#:/ can i have a woman i can flirt with and be tongue tied around an dmake out with like im dying pls

[tarantulasnot]

Please bless us with Luis smut fam

BET!!! I literally love you so much you've revived me. (He's going to be a cocky sub because I said so)

Content warning: oral (m and f receiving), hair pulling, unrealistically sensitive Luis, he's a sub but he's not a total bitch, but he kinda is, dom reader, deepthroat/fellatio, Leon is mentioned

He's so fucking cocky. Luis Serra never failed to drive you up the wall the entire time you and Leon are looking for the president's daughter. If you're killing religiously motivated villagers, his disgustingly smooth voice will resonate behind you. "You sure you don't need my help, Princesa?" Sure enough, you loathed the way the Spanish rolls off his tongue in such a beautiful way. He was a masterpiece of a man if it weren't for that personality of his.

Although, you can proudly say he looked rather nice handcuffed, following you around. Powerless. "Soo, Princesa." That fucking nickname again. "Sancho isn't around now, y'know." It's true. He'd gone into the church to find Ashley while you and the prisoner stayed outside of the doors, on guard. "So how about we have a little fun now that he's gone, hm?" You shake your head, placing a hand on the upper bridge of your nose. "Forget about it, Serra. I don't have time for your shit." His clever grin only grew wider. "Can't help flirting with a pretty woman in uniform." He shrugged, and the Spaniard had the audacity to lift his hands up. "I could do a uh... demonstration- if you untie me, unless you're scared of a man like me-"

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by his face, pushing him against the doors. "Listen, Serra." You spat his name. Instantly, there was a change. A bigger one than even he expected within himself. He gasped and his abdomen twitched with a salacious heat pooling in it. "I'm not scared of you, or anything you even THINK you can do." You exaggerate the word with a little shove, and God if it didn't make him tremble. Of course, he tries to keep his cocky persona, so he resorts to shoving you away with his tied hands.

"Ahh, did I touch a nerve, princes-" Your face turns into a scowl, and you feel the urge to put him in his place. He won't shut up, so you make him. Impulsively, you press your lips to his, and he immediately kisses back, his shoulders slamming back against the wood with the force of your hands keeping him pinned. A groan reverberates from his throat at the force of it. You almost overwhelm him, your tongue pushing past his lips and your hands gripping his shoulders. His hands clench into fists and his hips jerk forwards in excitement. He tries to say something, trying to pull his head away to tease but you don't let him. You chase his mouth with yours, and a knee slips between his legs.

The whimper that escapes him is heavenly, and his eyes squeezed tighter shut. The man is struggling to keep up with your pace. Your knee is relentless, and he finds himself pushing his pelvis against it, gasping a shuddering breath at the sensation. Fuck he's feining for you. He doesn't want to pull away, not really. But he's quickly growing desperate, embarrassingly turned on. He tries to stop the twitching of his hips- but it's just so good.

Finally, you pull away and he visibly slumps for a second. His lips are swollen with the pressure of the kiss, and he looks up at you with upward brows. Once again that smirk is there, ever present. "Couldn't help yourself to my charm?" He wipes his face, and he acts like he's not throbbing with need. You also feel yourself affected by what you've done, and he can tell. Your eyes have a certain light to them, and your breathing a little ragged. You don't even reply.

For a second you look at each other, and then the tension snaps again. You grab his face and he lets you; his hands falling open again before closing and the sweet taste of your lips pervades him. His mouth falls open to let you in, and his eyebrows furrow as he returns the kiss just as desperately. Fumbling with the keys, you undo one of the cuffs, and his hands are on you instantly. He's grasping at your waist, and he's holding on to the concave with a tight grasp.

"Fuck- Princesa..." You curl your hands in his hair, pulling it backwards and his mouth forms an o before his bottom lip gets pulled between his teeth. "Shut up you stupid man." With his neck exposed, your lips latch onto it like a starved woman. Nipping at the side of his Adam's apple before licking the small patch, lips sucking on the skin. He groans, a shiver running through his spine. He wants to say something else, just to spite you. Just to make you do more. However, he doesn't want to risk you leaving him like this. Wanton and pathetic.

He hums in appreciation however as you undo the lapels of his jacket, his hands fidgeting with your utility belt. In response, you grab him by the wrist that's still cuffed. "Ah ah ahh, don't even think about it."

You further part the leather with the slide of your palm, drifting down and under his shirt. "I don't know when your curious hands..." The sentence drones off with a graze over his abdomen, drifting to his belt. "Might want to go somewhere dangerous."

Luis folds mentally, his head rolling to the side and he huffs at the contact, even if it's through fabric. His arousal is pulsing through his body, his heady light and muddled. "You're not one to talk, with- ugh..." His head bows, and his hips jut into your hand. His breathing comes in short puffs, and he rests his forehead on your shoulder. The hot, cigarette tainted breath puffing against your skin. "Mierda, please-" He gasps, grip travelling lower to your hips. Luis relishes in the soft fat of the flesh, and he pulls you closer. "I know you feel it. I can make you feel so good princes-" rambling. All he's doing is rambling as he humps your hand like a depraved dog. His accent thick and hot next to your ear, his lips brushing it with every gasp and groan.

He narrows his eyes as you pull away, and he finds himself devoid of friction once again. However, he's pleasantly surprised when you fall to your knees in front of him. That disgustingly sexy accent rings as he opens his mouth again. "Oh?" His hands card through your hair, and you roll your eyes as you undo his jeans. "If you wanted to service me I could have-" but he's interrupted when you spit on your hand and wrap it around his swollen cock. He bites his lip with a shudder. "W-wait..." He bends over you, his hands grasping your shoulders to ground him. "Give me a second- ff-fffuck!"

Luis cries out as you wrap your lips around his tip, still stroking his shaft at an expert place. Not too fast, not too slow- and the way your tongue is dancing around the brown, aching bulb has him whining in a pitch you didn't expect from a masculine man like him.

In his own mind, he was hoping he'd be able to help himself this time- All the previous times he's slept with women they've all complained about how fast he finished. This time seemed to be no exception.

You knew exactly what to do, how to massage your tongue over the slit in his throbbing head every time a spurt of pre rushed out. The liquid coating your tongue as you slowly took him further into your mouth. Slick popping and squelching escaped the confines of your mouth as you gulp him down eagerly. The noises only spur him on further- much to his own demise. "Aye, dios mio- fuck! I can't- slow down Princesaa... Ah!" You slipped him further down your throat until you felt the heavy, searing heat of him slip over your tongue, over and over again. The flesh massaged by the slick of your muscle. He was falling apart above you, his thighs trembling as you pinned them to the wall. Saliva dribbles down from your lips to your chin as you sputter around him, taking him further with every bob of your head.

"Oh my God- too good. Too m-much!" His eyes roll back in their sockets as you relax your throat and bury your nose in the fuzz of his happy trail. Luis can feel the tightness of your cavern even still, and he can't help but buck weakly forwards. His cock fills your mouth completely, your slick muscle drawing back and forth on the underside of him. "God! Fuck! You're amazing- oh! F-fuck... I'm close pequeña, please! Please don't as- hmmngh!" He can't help it. His abdomen flares with heat as he cums in your throat, his eyes closing and tears pricking his eyes at the heat of it all. His balls twitch and so does his cock as he spills everything he has. "Fuck- I'm so sorry-" You pull away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

"Aww, is poor, strong, Luis sensitive?" You mock him, and his face blooms brighter. He covers his face with his hand, clammy and hot as he comes down from his rapidly approached high. "Don't say that- I can't help it." He shrugs, but his pupils are still dilated and his hands are shaking.

"Well I sure as shit didn't do that for free so..." You undo your belt, letting it fall to the ground around you. Luis gets the hint instantly, and he drops to his knees in front of you. He presses his forehead against your lower stomach, his hands shaking as they trail over your hips and thighs. He's practically worshipping you.

"I wouldn't expect anything less mi corona." He whispers, his strong hands pick you up by your thighs, creating dimples in the supple limbs. Fuck if his hands weren't the best things you've ever seen in your god damn life. He was clearly older, and they had a bit of hair on them, but they were thick. He looks down at the glistening folds in front of him, and he gulps. He can feel the rush of familiar fire in his lower stomach, and he twitches to life again.

"I hear Spaniards are very good with their tongues." You suggest, entwining your fingers in his chestnut locks. He looks up at you, his downturned eyes are just so pretty like this, and you feel his breath against your entrance. "I can give you a demonstration."

He doesn't wait for you to reply, he parts you with his tongue before his lips attach themselves to your clit, and he gently sucks on it before his heated tongue grazes the bud, flicking it and rolling it with his tongue before lapping underneath it, his nose, fuck... He's doing all kinds of shit.

I wouldn't be the king of unfinished fics if I continued. I LOVE THE REQUESTS THANK YOU I WILL GET TO THE REST PRETTY SOON I THINK <333

[transmogrified-in-the-void]

I need women to flirt with me I can't be the only one flirting with women who are awful to flirt with

[syoddeye]

the lift

gaz x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol a/n: received a powerlifter x kyle prompt from an anon. i don't normally take requests, but i've been itching to write something sweet for him. influenced by a recent thing i wrote up about gaz flubbing a flirt. i'm a normie/casual weightlifter. apologies to actual powerlifters. 🏋️

“Fuck me running.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“Get a load of her.”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, and stop staring, lech.”

“You’d be no better if you just looked.”

Gaz rolls his eyes at Soap’s stupefied expression, watching him miss his mouth with his pint glass. Foam spills over onto his shirt, causing the Scot to jerk in his seat and stare at his own appendage in offense.

View must be good for Soap to make himself more of a fool than usual. Kyle adjusts his cap, turns his head to the side in a feigned stretch, and immediately clocks the distraction in question.

A woman in a backless top sits alone at the bar with something fruity in hand. No bra band in sight, no tan lines either. That’s not what glues his eyes to her, though. It’s the rippling muscle the cut of fabric shows off, defined and apparent as she lifts her glass to drink. It continues south, too, her thick thighs spilling over the narrow stool. She looks like she’d give Ghost a run for his money. Like she’d rip him in half like a phone book.

He needs to talk to her.

Kyle turns back to Soap, dabbing at himself with a fistful of napkins. He downs the rest of his beer and then stands.

“I’ll get us fresh drinks.”

Before the lout can breathe a word, he beelines to the bar. Only. When he gets there, it occurs to him he doesn’t know what to say. Any other pretty face, he’d toss out one of his corny but winning lines. Send over a drink. With her, her muscles more impressive up close and wholly focused on a women’s football match, he’s tongue-tied. And that doesn’t happen often. Must be the moon’s position or something.

He bides his time, staring through the screen like he’s watching, thinking of what to say. Avoids the bartender’s curious gaze.

Then, an elbow knocks his arm very gently.

“Fishlock’s a beast, right?”

Kyle’s head swivels, eyebrows to his hairline. The target of his ill-planned op glances between him and the television.

“Yeah,” he sputters out a second too late. “She’s…feisty.” He could break his glass over his head. Feisty? What was he, eighty years old?

To his delight, she laughs, and a rush of heat flares in his stomach at the sound.

“Understatement of the century.”

He chuckles in disbelief at his luck. She gives him another smile. Fuck, he is done for. 

“You want to join me? Had a friend cancel, and I hate watching alone.”

“I’d love to,” he says, dropping into the empty stool probably too quickly. Their knees touch, but she doesn’t pull away. He fixes his eyes on the screen after placing an order. He watches the Welsh battle the Ukrainians, absorbing as many names and numbers as possible. His phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t help but wonder how soon he can excuse himself to the toilet to read ten articles on women’s football for a refresher.

When she chimes in with a comment or a jeer, he does his best to reciprocate. Using talents he’s cultivated for infiltration and interrogation to string along a conversation in which he has no business participating.

It goes swimmingly until—

“There y’are, thought I’d have to find a bloodhound.”

Soap.

Kyle shifts in his seat, leveling a stare he hopes both contain whatever bullshit Soap’s preparing to spew—heaps, judging by his awful smirk—and communicates an unsubtle do not fuck this up for me. 

“Who’s this?”

Kyle opens his mouth, apparently in preparation to insert his own foot. He hasn’t gotten around to the name bit yet. Too busy learning about women’s football in real time. He looks sidelong at his would-be companion, another soft smile coming to his rescue.

She introduces herself, and he tries not to tack on a silent Garrick at the end of it, just to feel how it sounds. Christ, beyond done for.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She says.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. Name’s John, and this is–”

“Kyle. Like he said. Pleasure’s mine.” He offers a hand without hesitation, grinning when she takes it. Nearly groans at the calluses on her palms and fingers. Didn’t know he was into that. He smirks inwardly. Hm. Learning several new things today, Gaz.

“Are you…also here to watch the match?” She asks, gaze flitting between them.

He stares hard at Soap again and witnesses the devil himself whispering into the Scot’s ear. It’s truly an act of divine intervention when the other man shakes his head.

“‘Fraid not. I’ve got to run along, but Garrick’s all yours tonight.” He winks unctuously, waggling a brow to really sell it. “If you don’t mind watchin’ him.”

She smirks and pats his knee. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

Soap looks downright rakish. “Oh, I bet you can. See you in the morn, Kyle.”

He’s torn in two: she’s touched his leg and Soap’s cheek about tomorrow. The idiot lives a door down. They’re both on for PT at 0500. Dickhead.

“He’s friendly.” She muses as they return to the match.

“Too friendly. Like a failed police dog.” He mutters.

“Hmm. Does that make him a bad soldier?”

It takes effort not to choke. Their career, generally speaking, isn’t a secret, only their activities. Still. “Smart guess.”

“Despite his creative haircut, you’re both decently cut and we’re, what, twenty minutes from a base? Plus,” she shrugs. “His tattoo. Giveaway. I would’ve said ‘reenactor wannabe’, but your reaction confirms it.”

Kyle’s tongue swipes behind his teeth. She gets better by the minute. “Yeah? And, uh, what do you do for work?” Something physical, he bets silently. Something that necessitates her kind of build or creates it. 

“I’m a tailor.”

Or…not at all.

He can’t stop himself from blurting out. “So the muscles are—“ He abruptly stops, fingers gripping his drink tightly. Sweet Freddie Mercury. Forget smashing a glass over his scalp, he’ll vault through the front door headfirst.

“Powerlifting,” she proudly shares, setting her cocktail down to flex. Her muscles jump beneath her skin, straining into a mesmerizing landscape of strength and power. “My main hobby. If I could make money off it, believe me, I would,” she swings her frame forward and twists, showing off her traps. “But I learned how to sew and alter clothes when I, uh, outgrew conventional sizes.” Disdain paints the word. “Everything I’m wearing I customized to fit me, and me specifically.”

“Genius.” he says simply, mind half-blank when she turns forward again, flexing her biceps and forearms toward her lap. So she’s good with her hands.

A fist uncurls, and a finger crooks up. His face lifts to a smug smile.

“Impressed?”

“Thoroughly.” He swallows.

Her eyes drag over him, slowly and methodically. Picking him apart like a piece of meat. He suppresses a shudder. Yet another thing he didn’t know he liked. 

“How much do you weigh?”

A simple enough question. One he’s asked every so often, especially in medical, in between formal physicals. Coming from her, however, it’s an invitation.

And it is.

Straight into her arms.

Half the pub’s watching when she hoists him parallel to the ground, overhead, and squats. For a brief moment, arms crossed over his chest and back rigid, he swears he hears The Time of My Life. When she returns him to solid ground, to the cheers and toasts from the small crowd, he might as well still be in the air. Heavenbound. Preparing to meet Peter.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms, and he finds himself thigh-to-thigh with his strongwoman. They watch the remainder of the match, chatting—mostly about sports and work, but a bit about the little things—he’s not too thick when she offhandedly mentions knowing the neighborhood well. That her place is a few streets over.

He needs to be back on base before sunrise. He tells her as much outside the bar after the Welsh suffer defeat in penalties. He can relate to the feeling, knowing Soap’s gonna give him hell and Price will ream him out if he’s hungover. 

“Kyle, you’re cute, but we’re not at the sleepover stage yet,” she teases, picking invisible dust off his shirt. “I can give you a lift when you’re ready to leave.”

Strong. Witty. Confident. Can absolutely rip him in half. There is nothing he doesn’t like about her. So, so fucked. 

He grins stupidly when she beckons with a finger, beginning to walk toward her place.

“Premium?” He jokes, following. “I don’t settle for anything less than top-tier car service.”

“Not that kind of lift,” She answers, looking over a sculpted shoulder. “Fireman or princess?”

Kyle almost stumbles.

“Yes.”

[wileys-russo]

Look just bare with me sit in my brain for a second imagine Stina is trying to flirt with reader and failing miserably and Katie is just sick of watching the awful flirting. Katie is trying to help Stina flirt with Reader and Stina is still failing. Katie tells her to take the physical approach and Stina like does that girly slap readers arm like “omg you’re so funny”. Katie is just absolutely astonished at how one can be so bad at flirting and she’s annoyed that Stina isn’t getting it. So Katie does what Katie does best and tackles Stina and that is how we get to the picture and she’s just like politely, quietly, yelling that this position is what she meant by flirting. And then we have Stina who is just like “that’s so aggressive. Why are you like this?” Like idk I just feel this would be funny.

tongue tied II s.blackstenius

"i like your boots today y/n/n, they look very...very clean today." katie winced at the poor attempt at flirting which dropped from the blonde swedes mouth. "thanks stin." you chuckled with an amused smile before jogging off after viv for some shooting practice.

"what the hell was that!" katie shoved the blonde who watched you go with a pained look on her face. "i don't know! she makes me nervous." stina huffed, pulling her hair out and scraping it into a messy bun as katie shook her head.

the poor woman had been tongue tied around you ever since you were signed and joined the club this season, and stina's painstaking crush seemed obvious to absolutely everyone but you.

which was probably due to the fact stina couldn't flirt to save her life, and as much as she wanted to ask you out she just couldn't find the words.

katie determined to wingwoman the blonde had already established early on in the most unsubtle of ways that you were single and interested in woman, bluntly cornering you after training and firing a few questions your way until leah noticed the interrogation and dragged you away to safety.

it had been almost three weeks of stina tripping and stumbling over herself trying to let you know how she felt, too worried of rejection to directly ask you, but her poor attempts to feel out if you'd be interested by 'flirting' were just...painful.

"thats not how ya flirt with someone. you wanna make sure they know you like them, compliment her not her boots!" katie explained with a roll of her eyes as the tall blonde beside her nodded slowly. "try again, go on." katie pushed stina toward you, following just behind where she was still within earshot.

"wow that was a good kick! very uh strong and powerful." stina smiled after you knocked a goal into the top right corner, cheering as viv clapped you on the back. "oh my god." katie mumbled to herself, smacking her hand against her forehead, this was harder than she'd thought.

"was that better?" stina asked hopefully as katie caught up with her and you ran off again, this time chasing after gio who'd poured her water bottle down your back. "no, it was somehow worse." katie affirmed making the taller woman groan.

"when i said compliment her i meant like her eyes or how she looks good in the training kit or her laugh! something about her not about football." katie sighed, spotting lia walking toward them.

"like this, watch."

"oi wally, your biceps look good in that vest today. wanna bench press me?" katie grinned cheekily at her friend who playfully rolled her eyes but blew her a sarcastic kiss before continuing on past them.

"see! like that. now you try to flirt with me." katie ordered as stina nodded along. "uh the way that you have your shorts rolled up makes your thighs look big." stina tried, katie simply face palming again with a deep sigh.

"katie this is hard! i could do better in swedish but she will not understand." stina groaned, grumbling to herself in annoyance in her native language as she folded her arms over her chest, watching you kick the ball around with noelle and lotte on the other side of the pitch.

"okay, flirtin 101. new tactic!" katie clapped as stina nodded, eagerly listening. "when she says somethin funny, you smack her arm and laugh. like this!" katie smacked stina lightly on the shoulder and forced a laugh.

"okay. but what if what she says is not funny?" stina frowned as katie sighed. "you wait until she says somethin funny stina!"

~

"okay girls we're down by two. we need to isolate lessi and beth, that's whose causing us the most trouble." leah commanded in the huddle, the team split into four smaller teams for a wind down game.

"you're telling me. beth's flying today she's practically dancing around me!" you sighed tiredly, having been going one on one with the speedy blonde all game. "that was funny!" stina laughed as the huddle broke apart, punching you in the arm a lot harder than katie had demonstrated.

"ow! stina what was that for." you scowled at the taller blonde, rubbing your throbbing arm and shoving her lightly, katie pinching the bridge of her nose. stina apologizing hastily as you ran off to resume the game, looking to katie with wide eyes who held her hands up and jogged off after you onto the pitch.

once the game had finished, your team unfortunately losing by one singular goal the training staff called for free time before everyone was expected in the gym in an hour.

"what did i do wrong!" stina yanked her bib off and rushed right over to katie who was stretching. "ya punched her!" the irishwoman laughed with a shake of her head. "this is never going to work!" stina groaned, dropping to the floor with a groan.

"because ya don't listen stin! look, you do it like this." katie jumped on top of the blonde who screamed as she did, repeatedly demonstrating a light playful smack and laugh as stina struggled to throw her off.

"okay okay i understand! get off of me." stina grunted, finally shoving off the rambunctious brunette who fell to the floor as the swedish woman pulled herself to her feet with a determined huff.

"good. go get her!" katie ordered from the ground, pointing toward you where you were practicing your juggling, seemingly lost in your own world. but you were rudely snapped back into reality as a body slammed into you, a mess of blonde hair tackling you to the ground as you gave out a yell.

"you are very funny. go on a date with me!" stina sat on top of you as your eyes widened, both in shock from her words and the way your body had just been smacked into the ground.

"oh my fucking-" katie watched on in disbelief, flopping onto her back and burying her face in her hands with a defeated sigh.

"okay. but you could have just asked me stin!" you threw your head back, clutching at your stomach as you laughed at the abrupt unexpected situation, stina eventually joining you.

"then its a date, when we get back to london. i will organise it!" stina grinned happily, jumping up off of you and offering you a hand up. "sounds good. but next time just come talk to me, no more tackling or punching me!" you teased, kissing her cheek with a wink before you ran off with a beaming smile toward lotte to fill her in.

"katie! i did it! did you see?" stina bounded over to the irish woman who peeked out from her hands, frowning at the elated look on the blondes face. "that worked? she said yes?" katie scoffed, jumping to her feet as stina nodded eagerly.

"jesus, well. now i guess we have to work on your flirting for the date." "wait you have to flirt on the date!?"

[puppy-steve]

modern eddie would be a pibble dad. she's his baby and he puts little bows on her and he throws birthday (adoption day) parties where she gets a puppy-safe cake and his friends gladly show up with presents for her.

the mall hosts pictures with santa the entire month of december and allows pets for an extra cost that eddie gladly pays. his girl is well behaved and knows her manners in public spaces, thank you very much. but unfortunately, sadie is still a pitbull and society hasn't quite moved past its breed biases yet, even if she is sitting quietly at his feet in line and with an "ask to pet" patch on her harness that eddie had turned into a doggy battle vest.

"oh my goodness, is that sadie?!"

sadie's tail starts going crazy at the mention of her name and a woman dressed like an elf crouches down with open arms, ready to receive the gift of happy puppy. sadie immediately plops down and rolls onto her back, showing her belly, which the woman gleefully rubs and pats. sadie's tongue flops out of the side of her grinning mouth, her tail sweeping the floor.

"santa was wondering if he'd see her this year," she says to eddie this time, and gives him a subtle wink that has eddie chuckling. "along with a certain owner, too."

eddie and santa may have started flirting a couple years back. he's not ashamed.

the woman lets them through and there he is. the big (not really) man himself sitting in his chair with his fake beard and red shirt stuffed with fluff.

"well if it isn't my favorite pup!" santa says, patting his lap. sadie puts her front paws on his knees and pants happily as the man scratches her chest and sides. "at the top of the nice list, just like always."

he glances up at eddie with a certain glint in his eye. "and you, mr. munson, are at the top of the naughty list. we'll have to see about fixing that, won't we?"

it actually makes eddie blush, which never happens. it's usually the other way around and he's not used to the butterflies that fill his stomach. however, eddie munson is not one to be thrown off his groove, steps up to santa's side to pose for the photo and fires right back, "what can i say, some like me naughty. now smile for the camera, santa."

he's not sure what the photo looks like, but judging by the blush on santa's cheeks under the beard, eddie wants to put money on it being his favorite. the same woman from check in mans the camera and she frowns at the little screen.

"maybe we should retake it, this one's a little blurry and santa's eyes are closed."

it's very much neither of those things, seeing as the camera's on a tripod, but eddie isn't about to back away from an open opportunity.

"you mind if i borrow you lap for this one, big boy? hunching over like this is killing my back." before santa can reply, eddie's plopping himself into santa's lap and throwing an arm around his shoulder, giving sadie the command to lie down for the photo. just before the woman can press the capture button, eddie steals a quick kiss to santa's cheek.

he doesn't realize he's forgotten to take the photo with him until later that evening. he huffs as he tosses the empty frame to the side and pouts at the blank space on the wall next to all of sadie's other pictures with santa. he perks up when the front door opens and steve calls out a greeting.

eddie walks into the kitchen where steve's setting his bag on the counter and wraps his arms around his shoulders, giving him a soft peck. "hi, baby."

steve pulls him closer by his waist, returning the kiss. "mmh, have a good day today?" he murmurs against his lips.

eddie nods and pulls back before the kiss can lead to somewhere else. dinner still has to be made and he's not above refusing sex on an empty stomach lest he get hangry in the middle of a blowjob. "sadie got her photo with santa this morning, but i completely forgot to take the damn thing with me when we left."

steve hums and presses fleeting kisses to eddie's cheek, trailing them down to his jaw and making eddie sigh as he tilts his head back. eddie's eyes are closed, contentment washing over him as his boyfriend holds and kisses him so sweetly, so he doesn't see steve blindly reaching into his bag.

"you mean these photos?"

eddie makes a sound of confusion as he opens his eyes. steve's holding a fancy photo holder with the mall's name on it.

"you asshole!" eddie says without any heat as he swipes the envelope from steve's hand, the other man grinning. "you could've texted me and told me i forgot them. hell, robin also could've."

steve chuckles and quickly maneuvers out of reach of eddie's teasing smacks. "i'm sorry i was a bit distracted by the cutie sitting on my lap and kissing me. which was very bold, by the way, not many people want to kiss santa."

"would have done a lot more than kissing, but a mall full of children is neither the time nor place," eddie mumbles under his breath. sadie decides to join them, stretching her front paws out in the doorway before sleepily trudging over to steve for pets.

"there's my girl! you were such a good girl today, weren't you? were so well behaved getting you picture taken." the way he immediately dissolves into baby talk with her is hilarious. he's knelt down on the floor, smooshing her face between his hands and scratching behind her ears. "just sat there patiently while dad decided to accost daddy at work, yes you did!"

eddie rolls his eyes and takes the pictures into the living room to be framed and hung on the wall.

[bby-deerling]

penance (sanji x afab!reader nsfw)

special request from my best friend! she told me she wanted to crush him like a coke can and left the rest up to me! fem!afab!reader, 18+, nsfw, mdni, wc: 765 masterlist

cw: femdom, light bondage (male receiving), slight choking (male receiving), inappropriate use of sanji's tie, goddess worship, pathetic man, facesitting, mild degradation

Sanji should have known better.

He couldn’t help being a slave to the temptations of the flesh, but he knew better than to flirt with Nami so brazenly—especially in front of you.

Now he was paying the price.

“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“Shut up.” you say with a sigh, yanking on the end of his tie—his only remaining article of clothing—and smirking at the way his long, thin cock twitched as you tightened the garment’s grip around his throat.  “Zoro wouldn’t do this to me y’know.”

“Now you’re just being cruel, princess.” he whines, annoyed at your teasing.  But he knows he deserves it.  His womanizing was a fatal flaw of his, and he was beyond grateful you were so patient with him as you broke his habits, no matter how harsh your methods were.

You trace your finger along his inner thigh causing him to hiss every time you neared his throbbing cock, so hard it was nearly sticking straight up in the air as he sat on the edge of the bed.  His hands were tied behind his back with another one of his ties; in all reality he could probably break through quite easily, but he would rather serve his sentence on your terms.  After all, he would do anything to please you.

“I’m your goddess, aren’t I?” you ask, wicked grin on your face.

“Yes, dear.” he replies, voice low.

You laugh, as if you don’t believe him. “I didn’t realize I was the Hera to your Zeus!  I didn’t know you had a pantheon of other little goddesses you fall all over!  Maybe I should leave you here and let one of them take care of you—” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm and a hint of satisfaction at being in the position to mildly torture your boyfriend.

“Please don’t, goddess—” he whimpers.

“Don’t interrupt me, Sanji!” you protest, letting out a sigh.  “Now I don’t even remember what I was going to say.”  You sit there for a few seconds, face scrunched up and trying to regain your train of thought as if he wasn’t there whining, twitching, and dripping with need right in front of you.

“Oh!” you exclaim, face lighting up as you finally remembered the next move you had planned, “I’m gonna make you worship me until your brain is so full of me that you never even look at another woman again!”

“Please goddess, I’ll devote myself to you and—”

“Shut up and lay down so I can sit on your face.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He shudders with anticipation as you lower yourself onto his face, mouth eagerly starting to lap at your clit.  The overwhelming flood of sensations after being deprived of your touch was almost too much.  The scent and taste of you on his tongue, the way your plush thighs gripped his face, the soft moans you let out as he rolled his tongue over your bud all drove him wild; his cock ached for you so much it was starting to hurt. 

Sanji whimpers as you grind your hips onto his face, wanting nothing more than to consume you whole and give you the pleasure you deserved.  He was nothing but a mere mortal in your presence, blessed with the opportunity to prove himself to you.  You could have been cruel and cast a wretch like him aside for his sins, but instead you decided to bless him with the sweet, sweet taste of you on his tongue, more delicious than any meal he’s ever cooked.

He knows how you like it—soft, teasing, not too much friction or overstimulation, and he lets you set the pace, simply ecstatic to be your plaything.  When you get close, he groans, eager to get you over the brink and taste everything you had to offer.  As your orgasm shudders through your body, he is like a man starved, giving every bit of himself to you on an altar as a sacrifice to your divinity.

“Darling, please touch me…” he begs once you come down from your high, his voice sending vibrations through your already sensitive clit.

“I think you’re going to have to give me at least two more before you earn that.” you say smirking down at him, not ready to give up control of him just yet.

You gasp as he slips a finger inside of you and gently curls it, having sneakily undone the flimsy knot around his wrists ages ago.

“I’ll get you there and then some, goddess.”

[malebodyexhibit]

A Master and his Toys (a Next Door Boy tale)

Possession is the typical service provided by NDB, but that’s for people with no imagination. You have access to dozens of straight, fit, young men and you don’t want to be their masters? Sure you can take over someone’s body and fuck twinks ’til your cock and balls are dry. Or, you can rent 3 dumb, blond, straight jocks and have the agency adjust their behavior.

This 19-year-old twunk is a business major from Texas. I call him Rosebud. He’s your standard Republican trust fund baby who couldn’t hack it in university and got cut off from his parents. He drifted from girlfriend to girlfriend, mooching off them and cheating behind their backs. Eventually, he ended up as talent for NDB. He didn’t want to be possessed by some gay guy, but he was up for a minor reprogramming via his implant. I told him it was an obedience mod and pleasure mod. The pleasure mod being a love for gay sex. Now he loves showing off his body. I often kiss his neck when he’s being a good boy. He loves when I buy him a new jock strap. He can be a bit too much sometimes. For example, when I’m trying to watch the game, he crawls beside me and grinds himself against me. I sometimes just decide to give him a quick fuck. He doesn’t mind if he doesn’t cum, as long as he gets to feel me explode in him, but sometimes I just turn off his mods so he returns to his straight jock mind. He gets so embarrassed and tries to cover himself up, but a kiss from me and his love for attention kicks back into gear. When I’m at work, I have the other guys top him so he doesn’t get too lonely.

I call this one Jack-O. He’s a 28-year-old personal trainer from Colorado. He’s pretty easy going unlike Rosebud. He wanted to work for NBD but not have anyone else in control of his mind and body. He consented to a pleasure mod though. I told him it would just work on his drive for working out. He’d still be in his body, controlling his decisions. That much was true, but I had him have a strong lust for my  workout musk. After a tough workout, I toss him my sweat-soaked gear so he can lick it clean. I had to tie his arms up because he kept pulling my socks and underwear off. I spent a few days in my house completely naked ‘cause he just strips me and slobbers on my clothes. If I don’t shower quickly enough, he pounces on me and gives me a tongue bath. Because this is so closely tied to sex, he drips precum around the house and I have to be careful where I step. He’s almost always erect, but I had him unable to ejaculate until I stroked him myself. Otherwise, he’d just be spraying the house in his spunk. Jack-O has a fiancé, but he agreed to a no-contact during his contract duration. Yet that seemed heartless of me, so I sometimes have Rosebud wear his fiancé’s perfume then have Jack-O mount him to workout his sexual frustrations. I have, of course, turned off Jack-O’s mods so I could see his confusion as he’s sniffing my used underwear and his horror at his tied up body and his erect, dripping cock.

Spot is his name. This 33-year-old mechanic from Colorado joined NDB for easy money like everyone else. He highly values his body and mind, so he also chose to not be possessed. He’s a straight bachelor who used to bring home a woman. He’d treat her right and flirt for a week, but he’d cut them loose after things get too comfortable. I asked him about mods, and he didn’t have a problem with it. He just wanted to make sure he didn’t do gay shit. So I gave him a perception mod. He believes me, Rosebud, and Jack-O are women. I also tweaked with his pleasure mod and and obedience mod. Spot does all the chores in the house. He sweeps (hence, ‘you missed a spot’), mops up Jack-O’s happy trail on the floor, spots the other two during their workout to keep their rock hard bodies. He also tops them so he can keep himself happy. He loves to eat out their pussy (really it’s their cocks) and pound their pussy (their ass) and fondle their breasts (pecs). If I didn’t tape his mouth, he’d just ramble on and on since he just wants to prove how smart he is. With Spot, I never turn off his mod, but I do find myself blowing him. He thinks I’m one of his many female conquests, so it’s sweet to have him wrap his arms around me, but even sweeter to have him on all fours sweeping dirt from under the couch.

So that’s my collection. I’m not overly malicious. Everything was written out in the fine print. If they read carefully, they’d know what each mod entailed. NDB fully requires consent. At the end of their service (like one month), they’ll be returned to their normal mental state. But in the past, many prefer their new simpler lives.

[emiim23]

Vacation!Nanami x Black!reader

♡genre: established relationship , romance, fluff, smut

♡warnings: +18 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬!! MDNI!! fluff,slow to rough sex, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, cutenames ( my love, beautiful, good girl, princess), pwp(barley there plot) , sub!reader & dom!Nanami [ i think thats it pls let me know if i missed anything :) ]

This tiktok inspired this headcanon😭🤞🏾

Masterlist

So we all know that Nanami doesn't go on vacation, he's a certified workaholic but if he does it's only because his best girl wants him with her, of course he brings his work with him, online meetings and all of that.

When his beautiful angel of a girlfriend offers to go out for lunch he absolutely cannot resist the pout on her plump lips and the way her sundress flows around her frame, he just has to go with you.

So now here you are hand in hand enjoy the breeze and the sun on your skin. Matching outfits making your pictures so much better.

Having lunch on the deck was amazing until the waitress kept trying to flirt with your man.

Key word TRYING because nanami was not giving her the time of day, keeping his eyes on you playing with your hand.

"Excuse me sir what would you like anything off of our special menu" she said leaning closer to him

Before you could tell her off Nanami moved his chair closer to you so you could sit side by side.

"No, how about you my love, I'll have whatever you're getting" Nanami said kissing your shoulder as he pulled your arm closer to his chest.

"I'll get a chicken salad, fries and lasagna please" you said smiling at the waitress

"Can we also get one mango, pineapple smoothie two waters and a new waiter, thanks" Nanami said not even looking at the woman as she scoffed and stomped away.

Lunch went perfect after the change and the next place to go was the private pool attached to your suite.

When the occasion does arise for Nanami to go on holiday he goes for luxury and comfort over anything especially once you two got together.

And the most important thing about a good vacation is privacy.

A dip in the pool turned into a playful water fight splashing about, laughter being carried by the wind, the sun turning the water droplets on your skin into stars, making Nanami fall deeper in love with you, as you tried to swim away Nanami pulled you into his arms basically lifting your body halfway out of water.

Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, one hand weaving your fingers through his hair, your acrylics scratching his scalp making him close his eyes and hum in satisfaction.

Taking this opportunity you leaned down and kissed him the kiss you shared intensified his tongue making its way into your mouth.

His hands roamed around your body switching between squeezing your thighs and your ass not knowing which to choose. The heat growing within your bodies contrasted with the cool water surrounding the both of you making you want to get closer to each other, closer than the way you already were.

Breaking away from the kiss the both of you breathing heavily trying to catch your breath.

"Let's go inside" you said as you kissed his neck loving the way his body felt against yours.

Nanami walked to the edge of the pool sitting you down on the edge so you could stand up. Making your way to the room you started stripping your bikini making a show out of it, taking off your bikini top you tossed it over your shoulder hearing it his the floor behind you, as you reached for the ties on the side of you bikini bottoms you heard Nanami get closer to you.

You giggled as Nanami led you into the room. His entire body was pressed to your back and you nearly moaned as he sucked on your neck.

“Gimme a kiss,” Nanami murmurs, deep voice low in your ear. Turning your body around he picked you up his hands are on your hips, fingers digging into the softness of your skin walking towards the bed until his knees hit the bed. Breaking the kiss he remained quiet as he tossed you onto the bed and spread your creamy, brown thighs.

A low, hungry growl rumbled in his chest as he stared down at your pussy. Licking his lips, he started to go down to have a taste, but stopped as an idea came to him. "Baby, want you to put your pussy on my face." He laid down on the bed and beckoned for you to come.

Biting your lip, not sure if you could do what was asked of you. You let out a squeak when he grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you over to him. Untying the strings of your bikini so quickly that you didn't notice.

Lifting you up easily, he placed you into his lap and grabbed your chin. Nanami pulled you in for a deep, slow kiss that left you panting and wanting more. His dark eyes had a serious glow in them as he firmly said, "Sit. On. My. Face."

Your hands grabbed the headboard of the bed almost immediately at the feeling of his hot tongue swirling over your puffy folds, The sight of Nanami underneath you was honestly one of the sexiest things ever. Your head fell back as your felt you walls beginning to quiver on his tongue.

It's messy the way he eats you, dragging his tongue over your clit as he pushes back your thighs. your folds spread out allowing him to push his tongue between your tight walls.

he moans as your pussy tightens around his muscle. he slurps your cream, fucking you with his tongue.

"fuck, you taste good" he breathes, "you're fucking soaked." he's drunk on you, his fingers dig into your thighs as he buries his face deeper in your folds.

"feels so good" you pant, tangling your fingers in his hair. he groans as he closes his lips around your clit, sucking your swollen bud and reducing you to a moaning mess. "fuck, Kento," you gasp. your thighs twitch under his fingers as a heat fills your body.

You gush over his mouth, rocking on his lips, cumming. your lips part to let out sweet moans of his name.

Nanami made slurping sounds as he devoured you. Your sweet taste dripping down his chin as he found pleasure in hearing your cries and moans as his tongue worked orgasm after orgasm from your pretty cunt. His fingers came up to slide into your sticky hole as his lips closed your swollen, protruding clit.

Thighs trembled around his head as he pulled another orgasm from you with his greedy tongue. "Ken, baby...I can't anymore." You tried to lift yourself up, but his fingers dug into your plush thighs, yanking you back down onto his hungry lips.

"One more beautiful. Give me one more and I'll be satisfied." Nanami was drunk off your taste. He could be smothered by your thighs all day if he could. Sucking your tender clit back into his mouth, he flicked his tongue over it as his fingers pushed back inside, thrusting in and out of you and making loud squelching sounds.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent scream as you ground your hips down onto his lips, his tongue sliding over your weeping pussy. Gazing back down at his face, the sight was enough to make you cum hard on his tongue.

Nanami tried to catch every last drop of your sweet release, but some managed to drip down his chin and cheeks as he swallowed what fell into his mouth. He gave your pussy a few gentle licks before let you fall limply to the side. "I needed that." He said as he sat up. "Thank you, baby." Nanami kissed your forehead

Situating himself in front of you he started lifting your legs around his waist. Looking at him with basically hearts in your eyes your eyes glanced down you didn't realise that his swimming trunks were long gone.

" How are you feeling my love" Nanami asked as he kissed your chest making his way up to your lips.

"So good Nami~"you sighed loving the feeling of his weight on your body.

“Gonna let me fuck you, baby?” He asks against your mouth, trailing his lips down your neck and kissing your skin gently.

He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to situate himself comfortably between your thighs and align himself with your entrance.

And then he’s pushing into you slowly, making you feel every single inch of it.

Your mouth drops open and your legs wind around his hips, pulling him even deeper than before. He’s pressing against every sensitive spot inside you and it feels heavenly. "You' re taking it so good" he sucks in a breath, his voice deep and calm as he works his thick length into you. "good girl" he praises you, pulling out slowly only to work his thick cock back into your throbbing cunt.

“so good baby, you take me so well”

“you like being stuffed with my cock, huh?" he groans out as your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby. Feel so good....shit you’re like heaven.” He rasps the words against your throat, lips trailing up over your skin to rest on yours for a quick moment before he pulls back to gaze into your eyes.

“I love you, pretty girl, you're just so good for me.”

Your heart swells at the praise you lean up to kiss him, gasping against his lips when he pulls his hips back and slams them forward.

Kento! ” you’re gasping, high pitched and whiney with your lungs desperate for breath. they expand wide between your rib cage and the mattress your boyfriend has you pressed into— all of his weight, heavy over you and his chest against you. “‘m gonna…gonna— oh fuck, baby! gonna make me cum.” you cry still sensitive from your previous high.

Nanami laughs, his warm breath tingling gently against the shell of your ear— contrasting with the force behind each of his calculated thrusts, hips lunging forward to push his fat cock deeper along your soaked squishy walls, “uhuh, you close, angel? can tell with how your greedy little pussy clenches around me,” as if in queue, his seedy, blistering tip nudges new pleasure spots along the ridges of your insides— making you seize up and ripple around the stretch of Kento's girth. He chokes on a moan that sends dopamine crackling across your brain. "Lift your hips up for me princess" Nanami says right in your ear making your head spin.

you do your best to lift your hips , shuddering at how his luscious blonde hair tickles your shoulders as he quickly slips a pillow under your bruised hips to keep you arched how he wants. the new angle has your cunt squelching with lewd suction noises every time Nanami pushes into you, and his rough fingers slip between your mess of sweaty and arousal stained limbs to fumble with your swollen clit as blood rushes to it. You barely have any room to breathe between the way Kento fucks you and the way he touches you— treading on the thin line of euphoria and losing your sanity.

“Be a good girl, be my pretty girl and cum f’me, I wanna see your eyes when you cum for me baby. ” he slurs against your skin, practically drooling as his heavy length hits deep and churns up your insides— cockhead never letting up on your abused g-spot. “that’s it, make a mess for me, fuck. You're my good fucking girl.” He moans throwing your legs over his shoulders and pressing deeper into you.

“i can’t, can’t. K-ken-!” clawing at the sheets, your tiny mewls become louder, heftier and fill the room with their song combined with the wet slaps of skin on skin and bed creaking beneath the weight of sex. You let your head fall back against soft pillows beneath you, mouth hanging wide open when your orgasm washes over you in a wave that threatens to drown you. The knot in your stomach unravels way too quickly, and you gush clear streams of your arousal straight from your pussy.

“fuck, you’re squirting,” Nanami sounds elated, drawing wide and fast circles on your clit, never letting up with his thrusts no matter how much you squirt because he’s just so thick, so heavy that all his cock does is plug you full. “That’s it baby, lemme see you fall apart on me. uhhuh, you like that?” cooing condescendingly, he only slips deeper inside the heat of your puffy pussy as clear streams of arousal bathe his cock, your entrance clinging to every vein on his shaft.

He leaves you a drooling twitching mess against the crushed sheets, pressing his hips flat against your pelvis to grind into you in slow circles. “wan’ you to cum baby, please Kenni. cum inside me, please.” You beg, hiccuping and twisting the duvet between your shaky fingers. you squeal as Nanami picks up the pace, your arousal splashing against his tummy and pelvis, fat drops of it running down to the sheets.

His thrusts were sloppier, signaling his release. You clenched your walls around him as he kept hitting that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back, your stomach tighten and your hips buck against his.

With one last sloppy thrust he spilled himself into you, milking every single drop of his cum. Your body dissolved into pleasure, coming undone underneath the man you love.

Kissing your ankle where an anklet with both of your initials lay he trailed his hands all over your body helping relax your muscles as he praised you for being oh so sweet for him. Barely hearing a word he was saying you relished in the warmth of his kisses and the feeling of his hands massaging your thighs.

"I'm going to draw us a bath okay love" Nanami said as he slowly pulled away from you making you wine at the loss of contact.

"I'll be quick" he said as he went to the bathroom, the sound of the water running combined with the smell of lavender made you feel more relaxed, your body sinking into the bed.

"Princess you can't go to sleep just yet" Nanami said with a small laugh, you just looked so soft surround by the pillows, your body curved around the duvet the sun making the whole situation look like it was straight out of a movie.

"mhm" you said not really having the energy to reply without realising it Nanami came to the bed and picked you up as if you weighed nothing. This made you laugh as you were caught by surprise from the sudden rush of air.

As you made your way to the bath Nanami set you down on the counter. "Beautiful, I forgot towels, I'll be right back" he said as he kissed you before walking out.

Jumping off the counter you quickly used the toilet and cleaned up a bit before he came back. Looking in the mirror you saw the complete hot mees he left you. Braids in a tangled mess, hickies scattered all over your neck and chest going down your stomach as you looked back at your face your lip gloss from earlier was basically non existent, eyes hooded with content and a small smile on your face. Nanami walked back in with not only towels but also two bottles of water.

"Ready?" he asked as he set everything down on the counter.

"yep" you smiled back as you made your way to the steaming bubble bath. Sliding in you sighed in complete bliss as the water surround you. Hearing Nanami get in behind you you leaned back into his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I love you Kento" you smiled back at him.

"I love you too my darling princess" he said as he kissed you.

A/n: so part two of ma Belle evangeline is coming soon I just really need to get this off my mind as soon as I saw that tik tok I just had to do something about it. this turned out longer than I thought 💀buuut I still love it, please let me know what you think, like share and comment &lt;3

P.S please let me know if you want to be tagged in my future fics or part 2 of ma Belle evangeline

[daisy-thetoxic]

wRoNg | Kara Danvers

Fem Oc g!p- Phoebe Petera (spider girl)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning: MINORS DNA (or smt like that) 18+, praise link, breeding kink. pnv, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap it yall), (Skip don’t read this!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoebe zipped through the city, her web allowing her to get a flying feeling as she flung herself into the sky, diving back down and repeating.

She swung past building to building, it was freeing, liberating. Until she remembered she was on her way to help the cities national hero, Super Girl, to help defeat a monster.

“You know, I’m starting to think your putting yourself in danger so I can come save you.” Phoebe muses as she lands next to Supergirl, smirking.

“No- I-“ Supergirl stutters, a faint blush on her cheeks at the flirting.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” Phoebe teases, shorting a web at the mister before zipping around it to ties it up. She shoots another web at its other

Hand before doing the same, locking it in like they would a psych ward patient.

“I will-“ the monster begins to bellow before Phoebe shoots a web at its mouth before kicking it in its chest to push it over, successfully detaining it.

“I had that.” Supergirl tells her, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Your so cute when you pout.” Phoebe smirks against, walking over to the stuttering women.

“I am not pouting.” Supergirl shakes her head, backing up a little noticing how close Spidergirl was getting to her.

“Whatever you say, princess.” Phoebe smirks at her before shooting her web to repel her into the sky before she swings away.

~~~

“We really got to stop meeting like this.” Phoebe smirks down at Kara, as Phoebe replaced Snapper. Kara kept bumping into her wherever she went. That’s how they got in the situation, Kara didn’t look up form her phone when she entered the elevator, bumping right into Phoebe.

“If you would-“ Kara furrows her eyebrows, frustrated by the raven haired women.

“Talking back to your boss?” Phoebe raises an eyebrow, cutting Kara off as she clicked the top elevator.

“No. I-“ Kara stutters in frustration, allowing Phoebe to have more power over her. The elevator dinged, signally they were at the top floor.

“Danvers, I need your help to carry boxes from the supply room.” Phoebe smirks as Kara went to walk off to her desk. Kara stoped in her tracks, holding in a groan as she turns around to see her boss smirking at her misery.

Phoebe leads them down the hall, into the storage closet. She closes the door once Kara walks in.

“Which boxes?” Kara asks as Phoebe walks behind her, making the intern turn around.

“I don’t know, supergirl, you tell me?” Kara looks up at her surprise showing on her face.

“How do?” Kara stutters.

“How do i know? You aren’t exactly subtle, Sweetheart.” Phoebe tilts her head as she corners Kara to one of the desks.

“Spidergirl?” Kara tilts her head confused.

“Took you long enough, thought I was going to have to spell it out for you.” Phoebe tells her, watching as the Kryptonian blushed as she hit the desk, an inch distance between the two.

“I-“ Kara stutters as it seemed the distance between them only disappeared, Pheobes lips hovering over hers but not fully committing, almost teasing Kara.

Kara growing frustrated like she usually did in the woman’s presence, she pushed forward slightly, connecting their lips.

The frustration and tension was taken out by the kiss as it grew heated. Kara groans as Phoebe parts her lips, invading her mouth with her tongue.

“Jump.” Phoebe commands, wrapping her hands at the back of Kara’s thighs so when she jumps Phoebe picks her up. Setting her down on the desk as standing in between her legs.

Kara moans lightly into Phoebe mouth, suffocating the sound. Phoebe fiddled with the buttons on Kara’s shirt, not trying to rip it but it was opening, so she rips it in half, degrading it on the floor.

“That was my favorite shirt.” Kara pouts, looking at it on the floor.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Phoebe tells her before reconnecting their lips. Kara only nods into the kiss and takes of Pheobe’s shirt also, their super hero suits.

Pheobes unbuckles Kara’s pants pulling them off in one swift move, leaving the Kryptonian in her superhero suit. Phoebe stepped out of her pants after unbuckling her belt.

She stepped back in between Kara’s legs, pressing her bulge against the super hero’s clothed private part. Kara could on moan as being her closer as they engulfed in a sloppy kiss.

Phoebe moans into the blondes mouth as Kara grinds into her, impatient as always. “Please.” Kara whimpers as she becomes sexually frustrated.

“Since you asked so kindly.” Phoebe breaks the kiss, pulling down her pants enough to let her cock spring out. Kara clenches her thighs at the sight.

“Open.” Phoebe taps the superhero’s thighs making them spring open as commanded.

Phoebe let’s her hands guide themselves up the blondes thigh, onto her clothes parts. She uses on of her hands to guide her cock to the superhero’s clit, moving the piece of clothing to the side.

Kara bucks her hips, moaning at the feeling. “Please.” Kara begs, gasping as Phoebe guides her cock into the woman entrance. She knew Kara could take the the sudden intrusion as her wetness lubed the raven haired woman’s cock.

There was a knock on the door, making Pheobes shoot a web at the door for it to be stuck closed. “Hey is Kara in there?” James calls out, trying to open the door but it wouldn’t budge.

A smirk dances on Pheobes hips as she shallowing thrusts into Kara.

“Yeah she’s helping me go through boxes, we need old articles for a project.” Phoebe calls out. “Sorry there’s a ton of boxes in front of the door.

Phoebe thrusts sharply making Kara gasp loudly.

“Kara be more careful, you gonna end up breaking your foot.” Phoebe pretends to warm her as she smirks down at the helpless Kryptonian who could only cling to her.

“Kara? Are you okay?” James asks worriedly, his not so secret crush on her showing.

“Be a good girl, and answer.” Phoebe whispers in her ear, smirking against her skin.

“Yeah!… I’m.. fine.” Kara calls out, trying to not make any other sound.

“We’ll be done in an hour, if you want to talk to her later.” Phoebe tells him, continuing her thrusts as she covers Kara’s mouth with her hand as the other one fell to her slit, rubbing circler motion.

“Okay.” James replies walking off, as Phoebe’s took her hand off of Kara’s mouth.

“So good.” Phoebe praises, as Kara could only moan back, taking in the rough, deep thrusts.

Phoebe uses her super speed to take Kara on the desk and flip her around, pushing deeper into her. “Be a good girl and cum for me and I’ll think about breeding you, sweetheart.”

Kara clenches her walls around Phoebe’s cock at the words, thrusting herself back into Phoebe, chasing her release. Phoebe matches her thrust.

Phoebe pulls her closer, turning her around so she faced Kara once more, connecting their lips as Kara wrapped her legs around her boss.

“Don’t stop” Kara gasps, as Phoebe reconnects their lips, less sloppily as she swallowed Kara’s moans. Kara squeezed her eyes shut as her climax washed over her like a Tsunami once Phoebe started rubbing circles on her clit.

Phoebe’s thrusts got quicker as she felt Kara release on her, moaning as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She thrusted one last time, all the way in before cumming in Kara. She kept thrusting lightly before coming to a slow stopped as she brought Kara down from her climax.

“Who would have thought the girl of steel had a breeding kink?” Phoebe laughs lightly, as she pulls out of Kara, leaving her to clench her legs together as the cold air hit her.

“I-“ Kara looked like a lost puppy as her words were caught in her throat. Phoebe started putting back on her clothes, helping Kara into her own as he legs shakes lightly.

“Been awhile before someone could keep up?” Phoebe asks, helping the blonde.

“Haven’t met someone who could.” Kara tells her, looking at her a upped shirt.

“Here take this.” Phoebe tells her, handing her the black silk shirt as she put on her coat, buttoning it till she could get back to her office and get one of her spare shirts she has stashed.

“I’ll want to get lunch?” Phoebe asks, knowing she developed a appetites. She watched as Kara’s facial features soften like a kid in a candy store.

“Yes!” Kara smiles, reminding Phoebe of a golden retriever.

“Let’s stop by my office first.” Phoebe opens the door, using her super strength. She let Kara walk out first, her hand on her back as she shut the door behind them.

~~~

“Here.” Phoebe walks to Kara’s desk, handing her a box. Kara looks up at her boss confused, scrunching her knows making Phoebe smile.

Her facial features turned happiness as she saw the four shirts that laid inside the box. It was the exact same as her blue one that got torn but I’m 3 other colors.

Blue. Red. Black. White.

“I’m was heading out for brunch. Want to join me?” Phoebe asks her, raising an eyebrow as she subtly smirked, hearing Kara’s heart beat faster.

“I would love to.” Kara got up, setting the box on her desk, closing it before walking with Phoebe to the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MOON MAGIC AND MYSTERIES OF THE NIGHT WE MET.

“Who in their right mind would name themselves ‘Jake Lockley’?” Marc sneered, prompting Jake’s astral form to abruptly rise, about to throw fists at the Chicago man a few meters away from him.

“If this hijo de puta doesn’t shut up–”

“Will you two shut it?!” Steven finally shouted, acting as the middle ground between his mental brothers before turning his attention to you who is now sporting a bewildered look. “Mira? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Steven, don’t worry. Just trying to wrap my head around all of this”, you finally spoke, nodding gratefully to Steven as you grasped Jake’s hand in his astral form to physically express your gratitude. “First thing’s first - it’s nice to finally meet you, Jake Lockley”

“The honor is mine, princesa”, Jake chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your hand as Steven prevented the currently frustrated Marc to launch himself at his suave, Spanish-speaking New Yorker alter. “Hola a ti también, Steven, Marc.”

Hello to you too, Steven, Marc.

“Hello, Jake”, Steven greeted politely, waving an awkward hello. Marc, on the other hand, merely grimaces before flipping the bird, prompting Jake to chuckle at his host’s childishness.

“Looks like this is going to be more chaotic than I thought”, you shook your head as you couldn’t help but smile at the amusing interactions happening before you. This is proving to be a very strange day for you, no Sorcerer Supreme pun intended.

The room seemed to hum with energy as you circled around, absorbing the revelations that had just been thrust upon you. The three men in their respective corporeal forms simply observe as you work your moon magic, placing a protective spell to prevent any other spiritual forces from taking possession of their unconscious body.

“You’re some kind of witch, then?” Steven wondered aloud while witnessing your magical prowess before his eyes, while Marc and Jake were looking inquisitively at you as you took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Like Wanda Maximoff from the Avengers? Or was it Doctor Strange?”

“The politically correct term is a priestess, or babaylan in my mother tongue”, you started to explain. “I’m not a witch, but I did train to control my moon magic from Kamar Taj. It’s where Doctor Stephen Strange was taught with the mystic arts by the Ancient One. His mentor and I have been good friends for centuries”

“Centuries, bloody hell”, Steven exclaimed, not yet realizing the weight of your words. “And how old are you exactly?”

Jake snorted at Steven’s choice of words. “Pendejo, it’s rude to ask a woman her age–”

“He’s asking the right questions, so it’s fine”, you waved away, throwing a small smirk at Jake that he couldn’t help but return. “If you really wish to know the specifics, I was born in the early 900’s, so you do the math”

“You certainly haven’t aged a day”, Marc spoke mainly to himself. Upon hearing his thoughts aloud, you smiled serenely at his silent compliment. 

“I’m amazed you can still flirt with me at this stage”, you chuckled before shifting your gaze between Marc and Steven, straightening your posture before jumpstarting to your most pressing query. “So, my turn to ask you the questions. I’m guessing you two are not really twins, are you? Triplets, maybe?”

“I like your sense of humor, hermosa–”

“Zip it, Jake, this is serious”, Marc interrupted, clearly exasperated at his third alter’s quip as the latter made a face, rolling his eyes in derision. His astral form then reached out, a spectral hand brushing against your shoulder. "Steven and I - and apparently Jake too - we’re all facets of the same person sharing the same body”

“We suffer from a mental health condition known as Dissociative Identity Disorder” Steven spoke next, prompting you to nod slowly as the astonishment slowly painted your facade. “Have you ever heard of it?”

“Only read about it in clinical studies and theory”, you spoke softly as you absorbed the factual truth they’ve laid out to you. A myriad of emotions coursed through you as you absorbed their words: surprise, empathy, understanding. The truth was like a jigsaw piece that finally fit into place, and though the revelation was jarring, it also felt right. You couldn't fault them for keeping it hidden, for their fears and concerns were as genuine as the bond you had formed with them.

It was a lot to take in, and your mind whirled with questions. "Were you ever planning to tell me?"

"We plan to tell you, love, but we just don’t know how”, Steven stepped forward, his presence less domineering than Marc's but equally sincere. “We were afraid of how you'd react, of what you'd think of us."

“I know it’s not an easy matter to tell anyone”, you whispered, nodding slowly as you understood their reluctance. “I’m sure you haven’t meant for me to find out this way, but I’m glad to hear that you weren’t intending to keep this a secret from me”

“Of course not, baby”, Marc shook his head, his voice measured and somber as his translucent hand took yours as a symbol of reassurance. “We should’ve told you ages ago. I’m sorry you had to find out this way”

“We all are”, Steven chimed in, while Jake nodded thoughtfully in silent agreement.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize”, you interrupted, much to the trio’s collective surprise. They knew how complicated their situation is, but your verbal acceptance was everything to them. “I can understand, I mean, you’re not the only ones guilty of keeping secrets, am I right?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons too”, Marc, of course, was the first to understand your hesitance to let them know of your other life. “But I want you to know that I’m here for you, Mira - we all are. You can confide in us, whenever you’re ready to tell”

“Thank you, Marc”, you smiled appreciatively. Steven, on the other hand, offered you a giddy smile at the realization that you were no ordinary woman.

“Your secret’s safe with us”, Steven chuckled. “I mean, we really don’t have anybody else to share it with. But it’s just bloody cool to know you’re a magical person. And coming from an ancient time too, I… wait, hang on a moment–”

“What is it, Steven?” you asked, indulging the curiosity of the British man hovering before you.

“When we talked back then about your history”, Steven started, recounting your earlier conversation on the first day you met. “You’ve actually lived during the times when your country’s colonizers discovered and invaded your homeland?”

Your knowing smile and multiple slow nods prompted Steven’s eyes to almost pop out of their sockets, his mouth agape as he slowly connected the dots with your creative storytelling that night. 

“Bloody hell-”

“I’m sorry to cut the storytelling time short, querida”, Jake’s voice was heard next, his tone apologetic but his expression meaning business. “But I have to tell you about what really happened last night. I’m assuming you would want to know that, sí?

"Yes, that’s right," you began, addressing the man who had saved you during the new moon, "Tell me what happened. Do you know who shot me last night?"

Jake Lockley leaned back against the room's battered wall, his rough-hewn features etched with a certain heaviness. "They were assassins, sent to eliminate you for good. They work for Set’s avatar, and it seems that they know you well, given their weapon of choice."

His revelation sent shivers down your spine, and you pressed further. "Knew me well, huh? I’m assuming the bullet was made of wolfsbane?"

“Yeah, that’s right”, Jake nodded, his voice low and gritty. "They took advantage of last night’s new moon, which weakened your innate ability as an avatar to a moon goddess to heal and be impervious to harm."

“That’s why you fronted. To save her”, Marc said, trying to piece his own memories together. “But how on earth did you survive that attack?”

“I’m curious to know that as well”, Steven added, his mind working to solve the imminent puzzle of Jake’s heroic act that night. “As far as I know, wolfsbane is also toxic to humans. We shouldn’t be able to survive that”

“About that”, Jake started, now avoiding everyone’s gaze as he kept his eyes directed on the wooden floor of their flat. “Mira’s healed wounds should answer that question”

“What do you mean by my healed wounds?” you echoed, pulling the sleeve of your white t-shirt once more to reveal the spot where you’ve been shot. Your heart quickened as you slowly pieced together the puzzle, arriving at the most feasible conclusion you could only think of. "It can’t be. You mean to tell me that you serve a moon god too?"

A sharp intake of breath echoed from Marc and Steven. They exchanged panicked glances, clearly rattled by your revelation.

“Es cierto, cariño”, Jake sighed, finally admitting his long kept secret. "I'm still serving Khonshu as his avatar, as the Moon Knight"

That’s right, honey.

Marc Spector and Steven Grant exchange incredulous glances, their collective disapproval resounding in the room. The room was immediately filled with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife as you watched the tumultuous battle unfold before you. Jake Lockley had just dropped a bomb of revelation that had left his two alters reeling, and a cacophony of outrage erupted from them both. Their voices overlapped, and their collective disapproval reverberated through the room like an ominous drumbeat.

"I can't believe you'd keep this from us, Jake!” Marc was the first to speak as he leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. The anger in his voice is palpable, and Steven's expression mirrors his outrage. 

"So, you're telling us that you saved our life as Moon Knight that night in Cairo", Steven's voice was laced with disbelief, his eyes narrowing at Jake. “And you're still serving that lunatic god, Khonshu?!”

“I am”, Jake Lockley nods, his eyes unwavering. "It's the only way to truly protect all of us."

“This is fucking insane!” Marc gritted, barely containing his anger any longer as his face contorted with frustration. “Khonshu had us trapped in his service for years, and we barely got ourselves free. How can you do this?!”

“Jake, why?” Steven, ever the voice of reason, sought understanding amidst the chaos. “Why continue to serve as Moon Knight?"

"I serve because I have to, not because I want to”, Jake shifted uncomfortably, but his tone remained firm. “It's the only way I can do my job: to protect you both."

“We do not need protecting –”

“Maldito idiota, do you even know how many enemies you have, pendejo?” Jake rolled his eyes at Marc’s side comment, prompting the other to shake his head in pure disbelief. “Besides, I wasn’t just protecting you two”

“What do you mean?” Steven inquired, not understanding what other possible reason would Jake have to still take the mantle of Moon Knight. Jake's gaze then flickers to you, as if he's seeking your support. You meet his eyes, trying to understand the turmoil in his soul.

"It’s the only way I can protect you, Mira", Jake replied, his voice filled with a mix of regret and determination. His answer brought a brief silence to the room as you stood in the midst of it all, your mind whirling like a tempest as you tried to make sense of his current revelations.

Suddenly, Jake Lockley's eyes softened, and he revealed something that shocked you to your core. "I've known you for a long time. Even before all of this."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You stand in the center of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around your own body as you struggle to absorb this revelation. 

"What do you mean, you've known me?” you took a deep breath, stepping closer to Jake. “How is that possible?"

“I remember the night we first met”, Jake's resolute gaze met yours as he nodded solemnly. "I wasn't the one who was fronting that time, but I remember seeing you. It was the night when Khonshu enlisted your help in shifting the night skies to find the right constellation leading to Ammit’s tomb.” 

The room grew quiet as your mind processed Jake's words. You struggled to remember that night, but everything was shrouded in fog. It felt like a distant dream, something you couldn't quite grasp.

“I don’t understand”, your mind raced, trying to grasp the implications of this revelation. “If you remember me, why Marc and Steven couldn’t? Why couldn’t they remember any of it? Why can't I remember you?”

“I was supposed to forget too, but Khonshu retained my memories of that night since I still serve as his avatar”, Jake sighed, his eyes a mix of sorrow and frustration. "As for Marc and Steven, those memories became recurring dreams that do not make sense”

"Wait a minute," Marc interjected, his eyes narrowing. "Jake’s right, we've had countless dreams about that night."

“That’s right, yeah”, Steven nodded in agreement. "Just like what he says - moving stars and shifting constellations. But it was always blurry, nonsensical."

Jake Lockley's gaze softens, and he begins to recount the dreams that Marc and Steven have been experiencing, helping his headmates remember what they could. These were the dreams that you've never been privy to, until now. 

In the midst of their quiet recollection and Jake's revelations, you continued your restless pacing around the room, your mind racing like a wildfire amidst the buzzing tension in the room. Something about all of this didn't sit right with you, and you require a direct line to the truth.

You needed answers, and you needed them now.

"I wish to speak to Khonshu," you declared, your voice unwavering. "Summon your god. I need to hear the truth from him, to explain all of this to me."

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

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[scoops-stevie-archive]

modern eddie would be a pibble dad. she's his baby and he puts little bows on her and he throws birthday (adoption day) parties where she gets a puppy-safe cake and his friends gladly show up with presents for her.

the mall hosts pictures with santa the entire month of december and allows pets for an extra cost that eddie gladly pays. his girl is well behaved and knows her manners in public spaces, thank you very much. but unfortunately, sadie is still a pitbull and society hasn't quite moved past its breed biases yet, even if she is sitting quietly at his feet in line and with an "ask to pet" patch on her harness that eddie had turned into a doggy battle vest.

"oh my goodness, is that sadie?!"

sadie's tail starts going crazy at the mention of her name and a woman dressed like an elf crouches down with open arms, ready to receive the gift of happy puppy. sadie immediately plops down and rolls onto her back, showing her belly, which the woman gleefully rubs and pats. sadie's tongue flops out of the side of her grinning mouth, her tail sweeping the floor.

"santa was wondering if he'd see her this year," she says to eddie this time, and gives him a subtle wink that has eddie chuckling. "along with a certain owner, too."

eddie and santa may have started flirting a couple years back. he's not ashamed.

the woman lets them through and there he is. the big (not really) man himself sitting in his chair with his fake beard and red shirt stuffed with fluff.

"well if it isn't my favorite pup!" santa says, patting his lap. sadie puts her front paws on his knees and pants happily as the man scratches her chest and sides. "at the top of the nice list, just like always."

he glances up at eddie with a certain glint in his eye. "and you, mr. munson, are at the top of the naughty list. we'll have to see about fixing that, won't we?"

it actually makes eddie blush, which never happens. it's usually the other way around and he's not used to the butterflies that fill his stomach. however, eddie munson is not one to be thrown off his groove, steps up to santa's side to pose for the photo and fires right back, "what can i say, some like me naughty. now smile for the camera, santa."

he's not sure what the photo looks like, but judging by the blush on santa's cheeks under the beard, eddie wants to put money on it being his favorite. the same woman from check in mans the camera and she frowns at the little screen.

"maybe we should retake it, this one's a little blurry and santa's eyes are closed."

it's very much neither of those things, seeing as the camera's on a tripod, but eddie isn't about to back away from an open opportunity.

"you mind if i borrow you lap for this one, big boy? hunching over like this is killing my back." before santa can reply, eddie's plopping himself into santa's lap and throwing an arm around his shoulder, giving sadie the command to lie down for the photo. just before the woman can press the capture button, eddie steals a quick kiss to santa's cheek.

he doesn't realize he's forgotten to take the photo with him until later that evening. he huffs as he tosses the empty frame to the side and pouts at the blank space on the wall next to all of sadie's other pictures with santa. he perks up when the front door opens and steve calls out a greeting.

eddie walks into the kitchen where steve's setting his bag on the counter and wraps his arms around his shoulders, giving him a soft peck. "hi, baby."

steve pulls him closer by his waist, returning the kiss. "mmh, have a good day today?" he murmurs against his lips.

eddie nods and pulls back before the kiss can lead to somewhere else. dinner still has to be made and he's not above refusing sex on an empty stomach lest he get hangry in the middle of a blowjob. "sadie got her photo with santa this morning, but i completely forgot to take the damn thing with me when we left."

steve hums and presses fleeting kisses to eddie's cheek, trailing them down to his jaw and making eddie sigh as he tilts his head back. eddie's eyes are closed, contentment washing over him as his boyfriend holds and kisses him so sweetly, so he doesn't see steve blindly reaching into his bag.

"you mean these photos?"

eddie makes a sound of confusion as he opens his eyes. steve's holding a fancy photo holder with the mall's name on it.

"you asshole!" eddie says without any heat as he swipes the envelope from steve's hand, the other man grinning. "you could've texted me and told me i forgot them. hell, robin also could've."

steve chuckles and quickly maneuvers out of reach of eddie's teasing smacks. "i'm sorry i was a bit distracted by the cutie sitting on my lap and kissing me. which was very bold, by the way, not many people want to kiss santa."

"would have done a lot more than kissing, but a mall full of children is neither the time nor place," eddie mumbles under his breath. sadie decides to join them, stretching her front paws out in the doorway before sleepily trudging over to steve for pets.

"there's my girl! you were such a good girl today, weren't you? were so well behaved getting you picture taken." the way he immediately dissolves into baby talk with her is hilarious. he's knelt down on the floor, smooshing her face between his hands and scratching behind her ears. "just sat there patiently while dad decided to accost daddy at work, yes you did!"

eddie rolls his eyes and takes the pictures into the living room to be framed and hung on the wall.

[leiawritesstories]

PART FIVE: MAY

First of all: the biggest, most heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading this AU. you have my heart, as angst-loving as it is, and your responses are everything to me :))

Second note: this chapter is ridiculously long, and I do apologize for the insanely long chapters... but also there is SMUT AHEAD!!! if you're not here for sexual content, stop at "Their exit from the archery range" and skip down to "It was May 25" and know that not wanting to read smut does not make any difference and i will always appreciate you reading :) okay I will stop rambling now

Word count: 10.4k (whoops...)

Warnings: swearing, weapons, crime talk, made-up police stuff, badly concealed horniness, fighting, flirting disguised as archery, SO much innuendo, and smut! NSFW!! 

Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy birthday, boss lady!” Elide cheered, pulling the blindfold from Aelin’s eyes with a flourish. “You can’t run back to your apartment now, so sit on down and enjoy a dinner that you aren’t paying for.” 

“You’re the worst best friend, El,” Aelin complained, but she was beaming. “I thought I specifically told you nothing over-the-top.”

Elide shrugged. “You don’t turn twenty-seven every day, Ae, and it’s about damn time you took an evening off. Plus, Aedion would be griping all night if he got dragged out of work for you not to show up.” She wrapped her arms around the taller woman. “Happy birthday.” 

“Fine, fine.” Aelin hugged her second-in-command fiercely. “Thanks, El.” 

Gavriel was next in line, his hug stealing her breath. “Happy birthday, Aelin. Though I think I’m the one who deserves a present for getting my son here.” 

She snickered. “I’ll buy you a drink or something. Thank you for being here.” 

“Anytime.” He flashed her a cunning little grin. “I’d never miss a chance to see my beautiful, sharp-witted niece turn my best lieutenant into a tongue-tied mess.” 

“Gav!” She swatted his shoulder. “You’re more meddling than Elide, Lys, and Ansel all together, I swear.” He just smirked and returned to his seat, leaving her to be swallowed up by Aedion’s embrace. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you without your lab coat in years, Aedy,” she teased. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “It’s a special occasion.” 

“Mhmmm,” she hummed, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Lysandra. 

Aedion blushed an endearing shade of pink. “So what if we happen to sit next to each other? It’s a private party, little miss birthday girl.”

“Not that private,” she snickered, dodging his outraged squawk and smack. “Love you too, Aeds.” 

“You’re the worst.” He groaned, but he was grinning. 

Lysandra raised a perfectly threaded brow. “Do I want to know what that was about?” 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Aelin smirked. “What? My birthday present can be you and Aedy fu—” 

“No!” Lys clapped her hand over Aelin’s mouth. “If you get to say things like that, then I get to ask you when you and Whitethorn are going to bang. If you haven’t already.” It was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows. 

Aelin’s face heated. “Pretend I never said anything.” 

“That’s my birthday bad bitch.” Lys adjusted one of Aelin’s curls. “Now go say hi to the man who hasn’t taken his smitten eyes off you since you walked in here in a dress to bring him to his knees.” She patted Aelin’s ass as she walked away. 

Aelin breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a few seconds. 

“Done with the party already?” Rowan’s voice broke her out of her snatch of silence. “We can probably sneak out the staff door.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, finally meeting his appreciative gaze. “Hi, Ro.” 

“Hi.” His eyes trailed down her body, admiration lighting his face at the way her tailored gold sheath dress molded to every angle and curve of her frame. “That is one hell of a dress, Ae.” 

“Thanks.” Just to tease him, she did a slow spin, reveling in his sharp gasp as he drank in the deep V-cut of the back that highlighted the ink flowing down her spine. 

“I didn’t know you had a spine piece,” he said in a soft, gravelly rasp. 

A dangerously lazy smile curved across her maroon-stained lips. “I keep it hidden while I’m at work. Professionalism and all that.” 

“Oh, you mean the fire-breathing dragon screaming up your spine isn’t professional?” He chuckled. “It’s…incredible. Where’d you get it done?” 

“I know a guy,” she said, deliberately cryptic. 

He bit back a sigh. “Does this guy have a name and a place of work?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to arrest my tattoo artist for touching my back with my full consent while he did my tattoo.” 

“I’m not.” A grin flashed across his face. “I’m just going to make him squirm a little.” 

She chuckled. “You’re impossible. How about we make a deal? You overlook the simple reality that someone had to give me this tattoo, and you can see how lovely of a contrast it makes with my sheets.” 

Rowan inhaled sharply, dark flames smoldering in his eyes. “The tattoo, or that dress?” 

“I prefer not to wear clothes when I’m in my bed.” She smirked. “Don’t just stand there gasping like a fish, Ro. Escort me to dinner like the gentleman Uncle Gav thinks you are.” 

“I think you’ll find that I’m not much of a gentleman, Ae.” His hand landed on the small of her back, its heat rippling deliciously up her spine. 

“Good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Because I like it rough.” 

~

Aelin barely had a chance to say goodbye to everyone after the absolutely delicious dinner, because Lysandra, Ansel, and Elide clustered around her as soon as she left the bathroom, shepherding her out the door and down the street. She only managed to wave to Rowan as she left, certain that she’d find more than one message from him waiting on her phone when she was able to look at it. 

With Elide on one arm and Ansel on the other, Aelin found herself squeezed into an inescapable sandwich of her closest girls, and although she pretended to groan when Lysandra, three steps ahead, pulled open the door to the Vaults, a popular bar, she was beaming. 

“Do you really think it’s the best idea to get drunk on a Tuesday?” she called over the thumping beat of the music pouring through the surround-sound speaker system. 

Lys rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, bitch! You can decide tomorrow is a remote workday!” 

“Shots!” Elide squealed, flagging down the closest bartender and rapidly ordering a whole string of drinks. “I’ve got this round, ladies.” 

“I’m scared,” Aelin teased, sliding into the closest open booth. “If Ells is buying, I might just pass out now.” 

“Fuck off,” Elide laughed, smacking Aelin’s shoulder. “We both know you’re only going to drink enough to get yourself ready to go jump on Whitethorn’s di—”

“Stop!” Aelin squawked, clamping her hand over Elide’s mouth. She composed herself and winked wickedly at the petite woman. “I don’t need liquid courage to do that, Ells.” 

“My gods, you are the worst.” Ansel groaned dramatically. “Add that to the list of things your lawyer should never hear.” 

“Thought you weren’t my lawyer for tonight,” Aelin shot back, grinning. 

The redhead laughed. “Fair enough. Ooh, the drinks are here!” She took the tray from the bartender and passed the cocktails and shot glasses around the table. “Cheers, birthday girl!” 

Aelin clinked her shot with the girls and tossed it back effortlessly, only grimacing a little bit at the burn of straight vodka. “Fuck, El! A little warning next time?” 

Elide snickered gleefully. “Why?” The song changed, and she perked up, clapping. “I love this song!” She took a long pull of her cocktail, draining nearly half of it, and grabbed Aelin’s hand. “Come on, birthday bitch! We’re dancing!” She tugged Aelin out onto the crowded dancefloor without waiting for her to protest. 

“You’re lucky I have alcohol in me,” Aelin giggled as she wedged herself into the sea of swaying bodies next to Elide. “God, I missed being able to do this.” 

“All the more reason to—ah shit. Behind you, Ae.”

“What?” Aelin turned, following Elide’s dark brown glare, and found, to her unpleasant surprise, a rather drunk Sam Cortland less than two feet away. Burning hell.

“Hey,” Sam called over the music, surprisingly coherent for the glassiness of his eyes. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Because the stick up my ass is too big?” Aelin asked sweetly. 

Sam coughed. “Well, um, because you—because it’s a Tuesday?” 

“Liar.” She snorted. “A woman is allowed to go out on her birthday, y’know.” 

“Happy bir’day,” he offered, trying his best to disguise his sneer. 

“I’d say thanks, but you don’t really deserve my manners.” She flashed him an angelically sweet grin. “Fuck off, Cortland.” 

“Bitch,” he grunted.

Aelin’s eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “What was that?” 

Elide grabbed her arm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed, her command cutting through Aelin’s alcohol-loosened fury. “He’s not worth it, and you’re Aelin right now.” 

Aelin blinked, snapping herself out of the thoughts of violence. “Right. Okay.” She turned her back to Sam—who had wisely chosen to slither away, hopefully leaving the bar—just in time for Ansel and Lys to appear with more shots, these ones electric blue. 

“Cheers!” Lys yelled, tapping her small glass to Aelin’s and throwing back the shot. Aelin laughed and followed suit, exhaling sharply at the strength of the tiny glass of alcohol. 

“Lyssie, if I’m hungover tomorrow, I’m blaming you!” 

“Oh, calm down,” Lys snickered. “It won’t knock you out.” 

Aelin snorted in disbelief, then caught Lys’s arm before she could head back to the bar. “It’s our song, Lys! C’mon, dance!” 

Lys laughed and jumped into the knot of dancers, shaking her hips the way she used to back in college when she and Aelin would hit five different bars a night on the weekends. “Still got it!” 

After so many songs that Aelin’s feet were starting to cramp, the women finally half-stumbled off the dance floor and headed out of the bar, gulping down the fresh night air as they stepped out into the street. 

“Fuck, it gets so stuffy in there,” Aelin complained. She shivered. “And it’s cold!” 

“It is not, you little wimp,” Ansel said, poking Aelin in the side. “You just wish that man of yours was here to whip his jacket around you like a gentleman.” 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that,” Aelin hummed, smirking wickedly. “You know what happens after a man gives you his jacket.” 

“You are the worst.” Ansel shoved her lightly. “Again, things you should never fucking ever tell your lawyer: whose bones you plan to jump.” 

“If I make it home,” Aelin grumbled. 

“You ladies need a ride home?” Out of nowhere, Sam Cortland appeared in front of them, his eyes still glassy with alcohol haze and an oily smirk painted across his face. 

“Fuck off, Cortland,” Elide retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t anywhere near fit to drive, anyway.” 

“And I wouldn’t willingly get into a car with you if it was the last option on Earth,” Aelin added.

Sam scowled. “Have it your way, then.” He stalked off, heading down the nearby alley. “Fuckin’ whore,” he muttered, thinking he was far enough away for her not to hear.

She heard. And she followed him, her heels clicking with dangerous precision against the sidewalk. “Want to repeat that, scumbag?” 

He stopped, whirled around, and apparently decided he had a death wish. “I said, you’re a fucking whore.” 

Her fist smashed into his smug little grin with an immensely satisfying crunch. “Take that, you sleazy bastard,” she growled.

Sam screeched, pressed his hands into his rapidly swelling face, and moaned pitifully. “You bit–”

She kneed him in the groin, and when he doubled over, whimpering, she slammed her knee into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She and Elide—who had followed her, of course— maneuvered his limp, unresisting body into the shadows of the alley and left him there.

“No, Aelin, you can’t kill him yet,” Elide reminded her, catching the taller woman’s wrist. 

Aelin sighed dramatically. “But it’s my birthday!”

“So what?” 

“So no murder in plain sight.” Ansel cut in.

“You’re no fun,” Aelin sighed. “Fine.” She delivered one last kick to Sam’s groin. “I wonder if he felt that.” 

Elide snorted. “And this is where I drag you off before you ruin your life by being hauled off to jail on your birthday.” Wrapping one arm around Aelin’s waist, she directed her back onto the sidewalk and away from the shadowy alleyway. “How about we finish the night at your place?” 

Aelin perked up. “I’ll make margaritas!” 

She was ordering an Uber before Elide could protest that they’d all already drunk half their body mass in alcohol that night. 

Just birthday girl things. 

~

Kaltain Rompier tapped her black acrylic nails against her iPad screen, idly waiting for the guy who’d texted her last night (after weeks of absolute silence) to show up. He said he’d be there right at eleven, and it was almost at the point where she was about to leave. 

“Shit, sorry I’m late.” Sam Cortland dropped into the seat opposite hers as her office door closed with a soft click. “Didn’t get out of the damn meeting until ten minutes ago.” 

“Mhmm, right, I forgot how important you businessmen were.” Her reply was acerbic. 

He sighed, sheepish. “I’m really sorry, Kal.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She picked up her stylus pencil and tapped it against the blank screen. “You’re here to give me a story, Cortland.” She glanced at him, noticing for the first time since he’d rushed into her office that he looked a good deal worse for wear. “Does your story have anything to do with the fact that you look like shit?” 

“It’s because Aelin fucking punched me,” he griped. 

Kaltain’s brows shot up. “Aelin…Galathynius?”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Dressed up like a fuckin’ slut last night. I ran into her at a bar; she was out with some people I didn’t recognize, and when I tried to buy her a drink, she laughed in my face.” 

“Laughing doesn’t leave black eyes, Cortland,” Kaltain returned dryly. 

“I haven’t got to the part where she punched me.” He scowled, the aggrieved expression drawing attention to the vivid bruising encircling his right eye and the scattered smaller bruises and little flecks of scratches on his face. “I left the damn bar before she did, ended up taking a call outside the place, and I was there when she and her friends left, all drunk and stumbling. So I did what any decent guy would do and offered to drive them home, and Aelin punched me in the goddamn face.” He was practically raving by the end of his little rant. 

“You offered to drive Aelin Galathynius home?” Kaltain repeated, stylus flying over her iPad as she took notes. She chuckled. “Cortland, the woman probably has more than one driver. Not to mention that by all accounts, she’s so not interested in you that she bought your company.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds like interest to me.”

“Yeah, for her bank account,” she snorted. “Anything else for the story, Cortland?” 

“Just that I woke up in a goddamn alley like this.” His frown dug a deep groove between his eyebrows. “That bitch.” 

“If you don’t have anything else for the story, get the hell out.” Kaltain set down her stylus, got up, and opened the door. “We’re not spending any more time together, or did you not mean it that way?” Her saccharine smile made Sam cringe. 

“Kal–I–I didn’t–”

“Yes you did.” She pointed out into the hallway. “You’ve given me a good story, Cortland. Now get your fancy little ass back to Daddy’s office.” Pissed, Sam roughly stood up and stalked out of her office, muttering something about stupid bitch under his breath. 

She almost pitied the man. Someday, his misogyny would get him into a tight little corner that he couldn’t crawl his way out of. But there was a column waiting to be written—a particularly sordid one, just what the public was craving—and she couldn’t let his chauvinism get in the way of her job. 

The article dropped late that afternoon, and Kaltain came into work the next morning still grinning, still riding the high of an instantly viral article. Maybe being a gossip columnist wasn’t always the most rewarding job, but the times when she got to see her work splashed all over the internet were…euphoric. The short hallway leading to her office was quiet, as usual, and she was buried so far in the notifications she hadn’t read that she didn’t notice that the whole floor was also quiet. 

Only when she strolled into her office and dropped her shoulder bag into someone else’s lap did she realize that she wasn’t alone. 

“Good morning, Miss Rompier.” The voice was female, throaty, slightly raspy, and utterly devoid of pleasantry. 

Slowly, Kaltain dragged her gaze from her desk to the lean, masked and hooded, black-clad figure lounging in the other chair, black combat boots propped carelessly on the low bookshelf beside the desk. “What is this? Who are you?” Instinctively, she reached for her belt, where she always kept a tiny can of pepper spray. 

“Not so fast, Miss Rompier.” The masked woman lifted her chin, and Kaltain felt a hard, heavy hand close around her wrists in a vice-like grip. “We’re going to have a little chat about the article you just posted.” 

“I–” Before Kaltain could protest, a needle pricked at the back of her neck, and everything faded to black. 

~

She awoke in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of mildew, sitting in a wooden chair with her hands bound behind her back. Her head throbbed, her neck was stiff, and her heartbeat raced with adrenaline and terror. Where the hell was she?

“Good to see you awake, Miss Rompier.” The woman who’d had her drugged and kidnapped sat across from her, the dim overhead light throwing shadows across her still-masked face. 

“Who the hell are you?” Kaltain snapped. 

The woman chuckled softly, a lethal, raspy breath that sent ominous shivers down Kaltain’s spine. “My name is Celaena.” 

Fuck. “And why do you give a shit if one of those filthy rich people you supposedly hate is featured in one of my columns, Celaena?” 

“Because it’s not time for that quite yet.” Celaena clicked her tongue. “Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want answered, Miss Rompier. Aelin Galathynius needs to stay out of the tabloids for now, but…” She trailed off, absentmindedly dancing a throwing star across her gloved knuckles. “But I rather liked how you didn’t hesitate to drag her through the muck.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaltain shot back, feeling defensive.

“It means that when it’s time, I want you to publish every dirty little detail that I send you.” 

Kaltain narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. “You’re taking down Galathynius?” 

Celaena shrugged. “Again, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. The wrong things could get you killed, Miss Rompier.” She leaned in close enough for Kaltain to see the glint of steel hiding beneath her sleeves. “I wasn’t planning to kill you, but I’m not afraid to do it.” 

“You–you’ll send me everything you want published?”

“Every single sordid detail.” 

Slowly, Kaltain nodded. “Alright. What do you want me to do now?” 

~

“All of them?” Rowan dropped his blue-light glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to stave off the headache. 

“All of them, sir,” Luca confirmed. “Three years of tabloid history wiped clean, and it appears that practically every mention of the recent Galathynius article is being scrubbed from the internet.” 

“How the fuck is that happening?” Rowan demanded. “The damn column should have left such a large footprint by now that we’d be able to find it even though the original publisher took it down.” 

Luca chewed his lower lip. “I…I don’t know, sir.” 

Rowan swore viciously under his breath. “Get me Kaltain Rompier’s address, Luca.” 

“One sec.” Luca rapidly typed something into his laptop, then scribbled down a few words on a plain yellow sticky note. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” Rowan grabbed the note, threw his jacket over his shoulder, snatched his keys from the wall, and strode out to the garage. His mind was whirling with a hundred different theories about why the viral gossip article about Aelin Galathynius’s recent, rather colorful, night out had abruptly vanished from the internet, along with the last three years of the columnist’s history. 

Half-baked ideas churned through his brain with dizzying speed, and Kaltain Rompier was a crucial part of all of them. 

Within twenty minutes, he had pulled up to the building where Kaltain worked, parked in a visitor spot, and made sure his badge was easily visible. He strode into the office, took the elevator to the floor where her tabloid was located, and pushed open the front doors with little effort. 

“I’d like a few minutes to speak to Kaltain, please,” he said to the young woman at the front desk. 

The young woman’s huge blue eyes grew wider, and her hand trembled as she pointed wordlessly down the hall. “Th–that way, Officer.” 

“Thank you.” He knew he was being a dick, but he headed away without saying anything else. 

Kaltain Rompier was sitting at her desk typing away on her laptop when he knocked twice at the half-open door and let himself in. 

She muffled a shriek, hands flying to her throat. “What the hell?!” 

Rowan raised his empty hands in a show of approachability. “Kaltain Rompier?” 

The columnist slowly sank back into her seat. “That’s me.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you going to tell me why the goddamn cops are here?” 

“It’s just me.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I have a couple of questions about your most recent article, if you don’t mind.” 

Her expression shuttered. “I took it down, Mr…what should I call you?” 

“‘Lieutenant’ is fine. I’m not police, I’m TSF.” 

She nodded. “I took down the article, Lieutenant.” 

“Why?” He leaned slightly forward, waiting for an answer to the question that had plagued him ever since PD had received notice that Kaltain had gone missing. That was five days ago. He’d feared that there would be another victim in the never-ending string of homicides, but she was sitting there in front of him, alive and well if a little shaken from his sudden appearance in her office. 

“It was…” Kaltain sighed. “I’m a gossip columnist, Lieutenant, which means that my job is to dig up people’s dirty little secrets and make them public. I’ve never seen the true ugliness of it until I wrote that piece on Aelin Galathynius and instantly hated myself.” 

Rowan blinked. “You wrote a tabloid article on Aelin Galathynius, based on whatever source you could find, and that made you…guilty?” 

“It made me realize how awful the tabloid industry is,” Kaltain murmured. “It’s not like I haven’t seen the tabloids about Ms. Galathynius that have floated around, but she’s so…so highly regarded, and the tabloids have always been obviously contrived. What I wrote…it wasn’t.” 

“What was your source?” 

“Sam Cortland,” she admitted. 

Rowan froze, pieces clicking together before his eyes. “Who?”

“Sam Cortland of Cortland Advertising,” Kaltain repeated, a tinge of bitterness clouding her tone. “He showed up at my office with a hell of a black eye and a hell of a story, and I wrote and sold it without even thinking until it was done.” 

“I see.” Closing his notepad, Rowan stood up. “Will you still be working here, or are you going to seek something else?” 

“I’m trying to get a real journalist job,” the columnist replied. “I just…I don’t want to feel grimy like this all the time anymore.” 

Rowan nodded. “Well, best of luck.” He moved towards the door. “One more thing. You were missing for several days, Miss Rompier. Why was that?” 

“Family emergency,” she admitted, a haunted look flickering through her eyes. “I had a friend drive me to the airport. Didn’t trust myself to drive safely.” 

“My apologies.” Rowan stepped out into the hallway. “Thanks for letting me drop in on you, Miss Rompier, and good luck with your job search.” With that, he left the office, got back in his cruiser, and headed back to PD with a whole new chunk of information ready to add to his theory. 

Sam Cortland. 

As much as Rowan wanted to deny the ease of the truth, it made so much sense. Cortland was a petty, unhappy little man who hadn’t taken well to Gal Inc. acquiring his family’s company, and while his father, the elder Cortland and current CEO of Cortland Advertising, was adjusted to the merger, Sam was not. Apparently, he’d deemed it best to go after Aelin like a jilted ex-lover–straight to the tabloids–in a vain attempt to see her thrown out of power and popularity. 

It didn’t entirely explain why Kaltain (or someone else) had scrubbed the internet clean of all traces of her article, but it was a start. And if he was correct, Kaltain’s “family emergency” hadn’t been an emergency at all, but an intervention from a certain unseen criminal–the barely-noticeable needle mark on the side of her neck spoke of something other than running to the airport at the last minute.  

It seemed that Celaena Sardothien had something to gain from Aelin’s current status, and she wasn’t afraid to resort to violence to keep her schemes running. 

~

Aelin swept one final gaze over her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the far wall of her expansive walk-in closet and nodded in satisfaction. Her dress–a casual but classy cap-sleeved sheath of powder-green linen that was perfect for the balmy spring evening–flowed gracefully down the lines and curves of her figure, her light makeup masked the dark shadows smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair was half-up in a wooden clip, the rest cascading in tamed waves down her back. Beige, wedge-heeled sandals added a few extra inches to her height (and cleverly concealed a pair of flat little knives), and a matching beige handbag completed the look. 

If she’d agonized over every little detail of this outfit and this night for the last two weeks, it was only because she wanted to properly impress the man who should be about to knock on her door. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the increasingly filthy dreams she’d been having–featuring that very man–nor what she did when she awoke from those dreams. 

As if her wandering thoughts had summoned the man, he knocked three times on her door, three firm, authoritative thuds of his fist against the thick, lacquered oak front door, and—though she would never admit it—the scrap of lace between her thighs dampened. 

“You aren’t working right now, Lieutenant,” she teased as she opened the door, a grin unfolding across her face as she watched his face flicker through shock, nervousness, and anticipation. 

“You’ll forgive me if it’s hard to get out of the work habits, Miss CEO,” he returned, emerald eyes glinting with humor. 

“Fair enough.” She stepped backwards into her apartment. “Welcome to my humble dwelling, Rowan.” 

“Humble,” he echoed, both incredulous and teasing. “This place’s rent probably costs more than my mortgage.” 

Aelin flashed him a grin. “What good is my career if I can’t afford a comfortable place to live and still have some left to donate?” 

“You donate?” 

“I thought we’d established you weren’t working, Ro.” 

He chuckled. “I’m…call it a first-date question or something. I didn’t expect you to say that.” 

“Not many do,” she admitted, shifting her gaze out the window, where Orynth’s skyline was washed in gold and copper by the setting sun. “But nothing gives me more genuine pleasure than seeing the faces of every child who gets to go to school because I make more money than I can possibly spend.” 

“You set up a foundation?” 

“Have you heard of the Fireheart Foundation?” 

Rowan’s face slackened in appreciative shock. “That’s you?” 

“Well, my parents started it—‘Fireheart’ was Dad’s nickname for Mom—and I continue their legacy.” A soft flush crept up her cheeks, heating her face. “It’s not that big of a deal, Ro.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “And you distracted me so much that it’s after seven-thirty.”

“Hmm, we’d better get going, then. And by the way, it is a big deal, but I won’t bother you with that if you don’t want me to.” Easily, naturally, he laced his fingers with hers, and led her out into the hall, waiting for her to lock her door. “Close your eyes, Ae.” 

“In my building?” 

“Fine, as soon as we get to the car.” He pretended to sigh at her good-natured giggle. 

As she clicked her seatbelt into place, she snickered. “Is it bad that I’m thinking this is some elaborate scheme to kidnap me?” 

“I’m offended!” he gasped, mock-theatrical. “I’m the guy who rescues you from the big bad kidnapper, Ae, not the big bad kidnapper himself.” 

“You can be the big bad something else,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. 

He spluttered out a cough, his tan cheeks flaring scarlet. “Aelin!” 

She just smirked. “You heard me, darling.” 

“Dinner first,” he grunted, his voice more raspy than he probably intended. He managed to compose himself, and he shot her a blazingly hot gaze in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the parking garage and drove into downtown Orynth. “Then I’ll give you big bad something.” 

“We’ll see about that,” she purred, her voice like silk and sin. Then she closed her eyes, smothering a wicked little chuckle that rose in her at his frustrated, half-strangled exhale. 

About thirty minutes later, he stopped. “Open your eyes, Ae.” 

She did. “East Orynth Sporting Range? Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping scheme, Lieutenant?” 

“Funny,” he deadpanned, hurrying around the car to open her door for her. “Have you ever done archery before, Miss Galathynius?” 

“Drop the title, Lieutenant, and yes. I took lessons when I was younger—you know, like a good little rich girl.” 

“Let’s see how well this good little rich girl can still shoot, then,” he murmured, the low rumble of his words dancing deliciously down her spine. 

“If I miss every target, I’m blaming the lack of flexibility…in the bow, of course.” She laughed softly at his muted blush. “Maybe you’ll have to come stand behind me and guide my position.” 

“Oh, I’ll guide your position, alright,” he agreed, the simmering heat of his gaze searing right through the soft linen of her dress. 

“Only if necessary,” she said, taking his hand as they walked up to the entrance. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for her. “Thank you, Ro.” 

“Anytime.” He strolled up to the check-in desk and waved at the middle-aged woman sitting at the counter. “Hey, Philippa!” 

The woman’s kind face split into a crinkled, joyful smile. “Rowan Whitethorn! I haven’t seen you in years, you little troublemaker!” 

“He’s a grown-up troublemaker now,” Aelin joked. 

Philippa’s smile widened as she took in Aelin’s appearance and closeness to Rowan. “And who might this be, Rowan? She’s far out of your league, that I can tell.” 

“This is Miss Aelin Galathynius,” Rowan said. 

Philippa reached across the counter and squeezed Aelin’s hands. “Lovely to meet you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine.” Aelin beamed at the maternal-looking woman. “Tell me, has Rowan really been coming here since he was a mischievous little scamp?” 

“I still remember him being dragged away from the rock wall,” Philippa said, eyes twinkling. 

Rowan sighed. “I suppose I’ll just go to the range while you spill all my life’s secrets, hmm?” 

“I would never miss a chance to show off my little-rich-girl tricks,” Aelin returned. “Shall we?” 

Philippa passed a clipboard across the desk. “Sign this, both of you, and then go on ahead. Rowan, you can show Miss Aelin everything; you know where it all is.” 

Aelin signed and passed Rowan the clipboard, and he signed and handed it back to Philippa. “I’d be happy to. Thanks, Philippa.” 

“Enjoy!” the older woman called, waving as the pair headed for the equipment room. 

Rowan’s hand shifted to the small of Aelin’s back. “We have the range to ourselves for an hour; I convinced Philippa to let us in during what’s usually janitorial hours. Don’t worry, they don’t actually clean right now. They just use it as a built-in break.” 

“How clever,” Aelin mused. “I…oh, wow!” She turned in a slow circle, sweeping her eyes over every piece of equipment that lined the neatly organized racks and walls of the equipment room. “Why didn’t my parents send me here?” 

“Too afraid you’d never leave?” Rowan teased. 

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “You think you’re so funny.” 

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you shoot the floor.” His eyes glittered with challenge. 

Aelin cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on, Robin Hood.” She perused the racks of bows, testing a few before settling on a lightweight but sturdy fiberglass recurve bow. She slung a quiver of the range’s standard blunt practice arrows over her shoulder and joined Rowan, quelling the surge of lust that flared between her legs at the sight of him with a bow slung over his shoulder. 

“Satisfied with your choice, Ae?” 

“Unless it performs poorly, I am.” She winked, dropping her gaze for a brief moment. 

“I’ll show you poor performance,” he all but growled, leading the way into the range. 

The expansive, high-ceilinged space stretched from one end of the long building to the other, with several rows of targets lined up at various distances across the turf-floored expanse. There were lines of chalk painted onto the turf, indicating where archers of different ages and heights should stand. Overhead fans blew with a low mechanical whirr, circulating the faint odor of leather and resin through the air. 

Confidently, Rowan took a stance at one of the white lines, nocked an arrow, aimed his bow, took a breath, and released the arrow on the exhale. It sliced cleanly through the air and embedded itself in the tiny red bulls-eye of one of the mid-distance targets. 

Aelin whistled. “Impressive.” She took her own stance three spaces away from him. “I’d tell you what that sight did to me, but then we’d never make it out of here.” 

His next shot, which he’d been releasing as she spoke, shuddered and went wide, landing in an outer ring of the target. “Distraction is a cheap trick, Ae.” 

“Who said this was a competition?” With a sweet smile, she shook out her arms and legs, planted her feet in a stance that her muscles had never fully forgotten—hell, who was she kidding? She’d maintained that skill, and it had come in handy more than once as she built the Boss’s empire—fitted an arrow to the taut string of her bow, aimed, and let it fly. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded cleanly into her target, exactly where she had aimed. 

“Maybe it really has been too long,” Rowan teased, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at where her arrow had landed. 

Smack dab in the middle of the wooden crossbeam from which the target hung. 

“Aim a little lower next time, love,” he said, low and slow. 

“Wouldn’t you like that,” she returned, a slow smirk curling her lips. She nocked another arrow and aimed again, fired on the exhale, and sent the arrow slicing straight into the bulls-eye of the target in the row behind the one she’d just shot into. 

Rowan whistled in admiration. “How about a contest, Ae? A real one?” She raised her eyebrows in interest, and he continued. “We take turns picking targets, the one who’s closest gets the point, and whoever has more points at the end wins.” 

“And what’s the prize?” 

“Loser buys dinner.” 

“That’s boring.” Her eyes sparkled with eager challenge. “If you win, you get to see what’s under this dress. Or not under it.” 

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Very slowly. “If you win, I’ll show you what you missed when you left me hard and leaking in that damn hallway at your gala.” 

“Deal.” She held out her hand, he clasped it, and they shook hands, the warm heaviness of their contest settling between them with no small amount of tension. “You are going down, darling.” 

“If I’m lucky, that’ll only be the beginning.” He smirked at her soft gasp. “Can’t wait to hear that sound again, love.” 

“You wish.” She rolled her shoulders. “First target: the bulls-eye of that second-to-last target.” In one fluid motion, she nocked, aimed, and fired, and her arrow speared clean through the bulls-eye she’d pointed at. 

Rowan whistled. “Haven’t practiced archery since you were a kid, my ass.” 

“You do have a rather fine one,” she said lightly, snickering at his flustered cough. 

“If you’re trying to distract me, try again.” Confidently—and dear god, the things that confidence did to her—he fired an arrow, sending it into the exact same spot she had hit. “Looks like it’s my turn to pick a target.” 

“Choose wisely.” 

His smirk was edged with something wild and challenging and deliciously dangerous. “Bottom left corner of the target at the hundred-meter line. Not the outer ring, the bottom left corner.” He rolled his shoulders, carefully aimed, exhaled, and released his arrow. It sang through the air and embedded into the lower left corner of the farthest target with a muted thunk. 

“Impressive,” Aelin hummed. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully aimed, ignoring the sights on the bow and using her instinct to push her bow just a fraction to the right. 

“You sure about that position?” Without warning, Rowan stepped up behind her and settled his hands onto her hips. “Looks like you’re aiming too far right, darling.” 

She stifled the delightful tremor that shuddered through her at his closeness. “I know the path of my shots, Lieutenant.” With a bright smile, she loosed her arrow, which whistled through the air and cleanly skewered the lower left corner of the hundred-meter-away target, a good inch and a half closer to the juncture of the corner than his shot had been. 

He inhaled sharply and stepped back just a smidge, but not before she’d felt the thick, hard evidence of what her shot had done to him. “I’ll have to pick a more difficult target,” he said, though there was no small amount of admiration in his voice. “Your turn.” 

Aelin swept her gaze around the range, a wicked grin lifting her lips as she settled on a target. “See that target hanging up on the far wall?” 

“Mhmm.” He moved to her side, sharp gaze calculating the distance. “That has to be two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty meters away.” 

“There’s a chain at the top that anchors that target to the wall, which has to be padded for safety. Our target is the top link of that chain—land your shot through the chain so it goes into the wall padding.” 

He stared at her in shock. “Are you insane?” 

“Maybe.” She winked. “Why, are you afraid you can’t make it?” 

“Why don’t you let me take the first shot to prove that I’m not afraid of anything?” 

“If you want.” She stepped aside. “All yours, big boy.” 

“Say that again.” His voice was a soft, gravelly rumble, laced with the kind of command that she’d only ever dreamed of hearing. 

Rather than give into her fantasies and jump him right then and there, Aelin just smirked. “Make that shot, and I’ll say it again.” 

“Fuck,” he murmured, mostly under his breath. He took his time lining up his shot, carefully aiming just a few inches too high to compensate for the arc the arrow would take at such a long distance. Finally, he drew back his arrow and let it fly, watching it like a hawk as it sliced through the faintly stale air of the range. The arrow arced up, then gently down, and landed with a clean thud three inches to the right of the chain suspending the target from the wall. He grinned, proud that he’d managed to get so close to the almost-impossible target. “Beat that shot, darling.” 

She stepped up to the shooting line and rolled out her neck. “Let’s hope I can live up to the way I felt when I picked this target.” She took a good minute to line up her shot, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. After settling on her aim, she pulled back her arrow, took a deep breath, and released on the exhale. Her arrow whistled across the distance in a precise, beautiful arc and skewered through the second-highest link of the chain holding up the target on the far wall. 

Rowan’s jaw gaped in complete shock, his eyes wide with incredulity. 

Aelin sucked in a gasp, her eyes going wide as she realized that she’d made the shot. Two thoughts raced through her mind—one being fuck, what if he starts suspecting me now? and the other being I can’t fucking believe I made that shot!

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you of being some kind of archery master,” he said, unabashed appreciation replacing the shock written all over his face. “That was fucking insane, Ae.” 

She laughed quietly, still stunned herself. “I honestly don’t know how in the hell I made that.” 

“I think that makes you the winner.” He looped his free arm around her waist. “And I recall something about the loser buying dinner.” 

“And dessert,” she added, leaning into his side and looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. 

~

Their exit from the archery range was a blur of rapid motion and badly concealed desire, and she only blinked back into reality when they climbed into the backseat of his car and he practically lunged across the small distance between them and crashed his lips into hers. 

She threaded her fingers into his hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss, her tongue tangling with his. A soft moan broke free from her throat, and he groaned in response, breaking the kiss and shifting his lips to her throat, tracking a trail of soft, hot kisses down her sensitive skin. 

“No…no marks,” she managed to say. He hummed in assent and nipped lightly at her fluttering pulse point before working his way back up her throat and kissing her deeply again. She moaned into the kiss, her hips inadvertently rolling, shifting her body closer against him. 

He groaned. “Aelin…” A short pause, their heartbeats so loud they could practically hear each other’s pulses. “I won’t take you in the backseat of a car this first time.” 

“Why not?” She dragged one hand ever so slowly down his chest, almost reaching his throbbing erection before he caught her wrist with a growl. 

“Because anyone could walk past and see us, and I don’t need an audience when I make you scream my name.” 

She went silent, her slightly-swollen lips dropping in aroused surprise. “Then get me home, Lieutenant.” 

A dark little smile crooked his lips. “Have I ever told you that I’ve dreamed of you using my title in bed?” 

“Now you have.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Lieutenant.” 

He drove back to her apartment building with so little heed for traffic rules that she almost didn’t believe he was a cop. And when he parked and opened her door for her, the promise lighting his eyes made her knees turn to jelly. 

“Nervous, Ae?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator. 

“Hardly.” She pressed the button for her floor. “I recall you talking some big talk about showing me what I missed, so I’d only be nervous that you won’t last long enough to do that.” 

His hands flexed against her waist, the heat of him seeping through her linen dress. “Keep saying things like that and we’ll see who doesn’t last.” 

“Ah-ah, big boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Loser doesn’t get to call the shots.” 

“Aelin,” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Rowan,” she echoed, giggling at his evident frustration. The elevator stopped with a ding, its door opening to Aelin’s floor. She threaded her fingers with his and led him down the hallway to her apartment, unlocked the door, and let him in. She’d just finished locking the deadbolt behind them when his hands circled her waist and his lips pressed against the back of her neck, soft but so intensely heated that she drew in a tiny gasp. 

“Told you I’d hear that sound again,” he murmured into her ear. 

She arched backwards, molding her body against his. “And I told you the loser doesn’t get to call the shots tonight, love.” Smoothly, she moved out of his embrace, bent down, and unfastened her heeled sandals, leaving them on the short shoe rack by the door. She strolled through the living room, mentally counting the seconds until he followed. 

Five, six, seven. Seven seconds. Then Rowan kicked off his shoes, crossed the living room in four long strides, and backed her into the closest wall in another two steps. 

“This doesn’t look like my bed,” she teased. 

“We’ll get to that.” Cupping his hands under her ass, he hoisted her effortlessly up and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. She groaned softly and tangled her fingers into his hair, unapologetically ruffling up the short strands as she kissed him harder, nipping at his lips, a challenge and a tease all at once. 

“Gods,” she moaned as his lips worked down her neck, her hips grinding into his. 

“Just me,” he mumbled into her skin. 

She huffed out a breathy laugh. “How are you so funny and so hot right now?”

“Call it a special skill.” He chuckled at her wry laugh and abruptly pulled her away from the wall and down the rest of the short hallway to her bedroom, where he set her down on her feet. “Dress. Off.” 

Faster than he could blink, she hooked her foot around the back of his legs and knocked him to his knees. “What did I tell you about giving me commands tonight, love?” 

“Fuck me,” he breathed, cock straining at the front of his pants, probably leaving a permanent imprint of his zipper. “I didn’t know you could do that, Ae.” 

“Now you do.” Her turquoise gaze trailed lazily down his body. “Clothes off, Ro.” 

He yanked his shirt over his head and had his pants down to his knees before he looked up at her with a wry smirk. “Can’t exactly get my pants all the way off like this.” 

She chuckled. “Here.” Leaning down, she pulled his belt out of his pants, looped it swiftly around his wrists—deliberately making the restraint very simple so that investigative brain of his wouldn’t suspect anything—and let him stand up. “Now get your pants off, love.” 

“I…” His cock was practically shoving through his boxers. “My hands…”

“Don’t tell me you need your hands to get your pants off, my darling Lieutenant,” she hummed. With a wicked half-smirk, she pulled her dress up and over her head, revealing a lacy, golden bra and panties set. 

It took him exactly ten seconds to kick off his pants and drop back to his knees, a desperate groan ripping from his throat as he drank in the sight of her in scraps of golden lace. 

“Look at you already on your knees for me,” she cooed, sauntering across the room until she stood before him. She trailed her fingers through his hair and down his face, dancing across the intricate craftsmanship of his tattoo. “Good boy.” 

“Aelin,” Rowan moaned, desperation bleeding into his tone, “please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Please,” he said, eyes wide and begging, “let me touch you. Let me taste you. Please.” 

“Such pretty manners.” She dropped down on the end of her bed, conveniently stripping off her panties as she did, and let her legs fall open. “Only when I say so, Lieutenant.” He groaned but didn’t move, his whole body tense with the effort it took to keep in place rather than lunge for her and bury his tongue between her thighs. “Good boy,” she gasped, her head falling back as she circled her clit with her thumb, the soft touch lighting a fire in her blood. “Touch me, darling.” 

She’d barely spoken the words before he yanked his hands free, launched himself forward, fell back to his knees at the end of her bed, and replaced her thumb with his. 

“Fuck,” she gasped, hips jerking. “More, Ro.”

He circled her entrance with one fingertip before plunging his finger into her, the wetness that had pooled between her legs naturally slicking the digit. She moaned with pleasure, guiding him to add a second finger, and reached up to tease her nipples. His eyes went huge and pleading, and he struggled to find words before he managed to choke out a coherent thought. 

“Let me taste you, Ae,” he begged. “Fucking please.” 

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “Thank you for asking,” she finally said, running her free hand down his throat. “Go ahead, Ro. Put that filthy mouth of yours to work.” 

Wisely, he kept his fingers moving, twisting and curling inside of her, as he buried his head between her legs and swept his tongue in a broad, strong stroke up her cunt. He circled her clit with his tongue, sucked the throbbing little bud between his lips, and groaned deeply as the taste of her exploded on his tongue.

Between his ridiculously fucking talented mouth and the headiness of ordering around the gorgeous man she’d been dreaming of since February, Aelin didn’t last long before she clamped her thighs around Rowan’s head and called out his name as she came all over his face. Her body shook as her orgasm subsided, ripples of bliss passing through her. 

“Fuck me,” she sighed, her head clearing again. “That was so good, darling.” 

Slowly, he lifted his head and withdrew his glistening fingers. “You want me to fuck you?” 

“Oh, I want you to do much more than just that.” Languidly, she moved up the bed and stretched out against the multitude of pillows. “Take off the rest of your clothes and come here, love.” 

It took him all of five seconds to tear off his boxers, revealing a thick, hard cock that made her pussy clench just thinking about how fucking amazing it was going to feel filling her up, and position himself atop her, his weight braced on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing her. “Here I am.” 

“Here you are.” A softer light replaced the commanding glint in her eyes. “And here I am. What you do next is up to you, Rowan.” 

He exhaled shakily, a warmth bordering on love suffusing his face. “I’ve dreamed of this since the night of that goddamn gala, Aelin.” 

“Me too.” She draped one arm over his shoulder, tracing the defined planes of his upper back. “So do something about it.” 

And Rowan did.

~

It was May 25, which made it, as Gavriel would probably scream, time to stop fucking around and start producing some concrete proof. Rowan knew he’d been putting off actually filing the evidence he’d collected, using the flimsy excuse of the amount of paperwork it would take, and he was finally having a calm enough week at Orynth PD to lock himself in his office and start the task. 

He went through the homicide reports mechanically, having filed so many of them during his career that he had the process down to muscle memory. The only thing he had to consciously remember for these reports was to track the consistency of the victims’ MO’s, because that was one of the key things upon which his case rested. If he was going to get Celaena Sardothien convicted for her reign of shadow-cloaked terror—and he swore he would—he needed to make certain that he drove home the point about her preferred mode of torture-to-murder being the same. 

The fact that his suspect had never been seen in person would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one. He had full faith that when his trap was set and baited, Sardothien would come right into its open arms. 

He took a lunch break after finishing the reports, during which he allowed himself to open his personal cell phone and scroll through his and Aelin’s recent texts. He even managed to call and catch her during a break, which meant they could spend a few minutes talking. Which had him grinning like an idiot when he returned to his office. 

Turning back to the evidence filing, Rowan picked up the small plastic bag containing the tiny piece of mysterious fabric. Aedion had left a copy of his analytical notes, as his explanation of the material would be just as crucial as the material itself when this case eventually came to court. Rowan flipped through the pages, noting down any key information as he filed the fabric scrap as evidence, when two separate details caught his eyes. 

First, early in his initial observations, Aedion had noted that the fabric had “remarkably straight, cleanly squared edges.” Rowan turned over that thought in his head, jaw dropping when he realized the implication—the fabric had not been torn, but cut out of a larger piece. 

Which left the distinct possibility that it had been planted at the explosion site. 

“Fucking hell,” Rowan swore, jaw ticking as he added that note to the evidence report. 

The second thing that caught his eye was towards the end of Aedion’s notes, an otherwise ordinary note about the place of manufacture. Developed at Galathynius, Inc. Laboratories. Rowan shook his head, blinked a few times, and reread the note five more times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Each time, it said the same thing. 

The mysterious foreign fabric had been developed at the labs of Aelin’s beloved company. 

Rowan’s mind raced a mile a minute through the possibilities of that one little note. On the extreme end, it implied that Aelin had created the fabric—which was impossible, because she’d told him herself that she had an engineering team. So perhaps her engineers had developed it? Without her knowing? But that would make no sense, since Aelin was clearly invested enough in her company to be fully aware of what was developed in her labs. So…a secret project?

Or, as Rowan began to suspect, if Celaena Sardothien was using Aelin Galathynius as a cover-up, it followed that she would have been able to use the lab and develop some kind of near-impenetrable material for her nefarious schemes. 

All the more reason to end the Shadow Assassin before she decided Aelin was no longer useful.

~

On the unseasonably warm evening of May 30, Aelin—clad in the form-fitting black suit of Celaena Sardothien—wove her way through the shipping district, darting from shadow to shadow like a breath of nighttime breeze. A few days ago, Nox had left her a note that there had been a suspicious figure seen lurking around Warehouse 4, and because she needed to let off some steam, she’d decided to go investigate it herself. With the SecondSkin covering her true skin and her suit snug against her body, she blended into the dark little nooks and crannies of the industrial sprawl of buildings, and she made it to Warehouse 4 undetected. At the perimeter of the security cameras’ field, she tapped her boot twice against an innocuous-looking crack in the unkempt pavement, disarming the cameras temporarily. 

Footsteps silent, she crept up to the steel-sided building and paced a careful lap around the structure. She’d just started a second lap when there was a faint rustle from the cluster of nearby shrubs, and a knife sliced through the night and embedded itself in her arm. 

Or it would have, had she not caught it before it could make contact. 

Thick, tense silence stretched across the short distance between her and whoever the fuck was hiding in the shrubbery like a damn coward. 

Then, with a muffled “fuck,” a tall, muscled, black-clad male figure exploded out of the shrubs and rushed at her. 

She dodged his initial brute rush, kicking out as she sidestepped and managing to get the man in the back of the leg. He grunted, reversed direction, and swung a powerful right cross punch at her, which she blocked with one forearm and returned with a left hook. He swatted away her strike, so she launched into a flurry of rapid-fire punches and strikes, distracting him enough that she was able to get in close quarters and drive one knee into the juncture of his leg and his groin. He swore viciously and retaliated with a brutal punch to her side, which made most of her breath whoosh out of her lungs. 

“Dick move,” she huffed. 

The man scoffed. “Says the woman who literally just kneed me in the dick.” 

“Obviously you have no knowledge of anatomy.” She landed a punch to his shoulder joint and followed it up with a boot to his thigh. “Or you’d know that I kneed you in the thigh joint, idiot.” 

“Nobody told me the Boss was such a smart-ass.” He smacked the small knife out of her left hand. “Now who’s not playing by the rules?” 

“What rules?” With a vicious grin, she ducked his roundhouse swing and thrust her elbow into his stomach. He folded over with a groan, though he recovered rapidly. Not rapidly enough to fully dodge the high, sweeping kick she directed at his face, hitting his jaw enough to bruise and send his head jerking sideways. “There aren’t rules in this world.” 

“No…shit,” he wheezed. He dodged her sudden rush and whirled around to meet her head-on again, flicking open a switchblade. 

“Nice blade.” Aelin’s smirk flashed white in the blue-black darkness as she whipped twin serrated daggers from her thigh sheaths. “Little bit thuggish though, don’t you think?” 

“Says the goddamn Boss.” 

God, but it was fun to go into combat with someone who wasn’t afraid to dish her sarcasm right back at her. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, hmm? Pity I won’t be able to listen to it much longer.” 

“That’s what you think.” He swiped at her thigh, gasping shortly when she whipped her leg up to avoid the blade. Gasping in a more strangled manner when she wrapped that leg around his neck and half-threw, half-strangled him to the ground in a single fluid, brutal maneuver that was some kind of unholy cross between martial arts and street fighting. “Fuck!”

She stomped on his wrist, forcing him to release his knife, and swiftly immobilized him, though he was a good deal taller and heavier than she was. “Any last words?” The tip of her dagger touched his pulsing jugular, eager to rip open the skin. 

“Only–”

“WAIT!”

Aelin muffled a particularly colorful curse. “What the fuck, Con?!” 

“Boss, wait!” Con sprinted around so he was in her view, glancing quickly at the man she had pinned to the ground. “I know him.” 

“You have fifteen seconds to explain.” 

Con yanked the man’s dark mask and hood off, revealing tawny skin, blonde curls, and an oddly familiar face. “Long time no see, brother.” 

“Brother?” 

“Boss, this is Fen.”  

The blonde–who, Aelin noted, was indeed Con’s mirror image, but blonde–grinned. “Fenrys Moonbeam, at your service.”  

She snorted softly. “I’ll be the judge of that. Con, is he safe?”  

Con shrugged and addressed his brother. “Where have you been, Fen?”  

“Evading authority, like usual.” 

The dark-haired twin rolled his eyes. “He’s safe. Good eyes, good ears, talks too much but knows when to shut his stupid face.”  

“All right, Fen, you’re hired. I could use another pair of eyes, and your brother could use a break, if he knows what that is.” Aelin released Fenrys and stood up, brushing off her hands. 

Fen pushed himself to his feet with a groan, shaking out his cramped, sore limbs. “So the interview consists of almost dying. Got it.” 

She threw him a vicious grin. “And if I decide I won’t hire a candidate, the ‘almost’ part goes away.” 

“Terrifying.” He gulped. “Well, then I’ll count myself lucky.” He shook her offered hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, Boss.” 

“I’m looking forward to seeing how your particular skills can be an asset.” She winked, relishing the way he shuddered ever so slightly at the obvious hint of her scheming. “I’ve been in need of a decent trespasser since the last one had an unfortunate run-in with a bullet.” 

“Unfortunate, huh?” 

“Very unfortunate.” She chuckled, low and dark. “He went two steps too far.” 

Fenrys grimaced. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, Boss.” With a lazy mockery of a salute, he limped off beside his brother, headed for Con’s truck. 

~

Back at his apartment that was little more than a shitty, rundown box with paper-thin walls, tucked into one of many nondescript brick apartment buildings bordering the industrial district, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched his aching body out on his crappy couch, settled an ice pack on his throbbing knee, and picked up the cellphone lying on the side table. Opening the short list of contacts, he scrolled for a moment before tapping on an icon and letting the phone ring. 

The call connected just after the third ring. “Moonbeam?” 

Fenrys knew better than to waste words. “I’m in, Cap.” 

“Wrong title.” Rowan Whitethorn’s grunt dripped with acerbic sarcasm. 

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Fenrys simpered. “Anyway, I’m in.” 

“Good.” 

Click. The call went dead. 

Fenrys sighed. He really should have expected Whitethorn to be as terse as his reputation suggested; the man had sent him an actual paper printout of his instructions, for fuck’s sake. At least the assignment was fairly simple. 

Infiltrate Celaena Sardothien’s ring of criminals. Check. 

Get into Sardothien’s good graces enough to go with her when she inevitably committed her next murder. Check…right? 

Collect as much evidence as possible of the Boss’s numerous heinous crimes so the TSF could convict her and end her rampage of villainy. He was working on that.

And preferably don’t fucking die in the attempt. That last part had been spoken in Rowan Whitethorn’s famously dry voice. 

No sweat. 

Aching from the unexpectedly brutal fight, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched out on his shitty couch, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of every goddamn spring in the bloody couch digging into his body, closed his eyes, and dropped into shallow sleep, hyperaware that he laid exactly twelve feet atop the equally rundown, mildew-ridden apartment of Boss Celaena Sardothien.

~~~

TAGS:

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[thewitchandtheassassin]

Little Spider (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: There’s only so much denial a girl can offer before it all comes crashing down.

Words: 2122

Warnings: SMUT! Language.

A/N: Practicing for Kinktober maybe. I dunno.

@natasharomanoffswife​ @natasha-danvers​ @aaron-despair​ @username23345 @xjiasx​ @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova​ @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne

-X-

Months ago the twitch in Yelena's brow would've made Kate scurry away with a panicked laugh, but right now, sitting in the Avenger's Compound, she couldn't stop from giggling sporadically at her embarrassed friend and floor-mate. It was absolutely ridiculous to see the extensively trained, cool former assassin gobsmacked and blushing as she fumbled to find a retort that was both scathing and dismissive of Kate's assessment.

"Admit it. You want (Y/N) to just slam you against a wall and fuck your brains out," Kate teased. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with that. She's sweet and strong and I bet she could lift you up the -"

"Shut up!" Yelena squeaked, glancing around the empty kitchen. "She is my sister's best friend. That would - that would be weird."

"That would be insanely hot," Kate argued. "Have you ever watched her train? Because I'm pretty sure every other living, breathing person in the Compound has outside of maybe Steve and Tony."

Noticing the flash of shame crossing Yelena's features, Kate sighed. She reached out, squeezing the blonde's wrist comfortingly.

"I know you're not good with your feelings considering the whole kill or be killed thing you did before this. But everyone around here seems to know you're special to (Y/N) except you. Of all the people she interacts with daily, there are exactly three people that she's given nicknames to. Everyone else is either being affectionately - or sometimes legitimately, depending on who's pissed her off that day - insulted or just called by our last names. She calls me Bishop so much that I forget I have a first name when we're on missions together."

Creases blossomed between her brows as she considered Kate's words.

"I -"

"Morning, ladies," Natasha greeted cheerfully, a tank-top clad you trailing behind with a tolerant smirk.

"Bishop."

You nodded, patting the Avenger-in-Training's hair playfully, ignoring her shriek of indignation at the ruffling of her neatly tied locks. As your gaze drifted to Yelena, your smirk softened into a genuine smile.

"Hello, little spider."

The gentleness in your voice stole the breath from her lungs, cheeks going aflame as Kate's assurances settled in her chest. It was easy to dismiss the signs when they weren't in front of her but she couldn't overlook the obvious differences from Kate to herself when they were presented so blatantly.

So lost in her own head, she barely registered a mouth nearing her ear until your hot breath caressed the reddened shell.

"You okay?" you whispered, a worried frown tugging at your lips. "You look upset."

"I am - I'm okay," she choked out, wincing at how unbelievable her reply sounded. "Just Kate being the annoying brat she is."

Countless lessons in lying yet she couldn't keep her voice from cracking under the pressure of your concerned probing. If only her handlers could see the mess she had become over a single woman.

"(Y/N), stop flirting with my sister. We're training new agents today and being late would be a terrible start. You can stick your tongue down her throat later when I can't see it," Natasha teased, earning a scathing glare from you, grinning at the startled noise that escaped her sister.

"Oh, as if I haven't walked in on you with your hand up Wanda's skirt. Appropriate payback, I would think," you hissed, pressing a lingering kiss to Yelena's cheek before righting yourself. “A little tongue… maybe some silicon.”

Grimacing at the thought of catching you in a similar position with the woman she'd protected since they were children, Natasha ushered you out of the kitchen. "Wanda isn't your sister."

"Close enough."

Waiting until the bickering faded, Kate studied the stunned blonde.

"Are you thinking about it now?"

"...yes."

Proud, Kate stole a piece of cold bacon from Yelena's plate and bit the end with a devious gleam in her eye. Not because Kate wanted it but because, for a split second, she was faster than Yelena – which was a complete first – and she was planning to take advantage of the few moments of victory she had.

"See? Told you. Hot."

-X-

           Strolling into the training room with a false sense of confidence and one thought in mind, Yelena made sure no stray agents waiting to garner your attention before meeting you near the punching bag; the same bag she'd watched you hit a hundred times. The same bag she'd often stayed near whenever you spoke with her after a workout session.

Where she realized she'd fallen in love with you.

Sensing the blonde Widow, you threw a final hit before turning to face her with the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

"Hello, spi -"

Yelena's lithe body slamming into yours nearly knocked you to the ground but quick footwork kept you both from hitting the floor, arms tight around her waist while her hands grasped at the base of your neck desperately. An incessant mouth met yours in a fierce, needy dance that you never hesitated to participate in, tongues acquainting while you tried to understand the sudden change.

You would never complain about Yelena wanting to kiss you, but you’d anticipated a long talk about feelings – walking her through the strongest of them, like you had with Natasha when she was dealing with the emotions she felt whenever Wanda was near – before ever reaching this moment but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She panted into your mouth, pliant and soft in your embrace as she silently begged for more. To lose control and let you hold the reins, merely a puppet to the pleasure.

Nimble digits wandered up her torso, wrapping delicately around her flushed throat as you kept her mouth firmly against yours. You weren't surprised that Yelena was submissive in moments of passion, always following in her sister’s footsteps. Natasha had drunkenly admitted one night that she felt safer not being in the seat of power; their training had never given them a chance for weakness - for a lack of control in any situation - so there was something wondrous in offering that to another person. Letting someone they trust give orders.

Yelena's moan sent fire careening through your blood and it took everything within you to slow the kiss to a simple brushing of lips.

"We should talk," you murmured, fighting the urges coursing through you.

"I don't want to talk," Yelena whispered. "I want you."

Growling low in your throat, your lips drifted from her mouth to her ear, capturing the lobe between sharp teeth. Tongue carefully stroking around the piercing residing there, you trailed them along the shell as your hand slipped from her neck into her blonde tresses.

“Are you sure you want this? Because I have no issues fucking you on the mat beneath our feet if you’re serious,” you murmured, the dangerous promise leaving her panties soaked with arousal but also warming her chest. Even now she knew that if she changed her mind – despite the intensity of the moment – you would just as easily stop.

Because she was still your first priority.

Grabbing the hand gripping her hip possessively, she slid it under her shirt and you couldn’t help the breathless moan that tickled her flesh. Fingers danced over puckered scars but you paid little attention to them, knowing the self-consciousness she felt despite assuring her for months that everyone had their scars.

Some were just more visible than others.

“Fuck it,” you exhaled, bending slightly to sink your teeth into the long expanse of her throat.

Gasping, her eyes flew shut as her head tilted back to accommodate the bites and kisses you painted across pale skin. Her knees shook as a skilled hand slid beneath her bra, kneading her breast in a way that left her head swimming. She’d never been touched like this before – actually wanting the person touching her so intimately – so it was a thrilling, albeit terrifying experience. She’d used her body as a tool, back when she was still under the control of the Red Room, but this was something special.

Meaningful.

“FRIDAY, activate protocol Spymaster,” you commanded before licking a stripe across the reddened skin your teeth had abused.

Yelena paused, her nails scoring the tank adorning your figure as she stifled a laugh. “Spymaster?”

Humming, your hand fell from her hair and joined the other at the hem of her shirt. “It’s a non-emergency lockdown. I use it whenever I don’t want anyone coming into the training room. Tony designed it specifically for me after trainees kept pestering me. Only a spymaster could break in at this level.”

Helping Yelena free herself from the confines of her shirt, your gaze drifted low across her bared midriff. She was a stunning masterpiece of pale skin that held the history of a lifetime. A widow peeked just above the waistband of her jeans and you chuckled, remembering how excited the sisters were after they’d gotten it.

Letting your fingers trail across the black ink, your mouth met hers again, swallowing the soft whimper as you traced along the tattooed area. Your free hand reached behind, deftly unclasping her bra with practiced ease, feeling it shift between you as Yelena pressed closer to your body.

“You’re wearing so many clothes,” she whined petulantly, the material of your shirt rough against her overheated body.

Smirking, you broke apart just enough to fling the baggy cover away with a flourish. “Sincerest apologies, love.”

Before she could respond to your playful sarcasm, you brought her into your grasp and carefully lowered her to the floor, one arm locked around her while the other kept you from crashing onto a training mat.

I should definitely clean this before training tomorrow or Nat will murder me and use my body as a training dummy.

Time moved both too fast and not fast enough as you both shed what clothing remained. Pants and shoes were shoved aside, Yelena’s panties tossed somewhere you’d likely never find them –

(But her darling sister would, tomorrow, and attempt to strangle you with them once everyone was gone, yelling at you for defiling her baby sister in the training room while praising you at the same time for admitting your feelings. It is a very confusing conversation for you, only worsened by dodging quick hands and weights that were thrown with a perfect – miserably so – accuracy).

Your mouth left constellations only the two of you would ever see, tasting every curve and dip of her body as you explored the willing woman splayed out across the padded surface. Her grip on your hair was damn near painful but you were content to let her tug as she writhed and moaned beneath you.

“I want to taste you,” you whispered, sinking lower but not taking the step as you waited for a response.

You’d wait a lifetime for this woman, honestly.

“Please,” she begged softly, eyes bleary with lust and something deeper as she stared at you pleadingly. “Do whatever you want. I’m yours.”

The cry that rang out as your tongue met swollen, throbbing flesh left nothing but heat in your belly and a need to drive Yelena wild. You’d never been as desperate and determined as you were in that moment, every heavy stroke or teasing flick earning a new reaction that you silently took note of. Nothing would’ve been capable of dragging you away from her, the urge to offer as much pleasure as possible primal and encompassing.

You could’ve stayed there forever, tongue and lips drawing out as much pleasure as they could, but the tension working through her body kept you focused on the goal at hand.

“Fuck, fuck…” her moans trailed off into unintelligible gibberish as she bucked violently, arousal coating your face as she tipped over the edge into blissful fire.

In that moment, you decided there was nothing prettier than seeing her come so undone. Body flushed and covered in sweat, you couldn’t stop staring at her as you stroked her through the comedown.

“That was…” you smirked, so proud of yourself that you couldn’t really finish your thought as you cleaned her need off your face.

“Hot. So fucking hot,” Yelena mumbled.

“I mean, Bishop sure thought so,” you teased, feeling her tense for an entirely different reason this time as your chin rested on her stomach. “Though a training mat isn’t nearly as interesting as a wall, I suppose.”

“You –”

“Yes.” You kissed her hip sweetly, slowly working up her body before you were face to face with the blushing blonde. “But she’s correct, little spider; wall sex is very appealing. We’ll have to try it sometime.”

“…oh my.”

[jinwoosungs]

{ 80 }

cigarette flavored kisses.

shinichiro sano x fem.reader

you always hated working the night shift at this diner, especially on a saturday night. it was always so loud, especially when these wannabe gangs kept coming in.

despite it all, you did your best to serve the customers and save up some money going from paycheck to paycheck. sometimes, the boys would get a little too handsy, but you kept your lips sealed shut as per your boss's own advice.

"just serve 'em with a smile. they're our regulars and regulars always have a special spot here."

god how you wished you could just disappear, or better yet, find a more decent job that paid just as well. but alas, you couldn't find any other alternatives, nor could you afford to.

which was why you were currently so miserable at the moment.

during the later portion of your shift, a customer kept pestering you while you waited tables. he had his eyes set on you since the moment he walked in, and he just couldn't take the hint.

you even resorted to making up a story about how you had a boyfriend that was going to kick his ass if he didn't stop, yet still- he persisted. even going as far as to follow you when you left work after your shift ended, keeping you pinned against him and the wall behind you.

"come on, give ol' me a chance. there's no way you gotta boyfriend if you're working like this. i can support you, babe, me and my crew own this city. you don't even have to worry about a damn thing!"

"i told you, i have a boyfriend and he will kill you if he sees you flirting with me! just let me go, already!"

a deep voice calls out your name, catching your attention. coming towards you was a young man you frequently saw eating at the diner. sometimes, he came with his little brother and sister, always behaving so achingly sweet while in their company.

he steps closer, and you could see his dark eyes and pale skin as a cigarette hung from his lips. he takes a drag from it while grabbing a hold of your harasser's shirt, succeeding in pulling him off of you as he takes out the burning tip of the cigarette against the man's shirt.

"shit, s-sano, t-take it easy man, i didn't think she was yours- oof!" the tall man punches the harasser in his face before taking a protective stance in front of you. "you trying to take my woman away from me?"

"n-no man, i swear, had i known she belonged to you, i wouldn't have- i'm sorry okay?!" it's then that he finally takes the hint, bolting away while leaving you alone with the man simply known as sano.

only when he disappears does the tall man let out a string of curses, holding on to the hand that he had used to punch your harasser away. the sight of his tough guy act quickly melting away makes you giggle a bit, causing sano to grimace.

"h-hey, are you okay? did that asshole hurt you or anything?"

you shake your head, gently taking a hold of his arm as you decided to lead him back to your apartment to help with healing his bruised hand. "no, but you certainly got hurt."

he groans, "no fair, it hurts my ego seeing a pretty girl laughing at me when i just wanted to defend her."

"and you did your job perfectly well, if i may say so myself." you slide your grip down from his arm to take a hold of his hand. it felt warm in yours, and you found yourself not wanting to let him go. there was a sweetness about sano that you couldn't deny, and it absolutely drew you into him.

"how did you know my name, anyways?" you ask him, staring directly into his dark eyes. he blushes a bit at your question, even managing to turn red from beneath the lamplight as he coughs and points down at your name tag still secured to the front of your work uniform.

"o-oh, right." you felt stupid for not realizing how your name tag was still on, but his soft whisper manages to make you feel better when he admits, "i like coming to that diner just to see you. mikey and emma keep pushing me to ask you out, but i always end up losing my nerves and gettin' tongue tied around you."

his confession was way more than you could ever ask for, feeling your own cheeks become heated in response. shutting your eyes momentarily, you let out a sigh before telling him, "you should have asked me out. only a fool would reject you, mr. sano."

it's then that he stops walking, with his tall form now standing in front of you. he frames at your face with his uninjured hand, thumb caressing almost lovingly against your bottom lip. "shinichiro."

"huh?"

"call me shinichiro." his touch was still so soft against your skin, and his features were so beautiful to you that you found it difficult to look away from him. you were both mesmerized by each other, remaining completely silent until he suddenly blurts out "can i kiss you?"

with a stiff nod, you allow shinichiro to adjust his hold on you before leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. it was a little awkward, but soon enough, his lips found a rhythm against yours, slanting perfectly against them as he kissed you with a fervor you had never felt before.

your first ever kiss tasted of coffee and cigarettes, and you found yourself not minding the fact that you had managed to capture the heart of this soft delinquent.

a.n. - here's another update bc reading these latest chapter for tokyo revengers makes me realize i may be a shinichiro sano girl after all.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[ageless-aislynn]

Good news on the Mass Effect Andromeda front: I am finally Figuring Stuff Out™ (Fast travel, learning how to toggle the objectives and realizing THERE’S A MAP have made things soooooo much more fun) and am vibing with the game at last!

One thing that was kinda stressing me out? Every time the game reminds me THE CHOICES YOU MAKE WILL EFFECT LATER OUTCOMES!!!!!! which triggers this anxiety in me that I’m Doing Things Wrong© and often results in me freezing and not wanting to make any choice because I don’t want to make The Wrong One and not be able to correct it later. 😬

But once I realized I can just play the game again and make different choices, it felt less ominous and universe destroying to potentially make choices I don’t end up liking later in this run. I wish there was a faster way to play through the game, though, but I’m going to definitely replay it on the story/narrative mode where the fighting is minimal. Anyway, I want to play again as Scott and explore some of his options (okay, so I’m probably going to date Cora if she’ll have BroRyder!me, lol) but I’m still weighing my current romantic options as Sara.

I did a bit of research (*points to my anxiety about Doing Things Wrong® which definitely outweighs any Not Wanting To Be Spoiled* 🤷‍♀️😉) to see which optional romance characters I haven’t met yet and that seems to be Jaal and Reyes. Now, I have to say that Jaal seems to be firmly in my character preference wheelhouse (his voice and style of speech reminds me a bit of Vincent from 1987 Beauty and the Beast who I still to this day ADORE with my entire fangirl soul, what can I say? 😍💗), so he’s probably going to be a big contender for Sara’s heart on this playthrough.

However, up until now, I’ve been trying out the flirt options with any character it’s been offered for and, so far, Suvi and Peebee are currently in the running for the title of 💖Love of Sara’s Life💖 However, I was unexpectedly charmed by Vetra’s reaction where she got all tongue-tied and was practically stammering when I asked if she had anybody special in her life. I admit... I found that adorable, considering she’s this big alien warrior woman who looks like she could break me into itty-bitty pieces and then I swear she was blushing at me asking her one simple little question.

Anyway, here’s Vetra, if you don’t know her.

Also... Peebee!

Annnnnd Suvi!

Here, I’ll round out my other potential love interests for Sara...

Jaal

annnnd Reyes! (I don’t know much about Reyes yet but he’s giving me some scoundrel vibes and I’m always here for that. 😎)

I mean, honestly? I’d kinda love to playthrough with each of them but that’s a HUGE commitment of time so we’ll have to see how that goes. I definitely want to replay as Sara at least one more time, though, with whoever ends up coming in second place this time around. 😉

Here’s my girl Sara for reference once more. 😉

I still suck at driving the NOMAD but I feel infinitely better since I’ve had several people tell me that it’s not just me. Also, at least I haven’t caused us to get burned up by radiation or gotten stuck on a big rock in the middle of enemies until we get shot to death again, so... IMPROVEMENT!

Anyway, for any of my Mass Effect Andromeda peeps out there... who do you typically play as and who do you choose to romance, if you choose anybody? I’d love to hear about your experiences, see how you’ve customized your character, all that fun stuff, if you’d like to share! 😎

That’s it for now. Love you, frens! 🤗🤗🤗

[the-engdyssey]

Day 4 OC-centric

Title: In Misery

This is a fanfic I don’t really have time to write, but I thought it would be interesting to share the idea with everyone and see what they think! I've tried to add as much detail as I can for this, and I hope you enjoy it!

Gif credits:  Tangerine: @peachyspaceslvt Elizabeth Olsen: @may0osh and @elizabethlailolsenfan

Tag List: @bullettrainpromptweek @phantom-wolf

Prompt filled: Mainly OC centric prompt, pre-canon, and butterfly effect prompts. It’s also an opportunity to flesh out some headcanons about Tangerine that have developed because of the course of this story. 

Pairing: Tangerine x Sarah (Female OC)

Warnings: Major character death, canon typical violence (there's a scene with a stabbing) 

Note: I have included gifs for some visual reference/inspo. My “face claim” for Sarah is Elizabeth Olsen which might be an odd choice to some people. But for context: I didn’t know that Aaron Taylor Johnson  and Elizabeth Olsen had played siblings in a Marvel movie before. I first saw them and really enjoyed their acting together in the 2014 Godzilla movie where they play husband and wife. I thought they were really cute together, and I was disappointed that they didn’t get more screen time with each other. I like their chemistry together, and I hope they act together again sometime. So, when my brain thought of a fic where Tangerine has a girl he’s in love with, I thought of her character looking like Elizabeth Olsen. That said, here’s a bullet point run down of my Tangerine and Sarah fic! (Partly under a cut due to length not necessarily content.)

Sarah meets Tangerine purely by coincidence. She is not involved in the world of assassins or the criminal underworld whatsoever. In some regards, it’s almost as if she “cleans up their mess”. She’s a young doctor for the NHS, and she works in A&E (the emergency room). She often deals with trauma patients, but she encounters just about any kind of sickness or injury in the emergency room of a hospital. She has a few friends lovingly drag her out to a pub one night to let off some steam, because she constantly works, and they fear she never has much fun. She meets Tangerine in that pub, and perhaps she’s a little tipsy, and he’s very handsome. Tangerine on his part clocks onto Sarah instantly. He can’t help himself—she’s exactly the kind of girl he likes. She’s sweet, a little shy at his open flirting but incredibly receptive, the cocktails have her a bit tongue tied (but it's also her nerves at talking to him), but she’s well spoken and intelligent. She’s pretty and cute. He likes her smile, he likes her laugh, and he simply has to have her. Which is fine with Sarah, because he’s the kind of guy she dreams of but thinks she’ll never have because he’s too good looking. There’s instant sparks, instant chemistry, and they wind up sleeping together that first night. And it’s incredible for both of them. Tangerine is an attentive lover in her opinion. He checks before he does anything, but he knows how to navigate his way around a woman’s body. Sarah feels safe with him, which means a great deal to her because she's never slept with anyone she just met, she always waits. She feels confident and sexy with him, and it’s a reminder of how it’s supposed to feel to be with someone. But surprisingly for the both of them, there’s an innate intimacy to being together which neither of them was expecting. There’s a care and a passion for each other that catches them both off guard, but it’s not entirely unwelcome. Despite thinking it’s a bad idea, Sarah slips her card into Tangerine’s shirt pocket and says he can call her anytime before she heads home that night. She assumes he won’t. But he does the next day wanting to take her out on a real date. He promises that he'll be just fine with giving her a kiss goodbye if she wants to take things slower. He really likes Sarah, he wants her, and he’s all in. It doesn’t take long for him to make her feel the same. 

Personally I love the duality of Tangerine dating a doctor, someone who spends their life trying to ease the suffering of others or preserve life, when Tangerine is primed to do the exact opposite. He doesn’t mind hurting or killing other people, the only thing stopping him is an increased likelihood of getting caught. Sarah is an inherently good person who tries to navigate her life according to the edict of “do no harm”. Tangerine most certainly doesn’t. Sarah doesn’t know what Tangerine does for money as their romance blossoms, but her kindness and compassion is what draws Tangerine in further. She is everything he’s never had in his life; true romantic love, friendship, loyalty, compassion, care, tenderness, support. He’s not looking for a woman to take care of him, but part of her loving him is doing exactly that, while he takes care of her. (Being a doting and consistently caring boyfriend is part of his love language, but it’s also him knowingly struggling with his abandonment issues having grown up in the foster care system. He feels like he has to prove to his lovers why they shouldn’t leave him, prove himself worthy of them, but Sarah silently and patiently reassures him that she’s not going anywhere.)

Tangerine is honest with Sarah about a great many things, honest to the point that Lemon thinks he’s an absolute idiot. He tells Sarah his real first name which is Tom. (Yes, I imagine his name is actually Thomas, and everyone who actually knows his name calls him Tom for short. Because Aaron Taylor Johnson was in a movie called ‘Tom & Thomas’ when he was little and because Bullet Train likes to make references to actors' previous roles in other films, this is the hill I’m dying on. Especially because it makes his annoyance with Lemon’s Thomas the Tank Engine obsession all the more infuriating as adults, and because Sarah can harass him by calling him her ‘Tom Cat’, and it makes him cringe so bad his stomach hurts while she’s crying with laughter. To which he inevitably runs after her fully intent on tickling her until she can’t breathe as revenge.) He makes up a last name for him and Lemon to go by, but he also tells her his actual birth date, he tells her honest stories about when he was younger and the people who mattered to him in the past. He even opens up about some of his worst experiences in school and foster care. He tells her the truth of who he is as a person, something that no one really knows except Lemon. Everyone else who does has left him behind in one way or another. He does not tell her anything about his real work, he hides that incredibly well from her. But he actually feels like this girl could be in his life long term, something that he never thought would actually come about, and not lying to her feels important to him even if there are certain key details that he leaves out. 

If I could summarize this story in a single sentence it would be this: No matter how deeply and truly Tangerine loves Sarah, he is nothing but an absolute poison in her life. Because Sarah is inherently good, and Tangerine is someone who is morally gray at best. He is the very antithesis of what she is, what is important to her, despite the fact that he matters to her dearly. Despite cherishing and wanting to protect her gentle and kind nature in a world that easily makes people become jaded, he is an incredibly selfish and manipulative man. He wants Sarah in his life because he loves her. That's the simplest and honest truth. But he also explains to Lemon that having a doctor as a wife would come in handy for the both of them. No more shitty patch up jobs themselves, or hoping that established organizations will take pity on them and let them utilize their resources for a fee, they’d have a trained medical professional to help them out. (And I’m not entirely sure of the legalities of it in the UK, but sometimes spouses can’t testify against each other in court, and if that’s the case, that's an added bonus). So, Tangerine asks Sarah to marry him. Because he loves her, and if Lemon asks him about it, she’s useful. And Sarah, none the wiser and utterly adoring him, says yes. 

But a relationship with a man like Tangerine is not sustainable. The violence that he so desperately tries to keep under control around her exposes itself more and more over the course of their relationship. Getting in the face of someone here. Shoving someone or nearly getting into a fight there. It’s subtle at first, to the point where Sarah doesn’t question it. He's had a past where picking fights was a way of coping and oddly enough, protecting himself. He's always been protective of her as well, but it's become more intense. It’s something she notices, but she misses it for what it really is. She’s never had any reason to believe that Tangerine is a truly violent man. Until she finally sees it for herself one day. She sees the man she’s going to marry kill another (for a quick local contract). It’s not an accident, it’s not a mistake. It’s something bloody and brutal, something she was never supposed to see. Something that brings her whole world shattering down around her.

Tangerine knows that Sarah knows. He realizes too late that she saw what happened, and he rushes over to her flat to try and talk to her when he can't catch her on foot. He’s a tad arrogant enough to think that it’ll take some time and effort, but he should be able to soothe this one over. He thinks Sarah is probably shocked and scared, but he can calm her down, surely. Tangerine underestimates the effect this has on Sarah. He underestimates the Pandora’s Box seeing such an act of violence opens within her. She’s got a head start on Tangerine. She’s able to get to her flat and barricade the door before he gets there. She’s panicking and rightfully begins to question everything. As she begins to look through Tangerine’s belongings that he’s brought over to her flat (he's essentially been living with her for some time), she realizes just how deep the lies run. Fake passports and driver's licenses, numerous burner phones, foreign cash, dozens of weapons all hidden carefully in various pockets of his duffel bags in the bottom of the closet. All things lingering in her space, her life, right under her nose, and she never had a clue. She realizes the man she loves is an illusion. The man she loves is in fact a total stranger, someone violent, a killer, and seemingly a professional no less. Tangerine isn’t stupid enough to leave copies of the contracts or mission briefs around, but she doesn’t need them to understand how dangerous Tangerine is. He’s a murderer, and she’s a witness. So Sarah does the only thing she can think of: she runs. 

It is because Sarah still loves Tangerine, despite knowing that everything he’s ever told her or shown her could very well be a lie, that she runs and instead of contacting the police. She’s scared, but more than that her heart is broken. She doesn’t realize that what Tangerine always showed her was his real self, but the darker, more violent side of himself is his real self as well. While wrestling with the realization that the man she wanted to have a future and a family with wasn’t real, she also begins to question and berate herself. How could she be so stupid? How did she not have any inkling of what he was? What kind of woman loves a man like that? Is she not as bad as he is? He makes a wave of guilt wash over her for loving a man who causes the very harm to others she tries to fix in her profession. Her phone has been buzzing non-stop since Tangerine came back to the flat to find it empty and his things rifled through. Sarah is in a taxi on the way to the airport to catch the first flight out of the UK. She answers though she can’t even see the screen with the tears swimming in her eyes. She should yell at him, curse at him, do anything but already miss him terribly. She can’t. Before Tangerine can even say anything, she simply says, “I’ll never say anything to anybody. I still love you, Tom. I'll always still love you, but I can't stay. Take care of yourself.” She pulls the SIM card out of her phone and chucks it from the taxi cab. Her plan is to head back home, her actual home. Her dad is English, but he met Sarah’s mother and settled down with her in Canada. Sarah has dual citizenship, and the only thing she can think of or wants to do is go home in her time of greatest need. 

Sarah makes a prudent decision by running away from Tangerine, but the problem is she’s not good at running away. Why would she be? That’s not a skill set most people learn. And while Tangerine and Lemon are not as skilled or “professional” as they are by the time they step on that bullet train, they have no trouble figuring out how to track Sarah down. Between budding connections to other operatives with handlers or “independent contractors”, and the fact that Tangerine enabled things like ‘find my phone’ on Sarah’s electronics without her knowing, it doesn’t take long for them to find her. Lemon has had about enough of all of this. He’s met Sarah, he actually likes her very much, he appreciates that she listens to him talk about his interests, he's grateful that she loves his brother like she does, but according to him, “I’m the one thinking with my brain. Unlike you. I don’t know what you’re thinking with, mate, but it’s gonna get us both in trouble.” Tangerine either needs to win Sarah back or he needs to take care of her, because leaving a witness behind is bad for business. Tangerine understands the situation they’re in, but he also refuses the idea of doing anything to Sarah. He can frame it in the context of wanting to preserve her usefulness, but it’s because he loves her. It’s as simple as that. And Lemon isn't stupid, he knows that.

Sarah leaving causes Tangerine’s emotions to go all over the place. He’s stressed because of the implications to his and Lemon’s safety and freedom. He’s a little angry, but more than anything he's hurt that she left. She promised him she never would. And though logically he understands why, it still feels like a rejection of some sort. And he misses her. Her leaving reminds him of all the other times he's been left behind. That same feeling of being a scared little boy who will never see those he cares about again settles in his chest. He hates it, but it shows him how not having Sarah in his life just isn’t an option. It’s a rather warped and selfish way of loving her at this point. When he finds Sarah the first time, he doesn’t confront her right away. In fact, he spends a great deal of time simply observing her from afar as she tries to navigate a life without him. He sees her parents and wishes he could have met them and tried to impress them properly. He sees her settle into new work. He watches her interactions with those around her. He sees the smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes anymore, he feels sick that it’s his fault. He sees Sarah safe and helping people as her true calling encourages her to do, and for some time, he considers leaving her be. Trusting her word and letting her have a life without him. But then he sees that she’s still wearing the engagement ring he bought her (and he did buy it, it felt wrong to steal it, he has a sense of pride that he actually bought it in an honest transaction for her), and the choice is made for him. When she’s out, he sneaks into the flat she’s renting. And he sees that she still has room for him in her life. She’s wearing the ring he gave her. There’s space in the closet for his suits to hang up. The double sink in the bathroom has everything sequestered to one side. He can tell she's only sleeping on one side of the bed. He likes to hope she is waiting for him and will be glad to see him. 

She was, and she’s not. She’s been waiting with baited breath for Tangerine to come find her, terrified that he’ll kill her if he does. She hasn’t stayed with her parents because she doesn’t want them to get hurt. When he’s there in her flat when she comes home, she immediately tries to run, but Tangerine is faster and stronger than her. He overpowers her, but he doesn’t hurt her. He tells her to be quiet, but his voice is gentle and loving as always, his warmth is reassuring, the strength in his hands and arms is familiar and comforting. When she goes limp in his arms, crying and defeated, he thinks he might be able to finally reach her. She asks what he plans to do, and he says he wants to take her home. He wants things to be like they were. He loves her, he would never hurt her, and he’s never lied to her. But he continues to lie by omission, never really answering the questions she demands of him about what she saw, what he does, who he is. She asks him if he loves her, and he says yes. She asks why she should believe him, how can she possibly know he’s not lying. He kisses her because he doesn't have the words, and she knows. She knows deep down that maybe he does really love her, but that doesn’t change anything. But she lets him love her for that night. She makes love to him again and again, telling him that she’s missed him, she still loves him, that there’s no one else for her but him. She means every word she says, they're a declaration of love and a confession. But they're also a goodbye. When he wakes up in the morning, she’s not there. She’s not even in the same province anymore. Tangerine is simultaneously furious and amazed that she managed to slip away from him again. He steals something small from her apartment, a little trinket that reminds him of her, and heads out to find her again. 

Every time Sarah runs away, she gets a little better at it. A part of Tangerine is proud of her, but he’s also getting sick of this game. Especially when other men start showing their interest as soon as she's settled down somewhere. Sarah rebuffs them every time. She doesn't want anyone else, her heart still belongs to Tangerine. She also knows full well that if Tangerine caught her with another man, that other man won’t survive the interaction. And after her father has sent a private detective to look into this man he sees as harassing his daughter, Sarah realizes that she might not survive him either. She learns more about Tangerine than she ever wanted to. She knows about the murders he’s been suspected in, she’s seen his previous arrests, mug shots, learns about his dealings with the fringes of organized crime, and it's enough to knock the wind out of her. She knew it was bad, but she never dreamed it was this bad. The private detective, a retired cop, looks at Sarah and asks her, “Honey, how’s a girl like you gotten involved with a man like that?” She takes the silver chain holding her engagement ring off from around her neck and places it on the table. “I said I would marry him.” The private detective just sighs and closes his eyes despairingly, but he’s a decent man and wants to help. “That’s okay. We have places that can help. There are damn good women’s shelters around here, we can protect you—“ “I think you’d better go.” “I’m sorry?” Sarah just looks at him as she places the necklace around her neck once more, resigned to the fact that it’s too late for her. The only thing she can do is try to make sure no one else gets hurt. And this man being here is putting his own life in danger. He leaves very reluctantly, but he can’t force Sarah to do anything. And he promises that if he doesn’t hear from Sarah within a certain time frame, he'll give a letter to her parents telling them that she loves them. After that, she cuts off contact with everyone she cares about, and goes as off-grid as possible. She has to get serious about hiding and running now. 

Tangerine can still find her. He finds her a total of three times. She manages to slip away two. Each time he tells her that he loves her, he’ll never hurt her, he wants her back. Upon discovering that she knows everything, he assures her that he’s never truly lied about anything. But he’ll tell her everything from now on. He won’t keep anything from her if she wants to know, but he won’t say anything she doesn't want to hear. She knows everything now, she sees him in his entirety, will she please come home with him again. And Sarah does see the real him. She sees the man that utterly adores her, and the monster that makes her question her own morality. She’s never taken kindly to people accusing doctors of playing God, and she doesn’t think it right for him to play God with other people’s lives. She doesn’t like the pseudo moral righteousness of Tangerine more often than not killing those involved with organized crime, men who often sell, beat, rape, and murder women and children. He kills men who are scum, and thus his actions could be framed as some sort of service unto humanity. But she doesn’t enjoy the notion of justifying murder– for do those same men not have wives and children who will mourn their loss? It's not her right to place a value on another life or to end it, her calling is to ease the suffering of others. She still questions herself, berates herself for still loving him like she does though she's helpless to stop it. She’s still trying to fight the inevitable, but it’s a losing battle. The fear is waning every time he comes to her, the longing for him is ever growing, the relief at seeing him is near overwhelming. It’s getting harder to leave every time. So when he finds her at a train station that final time, both of them have reached the end of their rope. Tangerine catches up to her but keeps his distance lest he spook her. He's out of breath from running, his three piece suit a disaster in his rush to get there before she slips away once more. And he finally tells her, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for all of this! I never wanted this for you. Please, love, I want you with me… But I…I understand if that’s not what you want. I love you, but if you step onto that train, I promise you’ll never see me again.” He means it, and he’s willing to keep his word. For the first time, he is willing and able to love Sarah unselfishly, and in turn Sarah is finally willing to be selfish. “Do you still love me, Tom? Really love me. Not because you want me to keep quiet. You really did before, didn't you?” Tangerine can’t help but snap a bit because, “Of course I fucking do! I never stopped! Bloody hell, woman, why do you think I’m here chasing after you?! Why do you think I asked you to marry me?! Sarah, I love you!” She can’t help but smile even if the tears are running down her cheeks. Tangerine prepares himself for his heart to leave with her on that train, only for the girl he loves to run and jump into his arms. The cold air of the train speeding past washes over them as does the relief and elation of finally coming together. He kisses her slowly, adoringly, and asks again if she’ll be his wife. She says yes. He tells her to be a good girl and put her ring back on then. She laughs and waggles her ring finger in front of him, showing that she’d been wearing it the whole time. 

Sarah and Tangerine begin to settle back into their life together in London, though it takes time for Sarah to put the pieces of the life she left behind back together again. There was always open communication between them before, but this time it's easier with no secrets. Sarah can establish the boundary that if Tangerine is going to continue with his work, she'll never help him and Lemon with a job. She'll never be a part in harming someone else. But she will always patch them up when they come home, and he better not get himself killed or he'll have her to answer to. She's got a cute little stern frown on her face and her hands on her hips as she tells him this, and Tangerine just melts. He agrees, because he doesn't want Sarah involved in his world. She's too good for that. But taking care of others, especially those she loves? That's just who she is. Yet a man like Tangerine in Sarah's life is a poison, regardless of how much he tries to protect her. Lemon and Tangerine tend to not see the long term consequences of the various jobs they take. To them, each job is an isolated incident. They feel as outside contractors, they retain the right to bounce from contract to contract without any sort of comeuppance from the various crime syndicates they interact with. Things don't work that way. The Twins work in the fringes of organized crime, but mob bosses do not take kindly to losing their underlings at the behest of another mob. Tangerine and Lemon can take contracts from the Italian/Russian mobs and the Yakuza all they want, but they really are foolish to think there won't be consequences. Especially when they have people in their lives they care about. So when Tangerine and Lemon take a contract to get rid of some Russian mob members for other organized crime bosses, they set off a sequence of events that seals all their fates.

After Tangerine and Lemon kill a group of Russian mobsters in London, the mob’s first instinct is to kill them. Until the local Russian boss (naturally someone who falls under the umbrella of the White Death's control) realizes they're talking about The Twins. This guy likes The Twins, they've done good work for him in the past. It's a shame that they accepted a contract against the Russians. Instead of killing them and losing their future value completely, the boss decides to remind the Twins why loyalty to a good paycheck should never be broken. To not bite the hand that feeds them. The order is given to hurt the people close to them as a reminder to behave themselves. (Can't have Tangerine and Lemon badly beaten, then they'll be useless for any upcoming jobs.) After a couple of the Russian mobsters have been tailing the Twins for a while, the only person they see with them consistently is Sarah. And considering the one with the mustache is the one who seems to be in charge of accepting contracts and she's his girl, all the better. 

Sarah never saw it coming, and Tangerine wasn't there when it happened. Sarah has just finished her shift at the hospital and is just about to pop into one of the shops, before heading to where Tangerine and Lemon plan to pick her up. Sarah walks along a little side street, a short cut to the closest convenience store. A route she has traversed dozens of times without incident. A sudden large hand on her shoulder forces her to turn around, two hulking men with tattoos before her. Before she can pull away and run, before she can fight back, or yell for help, one of the Russians has a knife buried in her belly. The shock of the injury leaves her dazed at first before the knife is pulled out, warm blood following in its wake. She's stabbed again, the agonizing pain that suddenly hits her would make her scream. Instead, it steals her breath as does the force of the blade being driven into her. Five stabs in total, four in her abdomen and one in her chest. Sarah collapses after she staggers away a few steps. The other man roots through her purse taking her ID as she struggles to breathe, struggles to speak past the searing pain with every movement. Her scrubs are soaked in her own blood, and she focuses on not passing out. She hears the two men speak in Russian, doesn't know why her mind latches onto that detail. She tries to look at their faces, but it's a fog, and she knows it's because her blood pressure is dropping. She also knows the signs of various organs and blood vessels sustaining damage during a stabbing. She knows that her injuries aren't good. But she just has to wait for them to leave, wait until they assume she'll be dead soon, and then she can properly put pressure on the wound, call an ambulance, call Tangerine– her phone smacks onto the pavement before a heavy boot crashes down onto it. A heavily accented voice tells her, “Tell him he should have known better. Tell him to be on his best behavior. We know where you live.” Sarah nods weakly and finds herself alone. If not for her injuries, she'd question whether or not those men had even been there at all, or were they just phantoms from the shadows? She yells for help as best she can. She tries to get her phone to work to no avail. She tries to get up but realizes that sensation in the lower half of her body isn't as good as it should be. She can't rise to her feet, and she doesn't have the strength to drag herself along the pavement. Her breathing sounds suspiciously wet. The only warmth she can feel is her own blood. She puts pressure on the wounds with what little strength she can muster, forcing herself to stay awake. It's a losing battle. She's slowly dying. 

Despite Lemon’s rebukes of needing to trust Sarah more, that she's just running late, she hasn't run off again, Tangerine can feel something is wrong in his gut. As Lemon is chastising his brother, Tangerine pulls up the tracking app that he's once again put on Sarah's phone. The one she still doesn't know about. Lemon is about to tell Tangerine off further when the look on his face makes him pause. He glances at the phone. The little dot signifying Sarah's phone is stationary. Lemon assumes it's because she's in a shop, while Tangerine feels his heart drop into his stomach. She's stationary in an empty side street at night. Tangerine can't help himself from rushing out of the car to where Sarah is according to his phone. He keeps calling her, and she doesn't pick up. A visceral fear takes hold of him, worse than the turmoil he felt the mornings he would take up to discover Sarah had run away from him again. He gives up using the phone to call her and yells out for her instead. It's a flash of teal, the color of her scrubs, in his peripheral vision that allows him to find her in the dark and quiet of the side street. He's on his knees beside her in a second, and his heart is pouring out over the pavement along with her blood. He doesn't even recognize the tears in his eyes as he dials 999 and tenderly takes Sarah in his arms. He gently encourages her to wake up, holding her close to give her his warmth, her blood soaking into his clothes. She's pale and clammy, she's groggy and her eyes are a little unfocused, but she's alive. She's looking at him and saying his name, and therefore she's as beautiful as she's always been. His lips are all over her face and though Sarah can't return the affections, she's appreciative of the warmth. He asks Sarah to tell him what to do to help her while they wait for the ambulance. Instead, she tells him about the men who attacked her. All the fragmented details she vaguely recalls and the warning they had left her with. Sarah asks Tangerine to be careful, and the fact that the woman he loves is dying in his arms but her kind heart is more worried about his safety, breaks him. She's never seen him cry. Very few people have. But he holds her close and weeps in worry and regret, kisses her lips to cease the gentle reassurances falling from her lips. “It's supposed to be me telling you it's okay, not the other way around.” “Tom, tell me everything is going to be okay.” “Everything is going to be fine, love. You're going to be fine.” And he makes a silent promise that he'll kill them for this, but saying it out loud will make her worry. “Love you. Always have. You know that right? Love you so much Tommy.” “I know. I love you too. So much that I won't get mad at you calling me Tommy.” It makes her smile but barely. His voice is barely above a whisper as he continues, “I've never loved anyone like I love you. You're my dream girl, you know. I've…I've wished for you my entire life. Please don't leave me yet. Stay awake for me Sarah.” Her eyes fall closed, her breathing shallow. Lemon comes to his side as the sirens draw closer. Tangerine’s desperate pleas for Sarah to wake up go unanswered. 

Lemon has to help the EMTS to get Tangerine to let her go so they can get Sarah in the ambulance, and he drives them both to the hospital. He sits with Tangerine the entire time as they wait for updates of Sarah's condition, squeezing his brother's shoulder or neck in reassurance. Tangerine lets him do it more than once, a sign of how distraught Tangerine is. Lemon apologizes to the nurses at reception when Tangerine snaps at them if they refuse to give him any information for privacy reasons. Lemon helps ease the burden of the brief encounter with the police asking initial questions about the incident. But they won't know more until Sarah is out of surgery. Lemon urges Tangerine to clean himself up in the bathroom, because Sarah will hate to see him look like such a mess. Lemon is also right beside Tangerine as one of Sarah's closest friends at the hospital comes out to speak to them. The look on her face says everything before the words tumble from her lips. Lemon is there as his brother's heart shatters before his eyes. Sarah died during emergency surgery due to the severity of her injuries. Lemon takes hold of him as a grief so profound overtakes Tangerine that he nearly sinks to the ground. The last of Tangerine's strength is the only thing keeping a scream erupting from his throat and sobs wracking his frame. Tangerine never liked to cry, not even when they were kids. Lemon never had that problem, and he still doesn't. His eyes shine with tears for this brother and the girl who he looked forward to having as a sister in law. His friend. Lemon pulls Tangerine to a quiet place and says nothing as his brother falls apart. It's the first and last time Lemon has ever seen Tangerine mourn anyone in their lives like this. And he realizes with the greatest despair, that Sarah was the first and last woman that Tangerine had ever or would ever truly love. 

Tangerine is never the same after he loses Sarah. His hurt morphs into anger, a wrath against others that reaches new levels. Tangerine was not Sarah's husband legally. He was not her next of kin. He had no say in where she would be buried. He was certainly not welcome at her funeral. Regardless, he lingers in her Canadian home town to visit her grave, leaving flowers every time, often as he can before he leaves again. He and Lemon have another job coming up. Lemon thinks it's a bad idea. Tangerine has to work otherwise his grief will swallow him whole. It's wet work. And a part of him realizes that Sarah would be disappointed to know it's work that demands he takes the lives of others. But the ember of compassion Sarah fostered within him left along with her. The next job the Twins take is the Bolivia job. Tangerine accepted it because the group down there supposedly had connections with the Russians. The Bolivia job was an absolute blood bath due to his rage born from grief. A showcasing of his wrath. There was no compassion. No humanity. The rumors spread about The Twins begin to refer to them as “insane” and “psychopaths”. Tangerine likes that. The Bolivia job made him start to feel better, though it can never begin to fill the empty space inside his soul. The only regrets Tangerine has about the Bolivia job is how unprepared Lemon seemed to be for it. And that his newfound reputation as a psychopath was not given to him in time to save Sarah. He often thinks that if they all knew what he was really capable of, then maybe they would have thought differently about touching what was his. Maybe Sarah would still be alive. 

The butterfly effect of Sarah's death leads to Tangerine being how he is by the time he and Lemon step on the bullet train to Kyoto. His anger lingers. He snaps at Lemon much more than he used to, but Lemon doesn't really take it to heart. He knows when to push back and when not too. Tangerine’s fuse is a lot shorter than it used to be. He's polite for the most part, but cold with others. He's always attracted the attention of women, and even a few men, but his overall demeanor shows that he is completely unavailable. Tangerine can't even begin to think about being with someone else. But Lemon also knows that Tangerine's heart has not gone cold, it's broken. Where Lemon forgot the innocent civilian they caused the death of, Tangerine remembers. Mainly because he thinks of how upset Sarah would be over it. What little conscience he has left is the small piece of Sarah that lives on inside him. But at the same time, he can be derisive towards the pain of others. He's remarkably callous when talking about the fatal accident of the White Death's wife. Tangerine understands that pain, to him Sarah was his wife, but he doesn't feel sorry for the White Death. To Tangerine, he's part of the Russian mob, so there's a sense of vindication. A sense of ‘it sucks to lose her, doesn't it?’ But the irony is, Tangerine couldn't possibly know how full circle things have come. The Russians took Sarah away from him, he played a part in the chain of events that lead to the White Death's wife dying, and by stepping on that train, he's signed his own death warrant. Tangerine also holds no sympathy for the White Death not having left his compound because Tangerine has a thought process of ‘Well I got over it and got back to work. And you have kids. You've no excuse to hide yourself away.’ It's a thought process that holds the bitterness and anger of grief and a distinct lack of self awareness. Sarah's death is also why Tangerine frets over Lemon like he does. He wasn't there for Sarah. So when Tangerine finds Lemon knocked out in the silent car, he assumes the worst. It causes the seed of anxiety to bloom in his gut. By the time Tangerine gets kicked off the train and has to punch his way back in, his fear of it happening again has run away with him. He knows Lemon can take care of himself, but Lemon is the only person Tangerine has left. Tangerine's worst fears are realized when he finds Lemon in the bathroom. Lemon has been shot, and Tangerine wasn't there. He wasn't there again. He failed those he loves again. He's lost a loved one again. He's all alone. And something inside him snaps, the last link in the chain of events leading to the end of his life. 

Lemon has Tangerine cremated after his body is recovered from the crash site. He thinks about keeping the urn so he doesn't have to let his brother go. He thinks about spreading his ashes in numerous special places in England. They never talked about what to do if one of them died. Talking about it made it seem too real, but Lemon thinks that's silly now. He just wants to do what his brother would have liked, and the only thing he can think of is to let Tangerine finally be with Sarah. To let them both rest. Lemon goes to Canada, goes to Sarah's small town and sees it with different eyes than when he accompanied Tangerine with the intention of getting Sarah back. It feels like a lifetime ago. He almost breaks down at the realization that for Sarah and Tangerine it truly was a lifetime ago. He goes to the cemetery in the evening with a shovel, intent on burying the urn with Tangerine's ashes on Sarah's plot. An unmarked grave, but not alone. Lemon is interrupted by Sarah's mother. He hurriedly explains that he knew Sarah. That they were friends. Recites details about her that make her mother's face melt from confusion and horror to a bereaved smile as Lemon says a silly little phrase that Sarah used to say all the time. Someone else who really knew her daughter, bore witness to the wonderful person she was, gives her an odd comfort despite the bizarre circumstances. She nods at the urn, “Who's that?” “His name was Tom. He was in love with Sarah. He wanted to be her husband.” “Is he the Tom she was running from?” Lemon can't look at her as he nods and says, “Yes, Ma'am. But he loved her. He really really loved her, and he never hurt her. I promise you that.” “I know. I could tell by the way she talked about him. She was just as crazy about him. Even when she was scared of him, she adored him.” Lemon can't speak due to the tears, and Sarah's mom comes closer. “Were you going to leave him here with her?” He nods. “Yeah, but…I'm sorry, I'll go–” “Don't go,” she gently reaches out to touch Lemon's arm. Loss is a universal language, the companionship and understanding of another going through it a precious commodity. “I don't mind if you let him stay with her. I'd like that. I think they would have too.” Lemon is amazed at how kind she is, how giving and forgiving. But he realizes Sarah must have gotten it from somewhere. He can see Sarah in her mom, and as she helps Lemon dig a small hole to nestle Tangerine's urn into, he thinks about how he would have enjoyed getting to know her family. Would have loved the idea of him and Tangerine having a family with Sarah and her relatives. When they're done, and before he can awkwardly shuffle off, Sarah's mother asks if he'll come have dinner with her and her husband. A friend of Sarah's is always welcome in their home. Though she also asks that this be their secret for now, Sarah's father isn't ready to forgive Tangerine. And she also asks that Lemon keep the fact that Tangerine was his brother a secret for now once she finds out. Sarah's father isn't ready yet, but in time he will be. For now, it's important for those that loved them to be together. Because for Tangerine and Sarah to be remembered by the ones that love them is the surest reminder that they existed. 

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I hope you liked it! I swear I do love Tangerine and I do love Sarah despite the ungodly levels of angst. They are together forever at the end, and Lemon and Sarah's family have each other from that point on. In the spirit of Bullet Train, something good always comes out of something bad.