. 

“Here, have this”, he offers you a windcheater jacket - and you gratefully take it and zip it up till the collar of the clothing lightly brushes your chin.  He extends his hand to you, and you take it  - letting his calloused palm warm up your cold fingers as he escorts you out of the vehicle. Once you’re out on the concrete pavement, you notice Johnny leaning against one of the many lamp posts scattered across your street. He’s rubbing his hands for some warmth, and the yellow streetlights act like a halo around his tousled mohawk. He’s angelic. 

The steady echo of your footfalls catches his attention, and he turns to look at you with such warmth in his eyes that you falter in your steps for a moment. His kind, blue eyes look at you like you’re the moon - like you’re something familiar and he’s known you forever. 

You do not know what to make of it. 

“Had a nice sleep, lass?” he asks you casually, and you feel the tip of your ears warm up in embarrassment. 

You nod demurely, before responding, “Yeah, I did. I’m so sorry I troubled you with escorting me back home”. 

“Don’t apologize”, Simon speaks up as he rests a gentle hand on your left shoulder, before he joins Johnny in standing in front of you. He looks at you with an unreadable look, and you worry that he can see what you don’t wish anyone to notice. That he can tell. 

“We had to make sure our bonnie reached her home safe”, Johnny quips, and you feel your resolve crumble just a little bit - his honeyed words coaxing you to hug him and it catches him off guard, just a little. To feel your arms wrap around his body, to feel your heart beat so fast before falling into synch with his

“Thank you”, and you mean it - for taking care of you, for making you forget your shitty office and your shitty job for the night, for driving you back home, for showing you what love is (even though it burnt you from inside to see what they have and know that you’d never have that). 

You’re thankful to them for a lot of things. 

You’re curled up on your side on the bed as you try to catch some sleep before the sun greets you from between the curtains over your window, but all attempts to go back to sleep fail you. 

You almost wish you hadn’t been woken up. You almost wish you were still in their car, letting them drive and talk to each other. You almost wish you hadn’t left their bed - letting their rough hands gently caress her into a peaceful slumber, feeling their love for each other fill her up. 

You should’ve at least gotten their number. 

It was worth a shot, and if they didn’t want anything to do with you after tonight, you’d have been able to console yourself with the possibility that you won’t have to see them in the future and get taunted by the very notion that you have been all too desperate and all too needy for someone to love you. 

But you didn’t, and you caress your own arm with light fingers as you convince yourself that it was all for the best that you hadn’t done anything about it. 

This was all for one night. They just needed someone to warm their beds for a night, and you did just that. Wishing for it to be something more is just plain stupid on your part. They’ve loved each other for a lifetime, and you’ve known them for only a night. You cannot fathom carving a place for yourself between Johnny and Simon. Simon and Johnny. 

Not without becoming an unwanted third wheel - tolerated by the couple since they’re too courteous to tell you off. Not without becoming a placeholder - a human paperweight until a better man or a better woman comes along to be where they rightfully belong. With them. 

So you hug yourself tight with your nails digging into your arm, and gently rock back and forth in the same place on your bed, as you soothe yourself with empty words and tell yourself that what you did was a brave thing - and this was all for the best, even if it makes your chest feel like a hollowed out tree, empty from within. 

Note -

Got inspired by the poem - 'After the Threesome, They Both Take You Home' by Sue Hyon Bae cuz it resonated with how I have always been a bystander or a temporary placeholder between friends and couples alike - always fearing that I will never be able to experience love. Started writing this fic fuelled up on my personal thoughts and projections. Then, October came and seasonal depression knocked my ass out. Got back into writing it. Couldn't handle it well, so I rushed the ending. Bon apple tit, y'all. Or whatever the fuck they say in France.

[nikolais-eyepatch]

Hey!! I saw you need requests so I wondering if you would like, if you could write for Akutagawa where he gets a crush on the waitress at the cafe he frequently visits and all of the mafia members try to set the two up. Have fun writing!!

(ill add a banner later, too lazy :thumbs up)

It was an unusually quiet afternoon at the cozy café tucked away in Yokohama’s bustling streets. Akutagawa, accustomed to the chaos of the Port Mafia’s daily affairs, found solace in this tranquil corner where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the gentle hum of conversations. Little did he know, a shift in routine awaited him that would stir his typically stoic demeanor.

As he sat by the window, meticulously sipping his espresso, his attention was drawn to a waitress weaving through the tables with effortless grace—You. You had a smile that could rival the sun. Akutagawa found himself captivated by your serene presence and the gentle way you interacted with customers.

Days turned into weeks, and Akutagawa’s visits to the café became more frequent. Each time he came, he found himself stealing glances at You, feeling a strange flutter in his chest whenever your eyes briefly met. His thoughts, usually consumed by missions and strategy, now wandered to thoughts of you—your laughter, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the kindness in your eyes.

Meanwhile, the members of the Port Mafia couldn’t help but notice Akutagawa’s subtle change in demeanor. Chuuya, the observant one at present, was the first to pick up on it. "Hey, Akutagawa seems different lately. Ya’ think he’s got a little crush?" he whispered to Gin during a meeting.

Gin, with her quiet demeanor, observed her brother with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She nodded slightly, acknowledging Chuuya's observation. "It does seem that way," she replied softly, glancing discreetly at Akutagawa who was lost in thought.

Soon enough, word subtly spread through the ranks of the Port Mafia. It became a whispered topic among the members during breaks, with everyone secretly rooting for Akutagawa—some out of genuine goodwill, others purely for the entertainment value of seeing Akutagawa flustered over a woman.

One afternoon, after weeks of silent encouragement and not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts from his colleagues (mostly from Gin), Akutagawa found himself alone with You in the café during a rare lull in customers. His body was tense, awkwardly watching you, unnerving and fidgeting with his teacup. Finally, Akutagawa mustered the courage to speak.

"(Name)...," he began, his usually composed voice betraying a hint of nervousness, "I... I wanted to ask if you would... perhaps... like to... join me for tea sometime. Not here, of course, but..." He trailed off, inwardly cursing his inability to articulate what he meant.

To his surprise—and relief—You smiled warmly. "I would love to, Akutagawa-san," you replied softly, her eyes sparkling with genuine kindness.

And so, amidst the scheming and teasing of the Port Mafia (especially Gin), a quiet romance blossomed between the enigmatic assassin and the gentle waitress. They stole occasional moments between their respective responsibilities.

In the end, Akutagawa discovered that love was as unpredictable and dangerous as any enemy he faced in the underground world of Yokohama. Yet, it was a risk he was willing to take, for You had brought a light into his life that he never knew he needed—a light that softened his edges slightly and gave him a reason to think fondly amidst the shadows of his mind.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Gin Akutagawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Gin Akutagawa x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Yandere. Mentions of (accidental) stalking.

______

Becoming self-aware

_______

🔪 With self-awareness came sorrow and anger. Gin's life was a lie. Ryunosuke's life was a lie. Their world was a lie. A reflection of reality. A fantasy, that was shared with thousands of other people.

🔪 With self-awareness came new routine.

🔪First, Gin got a diary. And each page contain similar text. One page each day. Same sentences, that she wrote first thing in the morning.

"My name is Gin Akutagawa. I have an older brother, Akutagawa Ryunosuke. I am from Port Mafia. I am Battalion Leader of "Black Lizard". I was Paul Verlaine's student. I am a girl. My brother and I lived on the streets, before joining Port Mafia."

Day after day. Page after page. Same forty-four words on every page.

Gin wished, that there were more. But she can't remember anything else about her.

🔪 Days were spent patrolling. Trying to find answers, hope, a way out and other people. Tachihara was her partner during the search. And Gin could see, that normally cocky Tachihara looked lost and desperate.

🔪And, when during one of the patrols, Gin and Tachihara found out, that some people from the Government and Hunting Dogs were also self-aware, Gin saw relief in Tachihara's gaze.

🔪 Gin could ask Tachihara about his strange reaction. But choose not to. All of them were stressed out. Her brother became more ruthless. All of them worked hard. Despite everything, they can't find a way out.

🔪 And Gin tried to stay collected. Emotions won't solve anything. Dreams won't solve anything. Gin was glad, that she stopped dreaming at night.

🔪 And then, one day, Gin felt an entity's gaze on her.

____________

The first "hours" under entity's gaze felt like torture. She wanted to scream, to run, to get her hands on someone, who were watching them.

Someone, who saw their past, emotions, thoughts.

But then "night" came.

And with night came dreams.

Gin saw a person.

A normal person doing normal things. Gin could see herself doing the same things, when she was off-duty.

She saw Real World. She saw Entity.

Gin... didn't want to call them Entity anymore.

At the "morning", instead of her normal text, Gin wrote about, what she has learned during her dream.

She wanted to see one more similar dream.

Dreams came every night.

Gin learned more about real world. About Internet, news, culture, people.

Most importantly, she learned more about Their Reader. About them being happy, when they saw Gin and others. About them liking Gin and others. Everyone of them.

No hate. No sick entertainment.

Just curiosity and happiness.

Gin couldn't hate Their Reader anymore. It would be wrong.

She tried to carefully reassure others about you. She didn't want them to hurt you.

And then, time resets.

And Gin once again were getting ready to ambush ADA office.

__________

When they start feeling your presence

_________

🔪 Gin could tell, that she wasn't the only one, who had a change of heart. Something in ADA's detectives' eyes showed her, that they also came to like Their Reader.

🔪 Especially after Boss announced, that they will join forces with ADA to get to the Real World. To get to someone.

🔪 Ryunosuke also seems calmer. Gin could see, that, for some reason, he was trying to listen to something Or hear something? Someone?

🔪 Gin quickly learned, what Ryunosuke tried to do. Sometimes, Gin could hear mumbling. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was familiar.

[//////////] familiar happiness

[//////////] familiar cheering

[//////////] familiar sadness

And one day, Gin heard them clear.

In previous timeline, her brother supposed to be kidnapped. He was fine in this timeline.

In previous timeline she was supposed to sneak on Higuchi.

In this timeline she decided not to do it.

But she heard the voice. Apparently, her actions didn't change, what Reader saw.

"Gin, you are a force to be reconned with. You are so cool. Wish I can be like you."

And something soft touched her cheek.

Gin felt warm and secure.

[In reality, you pet manga page with Gin on it]

__________

🔪 After that, Gin finally could see Little Light. Floating blob of light. Your emotions. In Gin's eyes, the most perfect and treasured thing in entire Real World.

🔪 Gin started training even harder. Ryunosuke and Atsushi weren't enough to protect you. She will step up as your protector.

🔪 Time passed, more people joined their union.

But then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

_______

🔪 Gin didn't wait, before her SSR Cards became available during Limited Scout. She gifted you her cards herself.

"Okay, Gin, let's try to clean all orbs."

"Whoa! We finally finished this floor. All thanks for Gin's attack."

"I wonder if there will be a special image card for you, Gin."

🔪 Gin can't wait to get to the Real World. To know you better, to protect you, to saw everything, Real World can offer.

🔪 And she will never forget her dreams. About real world. About Reader. About their Guiding Light.

___________

You just get your daily rewards, when you got another note. Another Gin SSR card was attached to it.

"[Y/N]. Hope you are doing well. I have been thinking about having a movie night with Ryunosuke. Want to join us? I will choose movie, Ryunosuke will bring snacks. If you want to join, can you, please, bring blankets? We will wait. Gin Akutagawa."

You smiled and opened Character menu, selecting Gin's card. You pet chibi Gin.

"Great idea, Gin. Thank you for the invitation. I would love to join you and Ryunosuke."

You didn't notice, that Gin removed her mask and smiled.

[maximumqueer]

In lieu of the second season of OPLA starting production, I want to talk about my mixed feelings on the first season of it.

Because I got into the anime and manga through the live action. So I will always like it at least a little bit for introducing me to honestly my favorite piece of media ever. But now that I'm caught up with the anime and manga, and know the characters and story better, I find myself having more criticisms of it.

The overall narrative is rushed in a way that leads to important character moments being glossed over. Syrup Village in OPLA is a good example. Usopp does a lot less in the live action, most of his big emotional beats cut for what I can only assume were time constraints. Reducing Gin's role to a one time appearance, and the Don Krieg Pirates to a cameo also feels like a product of the limited runtime, and cheapens Sanji's reasoning joining the crew, as we never get that moment where Luffy witnesses him feeding a starving man, and decides then that Sanji will be is cook. Replacing it instead with Luffy seeing him fight and tasting his food. Which in my opinion kinda misses the point of why Luffy wanted him to join. And that was because of Sanji's kindness, which is not nearly as present in the live action.

OPLA also removes a lot of side characters from the islands the main cast visit, making the world feel smaller, and the stakes lower. Like, the reason I personally cared so much about Luffy and Co. helping out places like Orange Town, Syrup village, Cocoyashi Village, is the people that live there who we get to know (in the anime and manga). I feel far more invested actually knowing the names of several of the people and the village, and knowing that their lives will be better after the big bad is taken down. It's not just a fight for the sake of having a fight, but a fight to help out a group of people who need it.

These characters also end up trying to free themselves from the big bad. Them playing an active roll, and not just being used as hostages (like they were in the live action) is just so quintessential to One Piece in my opinion. Having characters native to the island already willing to stand up to the force controlling them, and Luffy's involvement being to aid them, and not just swoop in a save a group of passive bystanders who were simply waiting for a hero to save them, is subversive for shonen (hell just fantasy in general) and having the live action remove that just feels wrong, as characters having freedom and agency is a big overarching theme in One Piece that has been there since day one.

Then there is the characterization. Zoro is probably the most egregious change. Zoro (bur especially pre-ts Zoro) was far goofier than his live action counterpart. And I do think that that level of goofiness is essential to him as a character. Like, I cannot picture OPLA Zoro attempting to cut off his feet, fail, and then decide to strike a cool pose while he is slowly turning into a wax statue. I cannot picture that version of the character beefing with a bird while lost, when said bird is LITERALLY a compass. OPLA Zoro just feels like your stereotypical stoic cool guy, when he is very much not. He is a bit of a loser (affectionate) and to see him be treated like he isn't feels off. Nami and Sanji are closer to their anime/manga counterparts, but are still different.

OPLA Sanji is not pathetic enough. To use an analogy, OLPA Sanji would take off his coat to place it over a puddle so a pretty woman didn't have to get her shoes and feet wet. Anime/manga Sanji would hurl his body onto the ground, and have the woman use his back to prevent getting her shoes and feet wet. They said this change was to dial down the more pervy parts of his character, which is fair. But that aspect of his character only really starts up in a bad way in Thriller Bark. The part of the series that adapted was when Sanji was pretty much only presented as a hopeless romantic who worships the ground all women walk on and would do anything a woman asked of him.

Nami is similar to Zoro, in that she is just to serious. They both lack the whimsy their anime/manga counterparts have. And she just feels a bit more one dimensional in the live action because of it.

As for Luffy. Him referring to himself as a "good pirate" just feels all sorts of wrong. He has never shied away from that label, and never has had any issue with being lumped in with "bad" pirates in the anime/manga. He never was angry about being framed for crimes, but I get the feeling that OPLA Luffy would be more likely to be angry about that, because he is a "good" pirate. This Luffy doesn't feel like he would go on a rant about not wanting to be viewed as a hero. They also made him nicer overall, and this sounds like a weird thing to complain about, but Luffy not holding his tongue and just telling people how he feels about them, positive or negative, is what makes him as a character work. Is what separates him from a typical run of the mill shonen protag. Him being a kind, but not nice and overall blunt in conversation is pretty integral to his character, and I can't help but feel that the writers and directors of the live action were afraid of keeping this character trait because it could make him unlikeable. (despite that fact that he as been #1 in literally every One Piece popularity poll)

And obviously this is not a critique on the actors, I think they did a phenomenal job portraying their respective characters. This is more about how the writers/directors/producers decided to adapt and change the characters.

I kind of suspected that when I watched the anime (a more one to one adaptation of the manga) as well as read the manga (the source material) that I would end up having more issues with the live action. I do still like it for what it is, and I'm planning on watching the second season when it comes out, I just wanted to share how my opinion on it changed after reading/watching and catching up with the anime and manga.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Of All the Gin Joints

Week #17 Prompt: "I can't believe you!" | Word Count: 1938 | Rating: T | POV: Nancy | Characters: Nancy, Robin, Steve, Eddie | Relationships: Ronance, Steddie, Past Mentions of Stancy, Fruity Four | CW: Language, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Future Fic, Bisexual Nancy Wheeler, Old Friends, And Maybe New Love, Getting Together, First Kiss

Nancy lets her eyes adjust to the darkness and flashing lights of the club. It's not exactly her comfort zone. But she watches as the men, and the women, move to the beat of the music that's bouncing the speakers, thumping so hard she can feel it in her chest. 

She's never been anywhere like this, not really. It's not exactly her scene, never has been. 

So, she finds a spot to stand in the corner, leaving a buffer, so she can take it all in. She always needs to study first, she never just dives face-first into anything. Unless it's an emergency. And this? Not an emergency.

This is just an unknown, an exploration of her sexuality that might be coming later than most. She thinks she should have done this sooner. Maybe not the club part, but the acting on her interest in women. But she didn't. Not the women, and definitely not the club, so now she'd like to know more before deciding to be all in on being a club-going person, especially at her age. 

Watching, it's clear that everyone seems to be having a really fucking good time, and aren't paying any attention to her clinging to the shadows, like a wallflower.

She's about to maybe make a move more towards the center of the action, when she catches a glimpse of a familiar smile, and she steps to the side to see better, to clear her sightline, to really make sure. And, yes, it is Robin, bouncing, laughing, dancing with a guy, seemingly having a hell of a good time. 

It's not Steve, this guy is far too short, and it isn't until he turns that she realizes it's Gareth. He's just chopped off all his curls, which she thinks is kind of a shame.

But, beyond that, she knows if Gareth's here, that means Eddie's here, and if Eddie's here, well...there he is. Steve Harrington, bouncing, hair flying, looking twenty instead of over forty. 

Looking free.

And happy. Really, really happy.

She hasn't seen any of them in person in years, only recently watching from afar on the new Facebook thing that she was bullied into joining by Dustin. She's not too mad about it, since it means she gets to see pictures of all her old friends, and gets to know that they're doing okay out in the world, living their lives. At least when she remembers to login and check.

Nancy hasn't decided if she's going to approach them or not. This is new to her, and while she knows they'd be supportive and fun and totally in her corner, she was really only looking to dip her toes in, not plunge headfirst.

But she doesn't get to decide, because Robin's caught sight of her and is waving frantically, with an enthusiasm only Robin can muster. She's missed her, she realizes. Missed all of them.

She sees Robin turn and yell in the other direction, hands flailing, nearly hitting those around her.

She hasn't changed a bit. 

So, Nancy waves back, and heads her way. She's kind of glad the decision was made for her. It's easier that way, and she gets to see Robin.

When Nancy approaches, Steve is suddenly there, picking her up and swinging her around so hard, she feels her back pop. She's not sixteen, not anymore, but he doesn't seem to have gotten that message as he squeezes her against him, before finally putting her back on her feet but still doesn't let go.

"I can't believe you! You're here!" Steve says, smiling wide and so fucking happy. 

He's glowing. 

There's a ring through his eyebrow, and tattoos crawling up his arm, and yet, he looks exactly the same, somehow. Just really, really happy and all grown up.

It's a good look on him. Honestly.

He giggles, squeezing both of her arms, "Nancy Wheeler."

She almost corrects him, but it is Wheeler again. Her divorce was finalized and she took her own name back, and she doesn't expect she'll ever give it up again. It's who she is, and she kind of hates that she ever forgot that. 

"Where's Eddie?" Nancy asks, leaning towards Steve's ear, trying to be heard over the music.

"The bar!" Steve screams back, and she looks that way, expecting to see him in line for drinks, but he's behind the bar. Putting on a show, as always.

It's a little mesmerizing. But Eddie Munson always was, for better or worse. He had an unique skill for capturing an audience and refusing to let them go.

Steve wraps his arms around her neck from behind, forcing her to walk in front of him, leading her right towards Eddie.

"Look who I found!" Steve shouts and Eddie grins, leaning up on and over the bar to cup her cheek, kissing the other one.

"Hey, Wheeler. What can I get you?" Eddie asks, waving his arm down the bar in a sweeping fashion.

She isn't sure, so she lets him pick, and he gets to work, sliding and twirling, dragging the bottle upwards as he pours, and she grins. He was made for this, she's pretty sure. Putting a show, holding an audience.

She hadn't realized he was a bartender, but she crawls up on an open bar stool, to watch him work. She expects that Steve will sit down next to her, but instead he walks around behind the bar, and kisses Eddie before he makes himself a drink. It's not as impressive as watching Eddie do it, but it's definitely not Steve's first time behind a bottle either, that's for sure. 

"Do you own this bar?" she yells, and they both nod.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she happened to stumble into theirs.

It really is a small world after all. 

She hadn't heard they'd bought a bar. She must be more behind on that Facebook thing than she thought. Or they've owned longer than Facebook has been a thing, and it was old news she'd just missed out on hearing. She'll have to ask Dustin, or Mike. Get filled in on what they know.

"It's great!" she screams back, and it is. It's a little loud, a little overwhelming, but it seems like a really fun atmosphere. 

They both smile, and Steve is holding his own drink, and Eddie leans over putting the finishing touches on it. Then Steve's back across the bar, sitting next to her.

"You're here by accident?" Steve shouts to be heard, and she nods. She heard about the queer friendly bar, that wasn't really a club exclusively for young people, and it looked like something she might want to check out, now that she's open to exploring that side of herself.

She should have known she'd be drawn right to Steve, the only other bisexual person she really knows. That's just how these things work with them. There are no accidents. They've all been tied together for a long, long time, even as they've drifted and lived their own, separate lives.

They try to talk over the music, but it's impossible, and Steve takes her by the hand and leads her behind the bar, and into an office. He closes the door, and the sound is suddenly gone. Silenced. 

"Soundproofed?" she asks, sitting down on the couch.

Steve nods, "I still get headaches sometimes. It gives me a place to go to get away from the noise if I need to, without having to go all the way home."

"Smart. That's smart," she says, looking around. There are pictures lining the walls, filled with tons of familiar faces.

"It was Eddie's idea," Steve says, grinning, "he just wants me to be comfortable."

Then he smiles a different smile, a softer one, "And nearby."

Nancy smiles back at him, happy he's happy.

"He looks good, by the way," Nancy says, "really good. You both do. Robin, too."

Steve just smiles, because he knows that's true. Time has been kind to them, all of them, it seems.

"Gareth should have kept those curls, though," she teases.

"Don't tell him that, it's a sore spot," Steve says with a grin.

"Mum's the word," she promises.

Then the door opens and closes, Robin sliding inside. She bounces up and down, clapping her hands, "Nance! I can't believe you're here!"

Nancy stands up, and hugs her. Robin isn't as awkward as she was at eighteen. But she's still got that funky style that Nancy's always been a little jealous of, if she's totally honest. That innate ability to just be herself.

Steve is standing there smiling, and then says, "I'll let Robin show you around and catch you up. Eddie'll cry around if I skip out on helping him."

Nancy knows that's not true. Eddie Munson worships the ground Steve Harrington walks on, and has since 1986. At first it felt like Nancy was losing something that she might want again someday, and wanted to bristle up at Eddie. Claim her territory. 

But she quickly saw how Steve looked back at Eddie. She knew that look, and well, and she was happy for him, even if it was kind of hard to let that door close for good.

By the time they all went their separate ways, it was pretty obvious Steve and Eddie were in it for the long haul, and probably would always be. 

And here they are, still together, and they still look fucking happy.

She's not surprised one bit.

And good for them. She isn't sure what it would be like to pick right the first time. She's picked wrong twice now, and she's not excited to do it again.

Women. She might try women for a while. Forget all about men for a stretch and see how that feels, how it goes.

Robin is sitting next to her, and as soon as the door closes behind Steve, leaving them in quiet again, Robin's asking a million questions.

Always curious, Robin.

Nancy answers them. Mike's good. Three kids that act just like he did, which he definitely had coming. 

Robin catches her up on everybody she's still close with that Nancy hasn't seen in a while, and it's nice. Comfortable, like no time has passed.

"You want another drink? Dance? Some food? Anything?" Robin offers.

"Yes," Nancy says, and hell, she thinks she might want it all.

Another couple drinks in, they are bouncing around the dance floor as much as their middle-aged knees will allow, when Nancy reaches forward to brace herself against Robin's hip.

She didn't mean anything by it, but the sudden shift on Robin's face is telling another story. 

Oh shit.

Okay, yeah. That. 

She steps forward, and Robin meets her halfway. Lips pressing against hers in a way that she only barely let herself think about, in a time gone by. The curiosity was there, down deep, back when they were just getting close. But Nancy didn't know how to define it, how to understand it within herself.

She does now.

Robin's hand slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, as she kisses her in a way Nancy's never been kissed. Not by anyone, maybe. 

She should have known. She should have realized that this is what she was looking for, missing, late to understanding.

When Robin pulls back, she smiles, and Nancy smiles back, her heart beating hard against her chest. 

She wants to do it again. 

So she does, leaning up, pressing her lips to Robin's one more time, eager to see where this can go from here.

Hopeful, and excited.

Ready.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[typingbunny]

I’m so into you 🎶🎵🪩

Imagine clubbing with Tara and your colleagues and a certain doctor decides to tag along …

Not too explicit but I’m still putting a little warning bc there are implications of alcohol and sex🍸

You initially went out with your colleges to celebrate wrapping up the newest case of an influx of wanderer attacks near the national park. The attacks had finally started to cease after months of exhaustion for all of you.

After a while Tara suggests that you guys check out the new club in the area. At first you’re a bit hesitant because you didn’t plan on staying up that late nor drinking too much but decide to just spontaneously ditch that thought and tell yourself to live your life and make the most out of it.

And you did …

Within less than 40 minutes of arriving at the club, you’ve had at least 6 random guys coming up to you chatting you up or buying you drinks. Now, accepting drinks from strangers is always a tricky situation, but you figure that since you have so many of your close friends with you, you’ll be fine (let’s be honest Tara convinced you to take the offer)

“Pleeeease it will be fun pinky promise. AND don’t you think it would be incredibly rude to not take the drinks? I mean they’re freeeeee soooo? We can even share them with the others.” Tara tries to convince you with her damned adorable puppy dog eyes and it worked.

Right now you two, plus Jenna who you’d much to her chagrin just pulled along to the dance floor, are singing and dancing while the others who tagged along are sitting in a booth near the back of the club, enjoying themselves over said free drinks.

Most of them are colleagues from your division. However one of them is Zayne.

He had texted you earlier this evening asking if he should pick you up from work, but after telling him your plans for the night he went offline for a good minute before texting you back mentioning that Greyson wanted to check out that new club for the longest time so the two doctors tagged along.

While Greyson is pretty outgoing and a kind soul you still didn’t take him for a clubbing sorta guy. Speaking of not much of a clubbing sorta guy: even less than Greyson you had taken Zayne for someone who likes to party. He normally doesn’t drink alcohol nor does he particularly enjoy dancing, at least not that you know of.

Earlier when the two doctors joined your group, you were slightly taken aback by seeing Zayne in an all black outfit rather than his white lab coat you’re used to seeing him in. Of course you’d seen him in different outfits before, his so-called casual attire: a grey trench coat over a turtle neck or a white dress shirt and tie but the black button down hit differently. You felt like a medieval man lusting after an exposed ankle, the way your eyes were trained on that one little top button he left unbuttoned. You felt your cheeks redden and slightly ashamed when he caught your stare and you quickly cast your eyes elsewhere avoiding his piercing gaze, but you could still see a corner of his mouth rising from your peripheral vision.

~~~~~

Fast forward to now, you three girls are still dancing and singing your hearts out on the dance floor when a guy comes up to you and starts dancing with Tara. She is blushing hardddd and you immediately know that he is exactly her type. You go girl! It doesn’t take too long and they are in their own little world and as a slower more sensual song starts playing you and Jenna take that as your cue to take a few steps aside.

“I need a drink”, Jenna shouts over the music and as neither of you is really feeling this song you huddle over to the bar. Jenna orders a Gin Tonic and you take a Martini.

~~~~~

Soon another guy approaches you two and starts up a conversation. He is wearing a tight white T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination with how low his v-neckline is. He has what the kids call old money blonde hair that is parted in the middle and frames his face nicely, it’s giving beach boy. You snort internally as his appearance reminds you of “I do beach” Ken because that’s the vibes he gives. You scold yourself for being mean reminding yourself that he is just trying to get to know you. As he speaks, you notice how perfectly white his teeth are and even though you couldn’t care less you try to focus on what he is saying over your loud thoughts and the even louder music.

Meanwhile, Zayne has been eyeing that entire interaction practically ignoring Greyson who has been chewing his ear off since they arrived, rambling about a farming simulator game, one of his patients introduced him to today. He has always been a bit of a yapper but in a cute way as he tends to talk with his whole body and face the more excited he gets. He is quite into farming and dreams of living on a farm once he settles down.

Suddenly the blonde guy puts a hand on your waist and Zayne’s grip around his glass tightens until his knuckles turn white. Due to the distance he can’t make out what the guy is blubbering about, but he’s certain that it’s no more than brainless bullshit anyway. Watching the guy weasel around you, getting way too comfortable, Zayne starts counting down the seconds in his head as his patience runs thinner, the alcohol in his system not helping his situation.

A wave of relive washes over him as he watches you detaching yourself from the guy.

That’s my girl

Zayne relaxes a little bit. He knows you can fight your own fights, but for multiple reasons he cannot fight the urge to keep his eyes trained on nothing but you.

~~~~~~

One of your favourite songs starts playing so you try to get away from this guy. You excuse yourself and try to get Jenna to accompany you to the dance floor.

“Nah I’m good” she reassures you as she holds up her half full glass.

Going up to the dance floor all by yourself is intimidating but you can’t skip dancing to this song just because of some nerves or getting self- conscious. Gathering all your confidence you strut to the dance floor as you remember how cool you thought Zendaya looked dancing by all by herself in that new movie of hers and you’re determined to embrace that spirit.

The first 3 seconds feel a bit awkward but once the singing starts you lose your all inhibitions. You feel the base rushing through your body, vibrating within you, the adrenaline pumping through your veins and you feel like the hottest girl in the club.

You’re not the only one who thinks so, as Blondie from the bar respawns and approaches you from behind. You had been feeling eyes burning themselves onto you and you figure it was him.

Well it wasn’t. Well yes it was but not only his.

Zayne’s resting pulse is back to 180 as he watches those grimy hands rake themselves over your body. Without another word he stands up and leaves Greyson to talk about how you maximise your crop and turn it into the ingame currency to invest into something to convert it … whatever.

~~~~~

That guy was getting on your nerves but you ignored him for the most part until you felt a hand on your hips.

“Sorry buddy but I’m not up for touchy”, you lightheartedly tell him off hoping he’ll back off.

He doesn’t.

“I said I’m not up for touchy”, you repeat a little louder because maybe he didn’t hear you over the loud music.

Still not reaction. Suddenly his right hand travels up your side heading straight to your chest.

“I-

“Did you not hear her?! Even from over here I could hear her so maybe you want to get your ears checked I know a few specialists I can connect you with.”

Zayne stares the guy down as he looms over him. Zayne isn’t much taller than him, maybe an inch or two, but the guy all but shrinks as Zayne seems to be crushing Blondie’s hand that had been exploring the landscape of your body with his own scarred hand. You notice that Zayne’s sleeves are rolled up now, which grants you a prime view of his forearm muscles flexing as he increases the force with each passing second. Zayne leans down to the guy and whispers something you can’t hear into beach Ken’s ear and he immediately shuffles away.

“Thank you” you shout a little awkwardly over the music, still swaying back and forth to the rhythm trying to seem unbothered by this whole thing, blocking thoughts of how attractive his (over-) protectiveness is. Girl what is wrong with you?!

Zayne looks you up and down, eyes flickering up to your eyes and then slowly down your body again. You do feel vulnerable and exposed at how openly he is gawking at you but it’s also an incredible ego boost to know that he is looking at you like you’re a glass of water in the dessert.

Oh, baby, look what you started

The temperature's rising in here

Is this gonna happen?

Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move

Before I make a move (ooh, ooh)

“No need to thank me” he leans into you, his lips almost brushing the shell of your ear.

“What did you say to make him react like … that?!” Zayne flashes a smile and looks away for a second before his gaze darkens.

“Don’t think about it too much. That’s not meant for your precious ears to hear.”

Your stomach does a little flip … stupid butterflies.

So, baby, come light me up

And maybe I'll let you on it

A little bit dangerous

But, baby, that's how I want it

Puzzled, you cock your head to the side and a strand of hair falls into your face. Without thinking twice, Zayne reaches for it and gently brushes it behind your ear. Your skin is burning at the soft touch and you want more.

“Dance with me” you ask as he eyes you with a look you can’t fully read. No reaction. “Come on Zayne, humour me, please .”

“I thought you’re not up for touchy”, he teases and you can’t help but smile. Would Zayne be touchy? Seems unlikely.

“Well it’s different with you”, you respond and Zayne raises his eyebrows a little like he often does when he feels intrigued or challenged.

A little less conversation

And a little more touch my body

You feel like you’re about to explode as he places his hands on your waist. His touch is less careful than you had expected and the fact that he can use his hands as a makeshift corset around your entire waist makes you even more hazy than the heat emanating from his body. He smells like expensive cologne, something woodsy and spicy, as degenerate as it sounds: manly. It’s more intoxicating than any of the cocktails you’ve had.

With every passing second the tension between you two grows thicker and your dancing gets more heated. Zayne being a pro at holding eye contact is practically undressing you with his eyes making you feel as naked as if your little black dress was pooling around your feet when in reality there is something else pooling and it’s between your legs. Why does he have to be so tempting-?!

You can’t help but stare at Zayne’s lips wondering if they are as soft as they look like. This isn’t the first time you’re having these thoughts but the first time you’re actually thinking about acting upon your intrusive thoughts.

“Kiss me-!”, you all but plead looking up at him like you’re worshipping him like your god.

'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you

Soft. So incredibly soft. Soft yet forceful. That man kisses you like he is starving and you are more than willing to be the sacrificial lamb to his hungry wolf.

You still can’t comprehend that his lips are crashing against yours as you taste a faint trace of mint and alcohol while his tongue is exploring your mouth.

As you embrace him to get closer, as if that’s even possible with how you’re grinding against him pressing your chests together you’re sure he can feel your hard nipples through the fabric of your dress, your hands find his neck and Zayne suddenly moans into the kiss.

Jackpot.

Of course you abuse the newfound information and start playing with his hair at the nape of his neck. Zayne’s grip around you tightens and one of his hands travels down to your hips drawing you closer as he shamelessly toys with your ass. As if that’s not enough proof that your doctor has completely lost control over his desire for you, you feel a different kind of proof against your lower stomach; proof that is about 7 inches long-

Got everyone watchin' us

So, baby, let's keep it secret

A little bit scandalous

But, baby, don't let them see it

This is crazy. You’re making out in a club with your childhood friend while everyone, your friends, your colleges, your literal boss can watch you.

Yet the only thing on your mind is that you don’t want this to end. Ever.

~~~~~

Zayne is the first one to break the kiss and you instantly worry if it has caught up to him that you are doing more than PDA, you’re practically putting on a show others would charge money for or record it to put it on adult platforms.

Tell me what you came here for

'Cause I can't, I can't wait no more

I'm on the edge with no control

And I need, I need you to know

“How about we get out of here angel?”

“Yes please” , you breathe out pathetically as you feel like you’re making a pact with the devil.

Zayne takes your smaller hand in his to guide you through the crowd, his broad physique functioning like a snow shovel as you trail behind him like a lost duckling.

However, he quickly notices that he’s practically dragging you behind him and checks in if you’d rather not leave with him telling you that it’s okay.

He’s on an entirely wrong track and him checking in with you only heightens how much you feel like a puddle in every way possible.

You’re struggling well because firstly you’re wearing your highest heels + you just made out with the hottest man you’ve been in love with for a literal decade so of course your legs feel like they are going to give in any given moment.

Confessing the state your legs are in even while omitting the reason is beyond embarrassing because of course Zayne knows what’s up, but your cardinal need to be alone with him and repeat what you just did as soon as possible but this time horizontally, outweighs your ego.

Zayne, pragmatic as usual, has a quick solution for the problem and throws you over his shoulder and starts to carry you out of the club. He makes sure you’re decent but you can still feel your face turning red especially with all the blood that had been flowing between your thighs no rushing to your head. On your way to the door, you can spot the people you came here with eyeing you two as they laugh like someone cracked a joke.

As you pass Jenna on your way out because she is still sitting at the bar, you’re 99% she actually said “Use protection. I need you at work.”

'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you

Btw these are the outfits I’m referencing

Me and my husband ♥︎

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander

SUMMARY: In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility. 

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader 

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, protective Theseus, etc. 

A/N: Lowkey proud of this one, so comments and feedback are Super welcomed! This was based off this request, so thank you SO much anon, this was a blast that might have to be a series. Also Huge thanks to @kalllistos​ for all the help, couldn’t have been done without you!! Enjoy.

PART II, PART III, PART IV

You fit in so absolutely.

The rim of your glass was still lined with enough sugar to enjoy dwindling sips. Theseus knew it was gin. Your lipstick left a mark on everything you kissed, the pattern was found on your glass, and the cigarette holder balanced between your fingers. You made everything look so serene. Simple.

Scanning the room, you hadn’t seen Theseus yet. However, he, too, fit in—tie properly knotted to show his status and pocket-watch cleverly tucked in his waistcoat. Once he joined you at the secluded booth, he’d complete the idyllic image.  

Yet, Theseus lingered for a moment, taking you in. Your confidence was always envious. It worked silently, exuding from your presence alone. Your magnetism couldn’t be credited to magic but to how you evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.

Theseus was one of the only ones remaining to know it hadn’t begun that way. He remembered you, a few years below him, always sprinting to class, already late. The professors would scold you, and your confidence was read as insolence. You challenged everything and excelled in doing so, but it only lent itself to trouble. It created a barrier always present between the two of you.

“You’re late.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. Even late into the night, he was always so poised. Professional.  “I’m risking a lot showing my face here.”

“You look beautiful.” Theseus slid into the leather cushion. The charm always came with his supposed  professionalism. It came in waves and never crawled under your skin the way intended. “Relax…It’s fine.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket’s button, Theseus settled. It was bold of you to accept his invitation to meet so publicly, but he knew you couldn’t resist. You just needed to play your part smartly and get what you want.  

“Your promises are too shallow for me to trust.” You crossed your legs, making it easier to lean and be heard. Then, you clicked your tongue against your teeth with sarcasm, “I think I’d rather you arrest me.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve clocked out for the night.” Theseus was an intentional man, a clever man. He was protecting his image just as much as yours. “It’s just you and me.”

“That’s why you wanted to meet here…” You hummed with feigned realization. The muggle restaurant was a precarious cover but equally as rewarding in its purpose. “You know there are better ways to ask someone on a date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time…” Theseus matched your hum absentmindedly. The banter was a buffer, something to ease into an inevitable unwanted conversation. Reaching into his heavily charmed jacket, he pulled out a file.

It was always a fucking file. The folders were always pristine, never quite full of all the information, just enough of what Theseus was willing to share. It grew over the years of the unorthodox relationship, but you knew not to mistake that for trust.

The figures in the picture were blurry, moving incoherently as they entered a building. The stack of images moved in sequence, following rushedly an exchange that was meant to remain a secret. Without seeing their faces well, you knew who they were, and you held back from using your cigarette roach to burn it all away. Instead, the image repeat over and over before you, but your expression was trained with passivity.

“When did he get out?” You finally met Theseus’ eye. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.

“A month or so at this point...”

Your laugh was bitter. “So, I��ve been a sitting duck.”

“You’ve been avoiding me...” Theseus countered, his tone just barely teasing. There was truth in jest, as there were plenty of owls following you. You looked at him, knowing what came next. His compassion would get him killed. “...I can help you.”

“Careful.” You cocked your head, musing a buried thought. “You’re getting awful sentimental these days.”

“Don’t you want those off?” Theseus leaned in like you had, voice low. Although his fingers were threaded together, he pointed to the bracelets on your wrists.

You smirked, “And ruin my outfit?”

Rarely did you acknowledge them so explicitly. The bracelets—admonitors—dampened your magic by tracking your every spell. They made you feel like a child with a trace spell. Part of you wished you could say you grew accustomed to the constant surveillance, but you grew weary of lying.

The offer was too sweet, and you wanted more than just your magic untraced. “What’s the catch?”

“You help the Ministry find him.” Theseus was trying to protect you, but you were too filled with vindication to notice.

“You mean work for you.”

He frowned, correcting you, “With me.”

“There truly isn’t a difference in your world.” You spat. The ministry was the reason you were in this mess; they branded your cuffs as a daily reminder that your autonomy was shared. “You’d be using me as bait.”

The conversation would go in circles, as it always had. It was the reason more time was added between meetings. Every time you left, that bitter taste grew stronger, and it was difficult to put it aside to face Theseus again and again. This was different—more threatening, but your anger prevailed.

“I won’t do it.”

“Catching him will clear your name.” Theseus all but begged. He remained poised, but you knew it would only last for so long. Those around you looked your way; interest piqued in conversation they weren’t privy to.

“I’m not innocent.” You were blunt. You had been called cold because of it. But it was a trait that you favored, especially at times like this. You wanted to see Theseus break.

You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Theseus chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were children.

The table held your drink, forgotten and diluted. The air was tense and hushed. Theseus needed to move fast, knowing you were moments away from fleeing. But he knew he had just enough time as you lit another cigarette, this time not for vanity but to quell your nerves.

Your nails tapped on the base of your cocktail glass. Your fingertips twitched, begging to satisfy their itch for magic. You debated on if your actions would be worth it.  Theseus decided for you, hand flexing to replenish your drink.

Your lipstick remained fresh but still marked the glass. It was perfectly cold, calming the swarm of nerves that hit you. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” Theseus appreciated your teasing; it meant he was doing something right.

“This place is quite charming, you know,” You looked around before shifting forward even more. It may have been improper, but you leaned over the table, elbows resting comfortably. “Next time, we’ll have to venture and order food.”

“Sure.” Theseus agreed, body language mirroring yours. To anyone else, the pair of you would look smitten. “Anytime you’d like.”

“Anytime?” Your eyebrow ticked up as you tapped at the ashtray.  “Come on, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have.” Your knuckles crept forward, almost bumping his as they dragged to the middle of the linen cloth atop the table. “Truly—We haven’t—”

You stopped yourself with an uncharacteristic laugh. A tinge spread below Theseus’ freckles, assuming your humor was chastising him. But you were laughing at yourself, at how ridiculous you felt. You were enjoying yourself.

The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled. “Be practical, Theseus.”

Your worlds barely overlapped, and where it had highlighted the worst parts of each of you. Your world was dark and hidden; you stole and bribed. You were suitable for it and resisted morphing into the image Theseus expected of you.

He was as kind as any Hufflepuff, putting other needs first and blindly placing his kindness. He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by sitting across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Theseus’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“I need to know the full story.” His voice was commanding, betraying his desperation.

Theseus looked warm, contrasting the winter blizzarding outside. A bubble was created that was becoming suffocating, but with him across you, it seemed just marginally bearable. His hand flexed, skimming yours, hoping to regain your attention.

“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You thought to sink back, but you chased the small contact. “I want nothing to do with this. With him.”

“I’ll be there the entire time,” Theseus promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you weren’t willing to accept it wholly.

“And my interests?”

Theseus’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. It reminded him of his position, of his strained relation to you—what he was supposed to do but always found a reason to put off.

“It depends on where they lie.”

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

You wished his gaze would turn you to stone; that way, you could avoid everything else. Instead, it made you melt, it made you pliable in way you opposed with others. There was a suspicion he kept returning just because of that—despite your bluff and his willful ignorance, you weren’t made of stone, and deep down, he knew that. Probably not consciously, but he did.

You always came back. Or he did—another indistinguishable something. You could still feel his fingers reaching for yours. It almost made you cave. Yet, your back met the bench of the booth, and your hand drew away as you placed your cigarette on your lips.

Although you were still present, Theseus watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Theseus’ eyes were pleading, and you went to blame his naivety, but you found something distinct there. The reason you were here tonight was not for a favor.

It was an ultimatum, not a request.

“When was this decided?” You asked. You thought Theseus came alone, and now the naivety fell on you. There were too many eyes on you now to dismiss the crowd as solely muggles.  You fell so perfectly into the trap that all you could do was laugh.

“I wanted to keep you out of this,” Theseus admitted. It was the truth, but he knew what needed to be done. The greater good, you could already hear his defense. “This is the only way.”

“Your way.” You shook your head. Another laugh. “And what happens when he kills me? Hmm?”

“He won’t.” Another promise that made you sick. “I’ll be there the whole ti—

“Then you, Theseus—” Venom dripped from your every pointed word. From the corner of your eye, you saw how the undercover aurors were ready to respond to your agitation. If they wanted a spectacle, you were moments from providing it. “— are ill-prepared for what he’s willing to do.”

“You need to trust me.” Theseus attempted to regain the conversation but failed to recognize any mending he made was lost.

“And why should I trust the man that watches my every move?”

Theseus put you in this position; he was the wizard who held your wrist tightly all those years ago to secure the admonitors. For your own good, he told you. He believed it, and yet again, you found yourself at the hands of his so-called mercy.

“And if I decline?” You weren’t in such a position to, but Theseus understood your question only brought ruination. 

“The only way you're walking out of here is because of me.”

A threat, how original.  Your cigarette threatened to burn your lips. The ash tarnished the linen that fell over your lap. Apart of you hoped it would set the entire thing aflame. Maybe then you’d have a chance at a genuine escape. For now, though, you resolved to the final word.

“You think you are blessed with morality—” You finished your drink, the taste becoming sour. “—yet what sits before me is nothing but a boy that’s only purpose is to follow orders blindly.”

[heartless-curr]

i'm normally not a big fan of aus however with bsd considering beast i like them. so, hear me out here:

ryuunosuke and gin lived in the slums, right? and there was this mentality of "if we die get revenge for us", right? and chuuya was living with the sheep, right? who take in children living in the streets, right?

in another world the sheep (i'm thinking chuuya specifically. for the parallels to dazai in the og series) found gin and ryuunosuke and all their friends living on the street, and it ended up being chuuya with ryuunosuke working side by side to lead the sheep's offense. what i like to think of is how this would impact their relationship, and how this would change how they act when they join the mafia — because if chuuya joins the mafia, the akutagawa siblings are joining right beside him.

[missredherring]

Given a Name

Oberyn Martell x Fat!Female Reader x Ellaria Sand

Rating: T

Word Count: 1127

Summary: "This would be your greatest indulgence?" He asks, the edges of his beautiful mouth curling into a pleased grin.

How like a man to inflate his importance. It’s a pity that he isn’t wrong.

This will be my greatest selfishness.

Contents: Angst. Mentions of canon character deaths. Allusions to Greek mythology cos I'm a nerd. Reader chooses a name for herself.

A/N: this fic is part of @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble challenge! I was given the prompt of "To Someone From a Warm Climate” + Oberyn.

(I know the prompt was just for Oberyn, but I could never exclude Ellaria. 😔)

Thanks for putting this together, Gin! It was a lot of fun to puzzle over.

I love Isekais.

Not beta read; all errors are my own.

General Interest Tags: @oonajaeadira @perotovar @psychedelic-ink @prolix-yuy @covetyou @morallyinept @undercoverpena @janaispunk

You've failed.

There are two nights and three days left until Oberyn Martell will meet his end at the hands of Gregor Clegane. When his hubris finally gets the best of him and stills his quick feet.

The knowledge has been a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach all night.

You managed to survive the long, dark nights until the sun of the Dornish banner broke over the horizon and filled you with something that felt like hope.

You thought that the hardest thing you’d have to do when you found yourself in the Seven Kingdoms was to secure safety and shelter. Ironically, the excess fat on your body is something out of the ordinary in a world where the people starve regularly and weight is seen as a luxury only the wealthy can afford.

It wasn’t hard to catch Oberyn’s eye, but it was difficult to prove your worth with your mind instead of your body. You can only thank whatever gods are listening that events are unfolding along plot lines you’re familiar with. Foreknowledge is a weapon you’ve learned to wield well.

Ever since joining the Prince’s retinue on the road to King’s Landing and the dark fate that waited there, you’ve been trying to find a way to change his mind on the matter. But as the days went by and as each suggestion was batted away, you accepted the grim truth that Oberyn is not a man to be lured away from his convictions. Any thoughts of changing this destiny have been abandoned. The wound was too deep and scarred his poet's heart irreparably.

"May I join you tonight, my prince?" You ask when the plates are taken away and more wine is set out.

Oberyn gives you his full attention, interest sparking the banked lust that’s always glowing in his eyes. His languid body perks up, sitting straight in his seat for a moment before he gets to his feet to refill his goblet.

“Oh? Are you finally accepting our invitation?”

“If it is still offered, I would like nothing more.” The lie tastes bitter on your tongue. There are things you’d like more: his acceptance of your council of his duel with the Mountain, indoor plumbing, antibiotics, and a safe way home to name a few.

Tomorrow night will be for Oberyn and Ellaria, but tonight… you can ask for tonight for yourself.

“Of course. But I cannot continue to call you by title only if we are to be lovers, my soothsayer.”

The true intention of filling his own goblet is clear: he has halved the distance between you by moving to the sideboard. It only takes two of his long strides to reach you, and his hand suddenly trailing over the back of your chair makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle with awareness.

"Cassandra." You offer him the name and he latches on to it.

“Cassandra.” He says.

Oberyn runs a finger over the exposed skin of your shoulder, and you feel the line as clearly as if he had drawn it with a quill. His touches before had been kept to what politeness allowed: brushes of his fingers against yours and the fleeting press of his mouth to the back of your hand. But now at your request he’s testing you, seeing if the boundaries have truly moved or if this is another of your tactics.

His eyes watch your face as that finger follows the neckline of your dress, pausing just at the swell of your breast before turning, going down your arm to take your hand, and gently commanding you to stand.

“Cassandra,” He repeats the name, rolling it over his tongue and changing the pronunciation with his accent. He pulls it apart, putting the syllables back together in a Dornish fashion, and you wish it was that easy to relieve the name of its burden.

Every time he says it is another press on the bruise of your heart. He catches your flinch and tilts his head.

How can a man blinded by his revenge see you so clearly?

"That is not your given name."

"It's as true a name for me as any of the things I have told you." You say, trying to keep the frustration from your voice.

He has taken your council about the events leading up to the death of King Joffrey, but the opportunity to finally avenge Elia has presented itself at his feet, deafening him to any suggestion that would turn him from that doomed path.

The conversation about his quest for revenge has been hashed out many times at this point. Oberyn is so close to one ending that he cannot, or will not, see the paths to other options.

“I’ve decided to finally give in to your temptations, Oberyn. To indulge in my desires.” You say, feeling a little relieved when he smiles. He likes the idea, the stroke to his ego, as you knew he would. You’re just glad the allure of a body like yours hasn’t lessened over the time you’ve spent together.

"This would be your greatest indulgence?" He asks, the edges of his beautiful mouth curling into a pleased grin.

How like a man to inflate his importance. It’s a pity that he isn’t wrong.

This will be my greatest selfishness.

"Yes. It would be even greater if Ellaria joined us." It’s daring, to demand them both like this, but he would never deny Ellaria anything she wished. You both turn to her for an answer.

Just like the Prince, it has been too easy to fall under the charms of his paramour. She is his equal in every way that matters, including your regard.

Ellaria watches you with dark worried eyes, and you have to steel yourself against the urge to weep. You want to beg for her forgiveness. Apologize for not being able to give more warning than the dread she already feels. Will you turn from me, when all is said and done? When he’s nothing but a broken corpse on the stadium floor, will you leave me behind? Will you forget me in the chaos of the aftermath?

You hold your other hand out to her in invitation, and try to keep your face steady when she makes a soft noise of delight.

Oberyn’s mouth is warm on your temple. He only turns your head away from Ellaria when he cannot wait any longer to take your mouth in a searing kiss.

You will give them the pleasure of your body, allow yourself to rest your mind in a tangle of limbs, and let this memory be the last golden rays of your Dornish sunset as the uncertain night waits beyond the windows.

[anqelically]

hi hi i hope ur doing well <3

may i request for port mafia! dazai having a s/o who is a reowned assassin of the mafia.

s/o is someone intimidating and very capable of fighting. fast yet with a deadly and silent precision. basically, kind of like gin? except s/o uses a scythe not a dagger lol, and when s/o is around dazai or simply not in assassin-work mode, s/o turns out to be really soft, kind, shy, and sweet, and it's a side that only dazai gets to see !!

tysm :))

with a secretly sweet assassin s/o headcanons

featuring...! dazai osamu

content: no manga spoilers, "fluff" i don't know what genre you'd consider this to be

navi | bsd masterlist

when dazai first saw you in action, he didn’t think much. it was the port mafia, so he was used to being surrounded by killers, ability users or not. it was when he learned why you were an assassin that he actually took interest

you preferred to only kill other criminals. if you were tasked with having to kill someone innocent, you’d pass it on to one of your colleagues

when dazai learned this, he was confused. you were still killing the people too, considering you passed the task on instead of ignoring it. once he snuck himself into your life, which took quite long since he only bothered you during work, he figured out your process of thought

you were actually quite different when you weren’t on duty. you were kind, making it impossible to think you were in the port mafia after a simple conversation

once he gets to see the sweeter side of you, he always finds a way to where you are. it doesn’t matter if you’re on a mission, he’ll somehow make his way there under the cover that he’s to provide assistance. though, it’s not really a cover if he actually does find a way to help you out

he likes to poke your cheek to ask you to be a good little one and give him some attention. he definitely takes advantage of the fact you’re slightly younger and still rank lower than him to get what he wants

dazai likes to see that he’s the only one that’ll make you switch off from work mode. specifically, he likes it when others see you at least get shy from his constant comments and touches

you sometimes let your guard down when you think no one else is around, so someone’s bound to accidentally walk in on the two of you. you and dazai kept your relationship private. so even though he’d do his occasional flirting during work, it was still toned down. the last thing he wanted was for mori to find out there was something real

you’d be talking with dazai, smiling with his hands in yours when you hear glass shatter. it sounded like it was the window, so you immediately let go of him and summoned your large scythe through your ability

it doesn’t even go near the person’s neck because they immediately ducked, jumping away. when your eyes meet chuuya’s, he almost feels grossed out

he was just another person that saw you as an outstanding killer in the port mafia. you were quiet, usually only making conversation if necessary. and not to mention your skills. you could behead 5 people in one swipe of your scythe easily, so seeing you all sweet with dazai put a bad feeling in his stomach. if you were such a darling, why be intimate with a little devil like dazai? you’re not being manipulated, are you?

but moving on from that, there’s a part of dazai deep down that truly appreciates you. i think he’d also feel some sort of unspoken relief at the fact that you two shared the same world, one of death and killing. he knew that he’d trudge through life with you, someone who understood how he felt

note: hihi!! thank you for the request, i felt the sudden urge to write it and did pretty quickly haha,, the big scythe reminded me of zach (angels of death), and i think that's part of why i was drawn in LSJDK

reblogs are appreciated + join my taglist !

@nagicore @enomane @er0ses @spenzitz @wineaddict2904 @aeshiiteiru @chuuyrr @ashthemadwriter

[lokisgoodgirl]

Final Bids [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (19) Stakes are high and mischief is rife at Stark's charity auction. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Auction trope. Smuttish. Language. Mild Angst -> Fluff. (w/c 4.7k)

Loki hadn’t shown up fighting his way through customs at the airport. There was no dramatic kiss on the runway, and no hint of his theatrical presence at the other side when you landed at JFK. He’s never text you before, he won’t start now; you thought, staring at the blank phone screen resting on the bar of the Tower’s event suite. You stared at it, hoping for a miraculous flash. This is mad.

“Hey.” Wanda said, sliding into the seat beside yours. “Hey.” you replied flatly. She was dressed to the nines tonight, cleavage bursting from a sinfully red strapless dress. “You better be careful in that thing, Thor will get the wrong idea.” you muttered, taking another sip of your drink. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” Wanda winked. “Have you seen him?” she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she scanned the room.

“No...I need to talk to him, actually.” you said, joining her in scouting the bustling crowd. Wanda hummed, distracted. Needing to talk to Thor, you chided yourself; say you’re desperate without saying you’re desperate. “I still think you should have given Stark a pair of used panties for this thing.” the redhead mumbled coyly as she turned back to you, satisfied her audience of choice was not in the direct vicinity. “I don’t think anyone wants my dirty underwear, girl.” you laughed, happy for the distraction. “Please.” she scoffed. “Whatever pheromones you’re pumping out had two gods fighting over you. Lit-e-ral-ly.” she said, emphasising with four slaps of her palm on the bar. “People would pay good money to wear that shit like perfume. Mark my words.” You shrugged, seeing Wanda’s eyes narrow. “I think my pheromones are officially out of business, honestly” you sighed, “Rome didn’t exactly go to plan. I think we’re done.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “You always say that. And then the next time I see you, the hair’s all fucked out and you have a big dopey smile on your face and something new he’s said or done that’s driving you crazy. It’s your thing. Your couple thing.” “We’re not a couple.” you snapped.

“If you say so.” Wanda murmured coyly, manoeuvring the tiny straw hanging off her cocktail into her mouth.

There was a pause as you both ran your eyes over the elegant guests returning from intermission. So far, the charity auction had been a roaring success. Your combat belt went for a respectable forty-eight large, while a pair of Banner’s ripped shorts and Bucky’s unwashed sweatband had both garnered over fifty thousand. You knew the world had gone officially mad when Rogers’ notebook of patriotic mindfulness ramblings reached double that. Tony was working his magic on a group of shareholders near the head of the hall, raucous laughter splitting the gin-soaked air. Steve stood at the podium, frowning. As expected, he was taking the duty of auctioneer very seriously.

“What did you hand over to Tony’s fund, then?” you said, crossing your legs on the barstool. “A bra.” Wanda shrugged, as you spluttered on a mouthful of diet coke. “What?!” she postured innocently, “it’s for charity.” The two of you burst into peals of laughter, your gaze drawn back to Captain Rogers squinting at his cards on the stage. “Oh, Steve’s gonna love that.” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye. Wanda shrugged again. “They said a personal item that people would want – so I complied.” Clint peeled away from the edge of the crowd, leaning on the bar beside you. “Ladies.” he said solemnly, letting his stare wander from a distance over the pulsing mass of people. “Have either of you seen Laufeyson?” Wanda shook her head. “I don’t think he’s coming, he’s not on the auction list – hasn’t even submitted anything.” she said casually, fiddling with her straw. Your stomach dropped, as Clint grimaced. “Good.” he said, letting out a sigh of relief. You frowned. “What’s the problem?” A forced smile stretched across Barton’s face. “Oh nothing! Just...trying to lay low that’s all. He and I had a little...never mind.” You shifted your handbag on the bar, feeling the weight of Loki’s seal rolling gently against the sides. He wouldn’t want to lose it, you thought; remembering the awkward conversations with airport security in Rome. A flash of green caught your attention out the corner of your eye. Whipping your head towards the entrance, you watched as a polished and preened Amanda sashayed around the edge of the crowd like a shark. Green, you scoffed. She’s really laying it on thick. Amanda teetered on her heels before pausing, forehead creased as she plopped down on a chair and hoisting one leg over the other. Clint cleared his throat. “They’re starting again, Tony sent me to get you guys. Shall we?” The next forty-five minutes went by in a haze as your gaze flickered intermittently to the main doors. Loki never missed a chance to schmooze with the higher echelons of Midgardian society. He enjoyed the look of abject terror on Steve’s face too much. You clapped dryly with the others as each lot was closed: Thor’s silk nightcap, Natasha’s make-up case, Lang’s personalised hip-flask and of course...Wanda’s bra. Where is he? You couldn’t help but notice Amanda glancing over her shoulder, meeting your eyes each time before quickly turning away. She made no bids, you noticed; but her stare wandered to the main entrance with suspicious regularity. The same as your own. Steve rumbled on, pausing for laughter as the crowd graciously indulged their host for the evening. Tony heckled from the side-lines, making the captain’s cheeks flush pink on each occasion. As he began the speech he had rehearsed for the closing remarks, you saw his blue eyes widen. The tell-tale shuffle of bodies parting behind you was the only other sound you registered as whispers ran through the crowd like the rustle of leaves. “Good Evening, Agent.” a low voice drawled softly over your shoulder. Wanda elbowed you teasingly in the ribs, her hands still folded on the high circular cocktail table. You elbowed her sharply back.

Tilting your chin casually to the side, you saw the blurred edge of Loki’s profile as he hovered at a respectful distance. “You’re late.” you hissed, heart thundering in your chest as the scent of him infused the air. You could have sworn the holy incense from the Roman church still clung to his hair. Loki chuckled lightly under his breath, hot air ghosting your ear. “I think you’ll find I’m right on time.” he purred, before peeling away to a space at a standing table to your side. Suddenly your mouth felt dry, flickering your eyes to the side covertly. Loki was wearing a suit tonight, but not just a suit; you whined internally. Never just a suit. Snug trousers of darkest forest green clung to his legs, the straight hem tailored flawlessly to the tongues of his dress shoes. A jacket of green sateen was wrapped around his exquisite musculature, biceps bulging beneath the glossy fabric as he conjured a drink to his open hand. You ran your eyes over the black lapel, his strong chest flat beneath the trussed layers of propriety you wanted to rip from his body.

Beneath the jacket, a silk waistcoat hugged his broad torso; the buttons glinting in the low atmospheric lights. A matching cravat wound around his long neck, fastened with a peculiar brooch you could only assume was Asgardian.

His hair was drawn back in an unkempt bun, messy strands hanging by his carved cheekbones. The contrast between his refined ensemble and the muss of his hair was not coincidental. It couldn’t be. A gentleman in the streets, a ravenous Asgardian whore in the sheets; it screamed. In his free hand, he held a cane; the tip heavy and ornately carved. Completely unnecessary, of course. Of course, you thought – watching him sip his drink with a knowing smirk. People were staring. And among them, Amanda. Steve cleared his throat pointedly, trying to recapture the section of the crowd engrossed in the unexpected late arrival. Your gaze swung back to the blushing blonde just as a stagehand crept sheepishly to his side, handing him a note.

“-and so in conclusion we would like to thank...to...wait wha-?” he raised his hands towards Tony, waving to the note with undisguised irritation. You saw Stark shrug, closing his eyes as his eyebrows raised. Just go with it, the gesture said. Steve frowned. “It seems we have one final item for auction, folks.” the captain said sourly, his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. “Courtesy of Loki Laufeyson apparently...which is..is-” He trailed off as he flipped the prompt card in his hand over, before waving it subtlety to the man who had delivered it, hidden offstage. The stagehand shrugged, making Steve purse his lips. “Well...I’m sure whatever our newest member has submitted for tonight’s fundraising efforts will be top notch. Why don’t we get the man himself up here to tell us about it, since he’s being so coy?” Steve looked smugly towards towards the god in the crowd, before he frowned. Loki was already sauntering towards the stage, tipping the ostentatious cane to excited applause before he began to climb the steps. You could see Steve’s lips moving, the rest of his face a stoic warning. He spun on his heels towards the audience, whipping the microphone cable once. “So, why don’t you tell the generous people here what they’ll be bidding on?” he announced through gritted teeth, an air of joviality barely masking his anxiety. Rogers gaze ran suspiciously over the god's placid features before turning back to the crowd with a showman smile. Loki clasped his hands behind his back, leaning forward to the microphone clenched in the captain’s fist. “Me.” he said, slowly.

There were gasps as the guests leaned to each others ears, hands impulsively travelling to the bidding paddles discarded prematurely. “Ha-ha-ha he’s only joking folks. Let’s not get excited.” Steve chuckled, extending a hand to pat down the enthusiasm on the air. “Why don’t you tell them what they’ll really be bidding on.” he said with a maniacal fake smile that looked like it hurt. Loki’s smirk was a masterpiece of mischief, flirting at the dimples at the base of those devastatingly high cheekbones. He bent forward to the microphone, and you saw the exact moment that Steve realised it was too late to pull it away. “Me.” Loki repeated with a growl, his voice even richer and more seductive the second time. His long fingers wrapped around Steve’s white knuckles, holding him steady. “For one night, for the highest bidder; I will show them what it is to be brought to the precipice of sanity through pleasure. My complete and utter carnal devotion. An unlocking of your basest and most debauched desires. That is my submission to this affair.” He straightened, his eyes flickering to Steve’s face now pinker than his fuchsia tie. The poor captain’s eyes were watering. You felt sick. “What the fuck is he doing?” Wanda hissed, before downing her drink. “This is ridiculous, how dare he... he needs a knee in the nuts-” You turned, shushing her. “No, just...I need to..think.” you muttered. On one hand, if he didn’t go above fifty thousand...you could probably afford it. Just. But then, why should you? The arrogant, cruel prick that he was. If there was ever a way to show you that he was over it, over you – then this was it. Fuck him, you thought; blood thundering as you saw Amanda twirling the paddle between her fingers. And he’s definitely going above fifty-fucking-thousand. You saw Tony begin to squirm as Steve took a few tentative steps to the front of the podium. “You know...ladies and gents I gotta say this is pretty heckin’ unorthodox right here and I’m not sure-” In a handful of frantic bounds, Tony was on the stage; his arms spread wide before he clapped Rogers harshly on the back. “-OK, thanks Cap.” he announced playfully. “Captain Goodtimes over here doesn’t think it would be proper to support tonight’s great cause with this...fine specimen on the bidding block.” He motioned up and down Loki’s long body, his endless limbs wrapped in the exquisite green suit that shimmered like blackbird feathers in the light. “Do you agree with him?” Tony yelled incredulously, winding up the baying crowd with a circling fist as chants of No filled the air. Steve was incandescent with embarrassment, redness flushing down beneath the collar of his shirt. “Are you ready to get a piece.of.this?” Tony roared, as Loki spun slowly on his heels, hands clasped behind his back before he raised them outwards with faux sheepishness. A smile tugged his lips, eyes smouldering across the crowd becoming steadily unsettled as friends became adversaries in the face of competition. Chaos was brewing.

You suddenly felt yourself jostled, Wanda’s hand grasping at your forearm before it slipped away. Swathes of guests crowded forward, each trying to be subtle and failing miserably. Men and women crushed together towards the stage, elbows popping dangerously close to eyes as they readied their paddles for action. “Let’s start the bidding at...twenty thousand.” Tony postured towards the fizzing audience, casting an appraising glance back towards Loki who met his stare with a tilt of his head. His lips pursed, a silent 'ooo' sliding between his lips as he feigned offence.

Tony grinned, pressing the microphone innocently to his chin. “Number seventeen, I see you.” he pointed. “Twenty five thousand.” a strangled voice shrieked behind you. “Twenty-five, not bad.” Tony mumbled, beginning to pace. Loki swung the handle of his cane casually, before making it flip in the air and land expertly back in his grip. The crowd groaned in unison, the scent of mass arousal beginning to hang heavy in the air. You felt your pussy clench beneath your party dress, beads of sweat beginning to form on your collarbone. In a flash, the cane disappeared, as Tony let his forefinger trail down the silk of Loki’s waistcoat, toying with a chain hanging from the pocket. “It’s a nice suit Laufeyson – you’ve got quite the wardrobe, but I think your bidders are more interested in what’s underneath all that slutty satin am I right?” he said coyly, raising an eyebrow. Feral roars of approval sounded around you, as you were shunted back and forth. The man beside you shot up his hand. “Thirty-five!” he yelled, waving the paddle in the air. The increments came like bullets as Loki’s fingers toyed with the silk cravat wound around his neck, sliding the material teasingly from the curve. He threw it into the audience, two women falling to the floor as they became a squabbling mess of bare legs and dishevelled Chanel.

This can’t be happening, you thought with a wave of panic. You clenched the paddle in your fist to your chest, watching the smouldering sweep of Loki’s gaze run like treacle over his captive audience as he began to shrug the satin jacket from his shoulders.

“Fifty!” you heard yourself gasp, arm straight in the air. Tony’s face scrunched, his amusement palpable as he acknowledged the desperate bid with a nod. But it was white noise. “Sixty-five!” the man beside you blurted immediately, shouldering you roughly to the side as he squeezed forwards. You cast a pleading look towards Wanda, who shook her head in disapproval. Tony didn’t have to say a word, pointing to each bidder as they continued to come thick and fast. Loki held his waistcoat with one long finger, dangling it teasingly to the side before letting it drop. It vanished before hitting the floor. Seventy. Eighty-two. Ninety-five thousand. The devastatingly erotic god treated each button of his shirt like an act of foreplay. His fingers caressed the curve before releasing another sliver of fair skin to the sound of baying moans of desire all around you. Beginning to force your way against the tide of bodies to Wanda, you collided with Scott. “Oh hey.” he grinned, eyes wide with excitement. “This is fucking ca-ray-zy right?” Another wave of squeals told you Loki had reached the end of the line of buttons. Suddenly Scott raised both arms, throwing his head back. “A HUNDRED N’ FIFTY BIG ONES!” he yelled, returning to his previous stance as if nothing had happened.

“What?” he quipped casually, giving a shrug of resignation as he was immediately outbid. “Just shooting my shot. Plus, this is legend already. Iconic. No way I ain’t gonna be part of that.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to press against the mass of bodies to the side. “We should get t-shirts. ‘I bid on Loki Laufeyson’…” he joked to no-one. “’And all I got was this stupid semi.’” he added wistfully as you finally reached Wanda. “I saw your bid. It was kind of lame.” she drawled. You shook your head. “I don’t know what to do Wanda.” you whined, wringing your hands. You heard a commotion as the crowd parted over near the doors – a woman had fainted. Loki’s smirk was pure drama as he showed off the endless length of his body with finesse, bare chest glowing beneath the stage-lights. His legs were wide – a perfect triangle wrapped in tight, luxurious cotton that creased against his thighs. The bulge of his cock was clearly visible, every subtle sway of his hips making the fabric stretch against the outline. The bladed angles of his face flashed tantalisingly beneath heavy-lidded eyes as he reached for his belt buckle. Five hundred thousand. Five-fifty. Six hundred.

Wanda rolled her eyes again. “Look – if he doesn’t say it back? Well then he’s the same asshole he’s always been. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.” she mumbled, taking another sip of her drink. “But the auction-” you whined, feeling Wanda’s other-worldly grip tighten on your wrist. “You’re an Avenger, dumbass.” she growled. “Fuck the auction.” “Fuck the auction.” you repeated unconvincingly under your breath, turning to face the source of your undoing. Loki’s eyes met yours across the room as he ambled forwards, ignoring the hordes of guests who had lost all sense of decorum scrounging at the stage’s edge. They were feral. Over the chaotic din, you could swear you heard the clunk of metal as his graceful fingers toyed with the metal fastening at his hips. He slid the leather out of its loops slowly. Tony wolf- whistled. “Hoooo-eee folks, do I hear seven hundred thousand for a night of debauchery with this actual...real life...bona-fide sex god. Think of the orphans, people.” he jibed, working the crowd into a frenzy. Eight hundred, eight-fifty, nine hundred. You watched the constant flash of frenzied paddles rise and fall, your breaths becoming ragged under duress. “Do I hear one million?!” Tony smarmed, unfurling his arm towards Loki who had placed his hands on his hips, working the waistband of his trousers down to reveal the V of his muscles. “Come on, we’ve all seen the Twitter photos...don’t pretend you haven’t read the tabloids - you know he’s worth it.” Loki flicked a strand of hair back from his eyes, throwing Tony a slow wink as a paddle for the one million bid rose tentatively in the air. Fuck, Tony. you thought, slamming your paddle down to the bar table. “Are you gonna use that?” a woman behind you mumbled inaudibly, before sliding it away. Your frantic eyes found Amanda, still seated elegantly at one of the high stools. There was something different about her tonight, you pondered; as she waited with a look of unbreakable concentration. Waiting to pounce.

There were gasps as Loki reached one arm up, the mouth-watering curve of his bicep matched only by the tight stretch in his obliques. He tilted his chin down, the coquettishly slutty pose making you realise a flood of wetness had begun pooling traitorously between your thighs. He slowly dragged the hair-tie from his messy bun, letting waves of curls fall around his collarbone. “Final bids, folks.” Tony sighed. “I don’t think Laufeyson can take off any more clothes without Steve-y boy going into cardiac arrest.” he quipped, fighting to contain laughter as he glanced at Rogers concealed off stage. Final bids. A wave of nausea rolled in your belly. Who had bid last? Was it the stockbroker, the mayor’s wife? Obama? You couldn’t tell, the mass of jostling bodies melding into one horrible sludge of jealousy. “Two million.” a clear-cut voice called over the carnage. Every head in the room turned to gape at the owner, but you didn’t even need to look. It was her. Tony released a low whistle, spinning on his heels and patting Loki on the shoulder with a commiserate shake. “Two million. No pressure, bud. Hope the royal sceptre has been resting recently.” he mumbled with feigned secrecy into the microphone. Loki chuckled, leaning over. “A veritable bargain, I assure you.” he smirked. “That’s my boy!” Tony chuckled gleefully, spinning to the front. “Two million going once…” Your eyes were wide, turning to Wanda who nudged her head frantically to the head of the room. Tackle him, it said. “Two million going twice…” - “Where’s my paddle…?” you gasped, not thinking straight, “I..fuck.” “Sold!” Tony yelled, to moans of disappointment and reluctant clapping. “To the beautiful Amanda Goldberg for two...million...dollars. Come get your prize, m’lady.”

You saw red, the room starting to spin as the applause grew louder. The flow of Amanda’s dress swirled towards the stage, a bare-chested Loki down on one knee to welcome her with a kiss on her outstretched hand. “Loki, no!” you gasped quietly– pushing the crowd to the side as you elbowed forward. His arm slid around Amanda’s shoulders, planting a lingering kiss on her cheek with a secret smile. “Loki!” you yelled, shoving the final obstacle from your path. Tony. He spluttered, waving his hands dramatically as you hopped onto the stage and took three stumbling steps to where Loki waited with hands clasped behind his back. Even in his stripped state, messy curls hanging devilishly around his chiselled features dark with the lust of baying adoration – he was a prince. Your prince. The crowd began to whisper, awkward murmurs of dissent bubbling like lava at your back. You could feel the heat of their confusion wafting against your skin as it rose in your cheeks. Loki stared unblinking, his eyes narrowing for a split second as he analysed your stricken features.

“Can I help you?” he purred innocently, drumming his fingers around Amanda’s bicep. She gave a loud, cartoonish giggle. You swallowed harshly, throat dry. Loki tilted his head, feigned-confusion painted on his ethereal features. You grasped at your clutch bag, feeling it click open with a fumble of your moist fingers. “I wanted to give you this...back.” you stuttered, arm outstretched with his ancient seal in the flat of your palm.

Loki looked at it for what felt like an eternity, before his eyes finally rose.

“Are you sure you wish to return this to me?” he murmured, arm dropping from Amanda’s shoulder. His chin was tilted to his chest, ropes of muscle flexing at his neck. The growing whispers of the crowd faded to nothing, the beat of your heart the only sound as it thudded in your ears. “No, actually.” you heard yourself say, voice trembling. Loki inhaled sharply. His chest puffed, hard abdominals clenching as he braced himself. Reluctant tears stung your eyes, fingers shaking as the heavy seal began to quiver in your outstretched hand. You tried to blink the impending flood away, glancing to the side. Steve stood behind the wings, wringing his hands with a deep frown. Your eyelids fluttered shut, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. You could hear Tony trying to clear the crowd, tempting them to the bar with the offer of free booze, before Loki’s warm breath fanned your forehead. “Then do not return it.” he said, carefully wrapping your fingers around the cool metal. His hand clasped your own, squeezing gently as he lowered to your ear. “It is yours.” he whispered. It is yours. Maybe it was the scent of him, maybe it was the heat of his naked skin so close, the warmth with which his fingers intertwined with yours, holding his sacred mark. Maybe it was the faint plead in his voice. But as your eyes rose along the carved lines of his chest and up the curve of his neck, savouring every inch – you somehow knew what you would find. Loki’s eyes shone with nervous anticipation, brows slanted upwards as he licked his bottom lip. His teeth caught the curve, pulling gently. They swam with worlds unseen and words unsaid, long lashes framing the endless chaos you had lost yourself within. Hopelessly.

A rogue tear rolled down your cheek, making you look away. “No, darling...no-” Loki murmured, confusion lacing his tone as he wiped it softly with his thumb.

He cupped your face, drawing it towards him. “Please, Loki...don’t.” you gulped, swallowing the force threatening to humiliate you in front of the whole of New York high society. He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. Tendrils of his hair grazed your cheeks, curtaining you from the crowd at your back as his fingertips slid from your jaw to your shoulders; gently at rest. “Agent, I…” he started, breath trembling. His grip tightened, a staggered exhale making his stomach clench. Three loud slaps sounded by your feet, making you jump. Loki released you with a growl, as you spun towards a very pissed-off looking Tony resting casually on the side of the stage.

“Can you guys hurry up? Trying to save this thing, here. Thanks, Laufeyson, by the way, for the added theatrics. Very amusing, as always.” he scoffed dryly, inspecting his nails. “Will you desist?” Loki hissed, crouching forward. Tony shrugged. “Better get the two mill for the orphans. That’s all I’m saying. Little Loki’s got his work cut out tonight.” “Little?!” Loki snarled indignantly, sweeping his hair back from his forehead as he rose to his full height once more.

The vein in his temple twitched, anger flashing across the sharp profile you knew so well. You grasped his bicep, feeling the tight bulge soften as his breaths steadied. Nerves twisted in your belly like acid, the room beginning to swim as you felt the moment begin to pass. Not again. You took a deep breath; “Loki, what were you going to-” The god whipped round, jaw set in a grimace as he swiped against your forearm with his own. Your hand was swept from his bicep, caught in a millisecond by the warrior grasp of his long fingers. “That I love you, you infuriating woman.” he yelled ferociously, brow furrowing as he realised he had said it aloud. You gaped, frowning as you fought lacklustre against his iron grip. Breaths quickened in your chest, panting as you looked at the abject fear beginning to creep into Loki’s eyes. The gazes of a hundred confused spectators became nothing but a blur, their mutters fading. You stilled, letting your hand become limp. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Suddenly, you lunged towards him - hooking your free arm around his shoulders. Loki swallowed a gasp as your lips met his with force, a low sigh breathing into your mouth as he melted into you. The god’s hands travelled to your ass, hoisting you around his hips as his tongue massaged your own with wild intensity. A palm slid up your back, winding in your hair as he pushed your face roughly to his. You could hear the PG-curses of Rogers as he frantically hoisted the stage curtains closed, his inane blustering audible over the gasps of intrigue from the crowd beyond. Loki’s feral kisses had moved to your neck, the desperate adrenaline coursing through him as he devoured your soft skin in messy sucks. You found your fingers curling in his lengths, pulling his head back gently. Just like the old days, you thought with a thrill. He frowned, panting. Loki wet his lips, preparing to speak before you covered his mouth with a flat palm. “I love you too, you infuriating whatever-you-are.” you enunciated slowly, lips feeling heavy with the force of his affections. The god’s brows slanted, deep lines appearing in his forehead as he shook his head from side to side; making your hand slip away. “Truly?” he growled incredulously, peering up through ebony lashes. “Truly.” you whispered, watching a smile as radiant as an April sunrise creep slowly across his face. “What happened to ‘I know you love me, Agent’…” you coyed, impersonating the timbre of his voice as he lowered you to the ground. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you flush to his bare chest. “Knowing and feeling are two different things, Agent.” he purred, before placing a languishing kiss on your forehead. “What would be the point in your love for me...” he murmured, muffled against the skin, “if you did not believe it yourself?” There was silence as Loki’s fingertip tenderly grazed your collarbone, steady breaths rising and falling between you as he nuzzled into your temple with a low sigh. You opened your eyes over Loki’s shoulder. “Oh – shit, what about her?” you groaned, giving a small, awkward wave to Amanda several meters away. That’s weird, you thought; frowning. She’s smiling. Smiling like...

Loki’s hand rose, a click of his fingers making the emerald skirts of Amanda’s dress begin to smoulder with bright green flame. “My brother owed me quite a few favours, Agent…” he murmured apologetically with a smile against your cheek.

Your eyes widened as a bulky frame peeled into view behind the mirage of Loki’s magic. But the grin – the grin was still the same. Thor flicked his hair, running his palms down his torso. “That’s better.” he rumbled, throwing you a wink. “Sorry about that…” he chuckled. “Motivation was required, apparently.” He folded his meaty forearms. “I still think you’re mad for being in love with him, by the way. But there’s no accounting for taste.” “You better not have started another Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense scenario.” you muttered dryly to your dark-haired lover, making another smile stretch across his face. He pulled you tight. “No, darling. This was purely fraternal reparations. Isn’t that right, brother?” he growled. “I have been reliably informed that I have been, what you call, a dick-head.” Thor grumbled penitently, scuffing his foot on the floor. “Indeed.” Loki hummed coldly, before his voice softened. “But tonight has gone some way to mending said wrongdoings. Along with your agreed donation to the orphan-fund, naturally.” “Naturally.” Thor grumbled, averting his eyes. Loki’s fingers toyed with the shell of your ear, the tips exploring the angle of your jaw lightly as if for the first time. “I believe that we should..talk? As is the custom I believe? If you’ll permit it.” You nodded, giddy disbelief still coursing through your veins. “As long as it’s not in this fucking ballroom.” you scoffed, before squealing as Loki gathered you effortlessly against his chest bridal style. “Gods, no.” Loki purred, capturing your lips in a wet kiss before his tantalisingly moist lips grazed your ear. “I think it’s time you finally saw my chambers, Agent -don’t you?”

Continued in Final Bids: Love Wins Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @wheredafandomat @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @123forgottherest @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @cheekyscamp @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @cheekyscamp @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman

[swampstew]

Killer, I-22 ~ partner sharing

Summary: You thought you knew a thing or two about folklore and mythological creatures. What you didn’t know was how DIVERSE the world of monsters and magic really is. When you came across what you thought was a Kelpie ended up being something much more dangerous. And he brought a friend.

Warnings: Gore, bit of coercion if you squint, partner sharing kink with Female Reader, double penetration, anal and vaginal sex, oral (Killer receiving), I guess technically vore since they're monsters? bloody ending. Dead Dove I fucking guess Word Count: 1.3K

When you landed in Scotland, a trip you’d planned for a year with a group of friends who all bailed last minute, you were kind of excited to do a solo adventure. You were with a tour group for most of the trip with evenings and weekends to yourself – and you had two weeks to make the most of it.

You explored historical ruins, mythical sites from the stories of the Ulster Cycle, you paid respects to the places of spiritual importance and graves of those who lost their lives in the war of life through the years of Man discovering himself and the World around him.

Having so much fun that you found yourself almost bummed you had to leave in two days. You loved the country so much you could genuinely see yourself living there. The last few days were your own to enjoy and you explored the local beaches as the weather was just perfect to enjoy a late afternoon stroll. Until you ran into…Him.

He was nothing short of beautiful, with long, blonde hair that flowed with the sea breeze as it brought a chill to your skin. He was tall and muscular, with one scarred arm that he used to wave at you. Calling you over, asking if you needed someone to walk you back to town. His piercing blue eyes watched you through a curtain of bangs, and his mouth was covered with what looked like…seaweed?

It was and he brushed it off with a laugh. He had taken a nap on the beach and his friend ditched him, playing a prank or something. Brash, hoarse laughter rang out behind you scaring you out of your skin. A massive man, taller than the blonde and significantly wider by the sheer size of his bulging muscles protruding from his frame.

The friend. Who brought a backpack full of beer and sandwiches, hanging off his only remaining arm. Killer and Kid were their names, best friends for several lifetimes they claimed. Both dangerously handsome even with all the heavy scarring, flirting heavily, and you couldn’t help but feel the promise of pleasure tickle your belly.

To be honest, you hadn’t so much as thought about hooking up with anyone on the trip, and it was going to be over soon. It was so very easy for them to convince you to join them for the bonfire they planned to build. Easier even to smoothly persuade you into a game of truth or dare. A game that started and ended rather quickly.

Before long you were in Killer’s lap, grinding against the bulge in his pants while his tongue fucked your mouth. You moaned as his stiff cock hit your clit, more so when Kid grabbed you from behind and pushed your hips down to rub even harder against Killer. Kid kissed and sucked your neck, leaving behind red smears and love bites on your exposed skin. You could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against your ass as he bucked his hips into you from behind.

“Fuckin wait your turn,” Killer growled, almost tumbling backwards from Kid’s aggressive thrusting.

“Shaddup,” Kid grumbled, tugging down on your pants from behind.

Killer grabbed you with both arms and flipped you over until you were underneath him on the sand. You let out a squeak as he pressed himself into you and flicked your lips with his tongue, spreading your legs with his knee.

“W-wa-wait!” you finally manage to gasp out. Both men pulled back, waiting for your to speak. “I-uhm-I think I’d like both of you,” you struggle to say without feeling embarrassed.

With a gin on his face, Kid licked his lips, “You picked a naughty one, Kill. I like her. She’s…tasty.”

Killer nodded, “Aye me too. Ok, we can do that lass. But I get the first bite.”

You giggled as the men positioned themselves – Killer in front of you, Kid behind you. They ripped your clothes off with reckless abandon and you found yourself too high on the rush of lust to care at the moment. They were both naked and glorious. Well-built, chiseled, endowed with gifts between their legs.

Strangled moans were ripped from your throat as they took you at the same time. Killer’s cock deep in your throat as you drooled and sucked him; Kid roughly thrusting in and out of your pussy, the squelching loud and unashamed as they both fucked you like a cock sleeve between them. The took turns meanly pinching your nipples, flicking your clit, biting your skin, and grabbing at your flesh hard enough to bruise.

But it felt so fucking good. The orgasms they gave you were unlike anything you felt before, with any partner you’ve ever had. And they just kept going. Stamina like wild horses as they took turns defiling your holes, treating you like a good little fuck toy. You came so much you lost track of how many times your body shuddered in pleasure as they played with you.

The bonfire nearly dead, and the moon fully out, the men became wilder as they neared their end. Neither having cum even once as they focused on you first. You straddled Killer’s hips as he bucked into you harshly, holding your hips firmly against his so you couldn’t move beyond muscle twitching. Kid’s cock bullied into your asshole, his grunts becoming louder and huskier. Covered in sweat, spit, tears, and your own cream – you felt sticky and dirty but exhilarated.

Kid’s hand grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down to lay your chest against Killer’s. Tightly sandwiched between the two, they worked together to keep you in place and so very still as they tripled their pace of fucking their cocks into you. With a crying wail, you came a final time, pussy clamping on Killer’s cock as he released inside you with a choked gasp. Kid came last, slamming his hips hard enough into you to make you dizzy, his seed shot out into your cavern, still shooting as he pulled out and pumped his cock, the last of cum spurting messily on your back. Killer’s cum leaked from between your legs.

Sticky, so so sticky.

Until you realized you were literally stuck to Killer.

“H-hey! Why can’t I -urgh- get up?” you complained as you tried to push Kid off your back, finding your sweaty skin impossibly stuck to Killer’s body. How was that possible? Sweat should make you slide off, not stick together…

It was then you noticed that there was an alarming amount of seaweed tangled in Killer’s hair. And Kid’s head. How hadn’t you noticed that before?

“Well, this has been fun but I’m fucking starving. How about you Kill?”

“Ravenous. I could go for a meal. And lucky for us, she’s the perfect serving size.”

Both men leered at you and for the first time, you felt afraid. Their handsome visages slowly melted away until you looked on in horror at the horse like features they wore.

“K-KELPIES?! HOW? I’m not near the rivers!” You screamed, trying to wriggle away from them but it was no use. Your naked body was fully stuck to Killer, as if his skin had an adhesive property to it from the sweating.

Kid clicked his tongue, “Damn tourists, think they know everything.”

Killer let out a dark chuckle, “We’re not Kelpies, little thing. We’re Each-Uisge. Unlike Kelpies, our domain is the sea. And you’ve worked up quite an appetite for us. What do you say, buddy? Let’s split our meal?”

Kid high-fived him, “Always. Love it when our dinner lets us fuck them stupid.”

Your screams went ignored as the monsters dragged you into the sea. Their teeth growing menacing and sharp, they pulled you deep under the water and began tearing chunks of your flesh. The dark water turned a reddish hue under the moonlight as the water ripples faded away.

It was quiet and peaceful out on the loch once more – until a disturbance from the water’s edge popped up to reveal a human liver floating on the surface.

24 tiles to go, 4 calls made so far.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Mori: Call it curiousity, but if you all hadn't joined the Port Mafia, where would you be? I'd probably still be an underground doctor.

Akutagawa: Dead. Or alive, surving without a purpose, and thus essentially dead.

Gin: In the slums, probably trying to keep this idiot alive.

Higuchi: Oh you know, here and there doing odd jobs just to get by I guess.

Tachihara: If I'm still alive, I'd either be on the run or getting "reconditioning treatments."

Hirotsu: I'd be in the last gang I was in which fell under Port Mafia rule. So I'd probably be on the run or dead.

Kajii: Jail or dead but always giving the world the scientific advancements it needs.

Kouyou: I'd be on the run being hunted down.

Verlaine: Left for dead or killed, I doubt anyone would've let me live otherwise.

Chuuya: I'd probably be hunted down, lying low possibly joining another gang that was against the Port Mafia.