#Neoclassicist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soullessdianthus · 2 years

Note

hi so I saw that you write for tangerine and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing an older tangerine x younger fem reader (age gap) where they're both assassins but have bad blood however spicy smut ensues?

sorry if this is too much!

Author's note: Sorry, this took so long, but I'm currently moving out and it has been a mess. Anyways, here's a piece where you met the citrus brothers on a mission (after competing for a while), but the outcome was something you didn't expect at all. Something that won't be easily forgotten. Bon apetit.

Warnings: swearing, violence (canon typical), age gap?, choking 😳, smutty smut

Word count: 6.5k oops

P.S.: I checked it two times, might fix few grammar/spelling mistakes in next few days.

A cloudless night sky shimmered above your head, when you firmly closed the car doors behind you. Making sure the bottom of the evening dress wasn’t stuck in the vehicle, you carefully turned around and then took a step back onto the pavement. You smiled politely as the Uber driver started a new route, leaving you in front of a grand, neoclassicist building.

That night a sort of a charity gala was being hosted there, but everyone knew what kind of business was really going on under all that sugar coated image. Unselfish aid - well, not really in the twenty-first century. At least not by the filthy rich people.

But that evening, they were all there and you had to blend in. That was your role to play. The job, commissioned by your boss, was supposed to be quite easy. An old style theft of some jewelry, a sapphire of sorts. Not the most vulnerable or the biggest jewel in the word, but your commissioner insisted on this specific one. So to speak, your competition was thin.

In the great hall, a courtroom for a banquet, people were gathered. Young waiters and waitresses sneaking between the guests, dancing on their tiptoes almost. Last summer it was your job to collect an order and bring it as fast as you could to the customer at your local, prestigious restaurant.

Besides some bizzare and sometimes even brutal contracts, you continued to live a simple, student life. Taking a summer job or tutoring a highschooler, for example. But it began to happen less frequently than ever before, as your life began to change.

Ever since you met that annoying, British man from a different agency. And his equally odd brother.

Walking up the staircase to the ground floor, you collected the long dress with a cut on the left side, exposing your bare leg to the passers by. If it was an event held by the royal family, you would’ve been kicked out long ago. But happily it wasn’t.

After leaving your cloak in the foyer of the hotel, you slowly headed towards the room, where the main events were supposed to be held. And people had already gathered there.

You felt just like an actress (silly of you) - starring in an action movie, with all the thrill of a crime looming in the air. For a moment you forgot about all of the blood on your hands. Metaphorically, of course. You could not erase those sins. It was a path you could not just abandon.

One of the waiters, almost your peer, tried to persuade you to try some champagne from his silver tray. But you politely declined with a simple gesture of hand. Parents taught you well, not to drink while at work.

You continued to walk around the patio, carefully examining and remembering the surroundings. Playing a part of this higher society, you nodded a few times to the strangers passing by, exerting a sham of knowing each other. And until now, you hadn’t spotted anyone from your branch. No familiar faces. “Good, very good” you thought.

Your boss told you beforehand there shouldn’t be any competition with the jewel that night. And the boss was always right.

Almost.

─ Oh Goodness! Such a beautiful dress, my dear ─ exclaimed the elder lady, gripping on her purse through the white gloves. ─ Tell me, sweetheart, who designed it? Where did you get it?

─ That’s very kind of you, ma’am. ─ Your lips curled in a cheerful smile, while approaching the two older ladies, standing near the cocktail table. ─ But I’m afraid I cannot help you. You see, this is my mother’s dress, when she was my age. It's a vintage piece.

─ Oh, that’s very lovely, keeping the traditions from generation to generation. I wish my son would wear his father’s cufflinks from time to time. ─ The second lady interfered, after finishing her glass of champagne.

─ Have you been to the rooftop yet? ─ She changed the subject quicker than you could even proceed.

─ No, I haven’t, ma’am. Is there something worth bothering about? ─ You asked her, still keeping that cheerful smile on your young face.

Your “colleagues” would insult you (or rather joke about you) with many things about your age or experience, but even though you were barely half their age, you knew how to get people to fall under your charm.

─ Of course you should see it! They have lovely gardens there, quite exotic. One of the best ones in the whole of London.

─ Then, shall we go there then? ─ You proposed to the nice ladies, straightening your knees.

─ Only if we’re not boring you to death, dear.

─ There is plenty of time until the main event begins, I’d like to see something other than the ground floor.

In the company of two lovely, but strangely intriguing, old women you traveled to the top of the building to see the flowers they were so excited about. And after a short walk with them you had to agree that the garden was quite interesting. Even for such a layman you were about the flowers.

But the night was cold and you had to excuse your company at the rooftop, as you left your coat at the foyer. The cut of the dress made it even worse - your shoulders were showing, shivering because of the cold air. Besides, you had a job to do.

You entered the elevator and began to go back down, only to be stopped by someone from the outside on the tenth (or was it eleventh?) floor.

Something was off. You couldn’t tell why, but you knew someone was coming. Behind those metal doors. The tension was building up, until the gates opened silently to the sides, exposing two well dressed men, now standing in front of you.

─ Well, look who it is. ─ Said the man with a thick mustache above his upper lip, placing his hands inside the pockets of his trousers.

─ See? I told you, mate. Wouldn’t have mistaken her with someone else.

─ Excuse me, gentlemen. ─ Your response was quick. There was no time or need for a confrontation with those guys. Again. So you tried to force your way out of that elevator, but the taller, dark skinned man grabbed you by your arms and pushed back inside the metal box heading down.

No, you didn’t have a gun. It wasn’t “that” kind of job with the jewel. You didn’t need a gun, because nobody was supposed to die. Besides, it was too loud for a place like that.

You tried to pass again, by pushing him away, but the damn golem wouldn’t move. So you swiftly hit under the man's ribs and swung to strike again. But he foresaw this and gripped your fist, pushing you inside the box.

Brothers stepped inside and you found yourself locked without an exit.

─ Gentlemen ─ the brunette repeated mockingly with a little giggle ─ she's sweet. She really is.

─ Are you looking for trouble? ─ Tightening a grip on your baggie, you slightly narrowed your brows. These two happened to appear in the middle of your last few commissions, putting your plans into ruins, so naturally, you were pissed to see them again.

“Putting the plan into ruins” was the most subtle description you could give to what they've done. You always fulfilled your contracts, but the way you planned to do so. On your terms. But those two happened to show up in the middle of a plan, make a lot of noise and run off.

The elevator started to go down again.

─ Do you, love? ─ He snapped back, taking a step towards you.

─ What are you doing here? ─ You asked a bit irritated, by the dismissive tone of his voice.

─ Another day, another contract. ─ Lemon, the portly one, interrupted as you and his brother didn’t mean to end the staring contest.

─ What is your contract, to be exact? So we won’t disturb each other.

─ Whoa, whoa, slow down, girl ─ Tangerine slightly waved with his hand flat, golden rings shimmering around his fingers ─ you think we’re gonna answer to you, after what happened lately in Budapest? Do you recall that, sweetheart?

─ It was Vienna. ─ You corrected him, tension slowly leaving your muscles. There was no sign of an upcoming fight. If they were here to kill specifically you, they would have done that already. There wouldn’t be a time for small talk like such.

The number on a panel above the buttons changed to the third floor. You were almost there. In a moment you will be able to get away from them and focus on your tonight's mission.

─ Ah, Vienna. Right, right.

─ Well, that wasn’t my fault, you two ─ your finger pointed at brothers ─ were sloppy and messed up your part. I just finished my own contract.

Well, it wouldn’t have happened, if you weren’t on plain fuckin’ sight and did not interrupt the adults doing their fuckin’ job. - Lemon gestured with his hands, getting visibly annoyed by your denial.

Well, you just told them the truth, they fucked up last time. It wasn’t your doing. Well, not that particular time, not in Vienna.

─ I’m sorry, “adults”? That’s what you call yourself? ─ You needed a clarification, did you miss heard? Was he making fun of you somehow?

─ Don’t fuck with us, kid.

─ Oh, fuck off, Lemon. ─ You answered irritably as the doors opened, welcoming you three to the ground floor. A line of impatient guests waited until you left the cabin.

Lemon’s choice of words angered you. Yes, you were very young for such a profession, but your age did not determine your abilities. For some time you had a mentor, who taught you well. And your actions were excellent proof of that.

Finally getting out of the elevator, you took advantage of the situation - happening to be in a crowded place. You swiftly passed them all, leaving brothers behind. While blending in with the other guests on the patio, you took a glimpse over your shoulder. For a brief moment your eyes locked with Tangerine’s blue irises.

Your heart froze when he traced your path. You had to disappear, quickly.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

You found yourself staring through the massive window, viewing the busy street during night time. Heavy raindrops were dripping from a glass wall onto a windowsill.

Thoughts corrupted you so much that you had to shake your head slightly, trying to get back into your senses. You stood in one place for too long, what clearly angered your inner perfectionism. But why were you distracted? It rarely happened since your very first few missions.

Happily for you it didn’t last too long and all preparations have been done by that time. Now you just had to wait for the auctions to begin, so you could start the operation.

The jewel was being kept on a sort of exposition in one of the lobbies - a small room, next to the patio (one of few actually). Two security cameras, which you’ve already plugged to a remote to loop their image when needed and only two bodyguards walking around the area.

You sneaked to the hotel earlier that week, disguised as a waitress, so you could take a look at the surroundings and disturb some vires in CCTV around that place.

After all, your boss gave you a few decent tips, but the executive part was on your side.

Your legs kept the same pace as before - firm, but not fast. Confident, but not attention seeking. Although your ankles began to feel numb after those hours in heels.

And then, out of bloom, while you were passing the corridor leading to the bathrooms, you felt a strong grip tightening around your arm. Mysterious force dragged you to the resting area (just in front of the toilets), while you stumbled upon your own legs and dropped the little baggie on the floor.

─ Christ! ─ You hissed, when you finally found your balance again. Not a single living soul was around besides you and Tangerine. The British man was still holding your arm, standing between you and the pathway to the patio. ─ Let go.

─ Not so quick, sunshine. We should talk first, you know.

─ Oh, we’ve already talked, big man. Time is nagging, I have to go.

Your free hand immediately swung at his right ribs, covered by white, evening chemise and a beautiful jacket from the tailor. There was no intention to start a fight, but he was stubborn and you were afraid of the shortage of time. So the punch was supposed to be a warning.

As your fist met with his ribcage, the brunette bent a bit in half and loosen the grip on your arm. And as the opportunity occured, you started to walk away.

Only when you turned your back at him, Tangerine took a step forward and entangled his both hands around your waist and throat. The second placement worried you more.

How could you let that happen? Turning your back away? “How stupid!” you scolded yourself.

He pulled you backwards so hard that you bumped your back into his torso and chest. A silent sigh escaped your mouth as he spread his ringed fingers on your windpipe.

The jewelry was cold just like the air outside the hotel, making your skin twitch.

Tangerine was taller than you. He was also older and more advanced than you. Which really made you uneasy. If he only wanted to, he could be a serious threat.

─ Tsk, that wasn’t nice. Listen, we really need to know, what the fuck you’re doin’ here tonight, sweetheart.

─ Why are you so persistent? ─ You asked him, annoyed at the fact he kept his hand tightly not only on your throat, but also your waist, tugging you close to him. You also let your accent slip out, because of it.

Desperate you tried to yank away from the big man. You really wanted to get out of that situation as fast as possible, because it made you blush. The fact you liked the way he held you.

This time your both arms were absolutely free. So gathering some force in one of your elbows, you stabbed him in his stomach. The first one wasn’t fully successful so you continued to hammer his torso until he’d finally free you.

There was a brief moment, when his hands loosen up and you turned around to face him. He swung his right fist near your head, which now was - a serious threat.

You backed away a few steps - keeping the distance, but he followed your trace, throwing his fists a few more times. His bright eyes had a mysterious and distracting charm in them.

You continued to back away, but the distance between you two suddenly reduced, so you swung your right knee at his thigh, near the groin. Unfortunately, he was able to block the hit, grasping on your uncovered leg. He tossed it in his hand, almost playfully, locking your thigh between his elbow.

And then he charged at you, forcing you to back away even faster, until your back met with the stone wall. His other hand found itself on your exposed neck one more time, pinning your body down.

Being “cornered” and left with little choices, you pulled out a dagger out from the garter. It was the right time to do so.

─ Why are you so feisty, huh? ─ Tangerine said calmly, correcting his grip on your leg. ─ I really don’t want to punch a woman, for fuck sake.

─ Pardon me, I’ve been taught so.

─ Oh, but you still have a lot to learn, honey. Now tell me, will you ─ his eyes loomed inside yours, searching for sympathy ─ what’s your fuckin’ target.

─ On three, then we both say. Seems fair.

─ You’re not the one to negotiate, sunshine, considering I have a hand on your pretty neck. And a thigh of yours. ─ He added after looking up and down at you like a piece of goose meat.

─ But I have a knife pointed at your kidney, so what will it be? Equals?

There was silence for a short moment between you and Tangerine. For a very brief moment, but the escalating tension made it impossible for you to keep looking him straight in the eyes.

God bless, he lowered his head down, turning it slightly to the sides - meaning Tangerine gave in the further argument.

─ You never disappoint me, love ─ the man giggled, making his mustache twitch. ─ Fuck it. On three, you ready?

─ One. ─ You started counting, still being highly alerted of your surroundings. Of him. ─ Two. Three.

─ Birdwhistle. ─ He chanted a surname unknown to you.

─ Stuart’s Sapphire.

You both exclaimed at the same time, tension instantly leaving your bodies. That evening your paths weren’t crossed.

─ Jesus Christ ─ brunette man cursed, while releasing the air from his lungs ─ couldn’t you just say that earlier?

Tangerine let go of your exposed neck and led your leg carefully back to the floor. Now that you stood firm on the ground, you fixed the material of your dress and hid the dagger back under the garter.

─ Well, couldn’t you clarify earlier, that you and your brother are not here to assassinate me or my mission? After violently reminding me about Vienna?

─ Why would I? I kinda enjoy your company, sweetheart. Never fails to entertain. ─ The British man said, handing you the bag you’ve dropped.

─ How splendid. Thanks.

“I’m not sure if Lemon could say the same about my fellowship” you thought.

Only when you two wanted to leave the resting area, the bathroom door swung open and the old lady emerged from the inside. Your heart froze for a second.

─ Oh, Miss Caldwell! ─ Exclaimed the short lady, who discussed the matter of flowers with you earlier. The surname was fake of course. ─ Aren’t you going for the main event? It’s about to start.

─ We’ve been just heading there, but I needed to re-do my hair. You know how it is, ma’am ─ you smiled cheerfully, getting right back into your role. ─ Have you met my fiance August, Mistress Dolores?

You falsely presented Tangerine, before she could even ask about it. This way, the old lady wouldn’t have much time to overthink his persona.

Without even hesitating, the brunette gently shook her hand. He jumped straight into the fake personality you just gave him. Tangerine got so much into playing his part of a fiance, that he even put his left hand around your waist, resting it on your hip.

And for a moment you felt the same way as when your bodies were entangled together in a scuffle minutes before. You felt too comfortable around him - he was your competitor for fuck’s sake.

─ Then we shall go back. I wouldn’t want to miss such an opportunity. ─ Tangerine encouraged you to move forward, slowly leading to the great hall. He exposed his free elbow in your direction, inviting you to take it. So you did.

─ You’ll have to excuse me, I have to go into that crowd and find my husband, first ─ Mr. Dolores explained, as she got visibly worried. ─ Before he gets lost. Again.

─ Understably, ma’am.

And just like she appeared out of nowhere, she blended in the colorful and extravagant crowd of guests.

─ So ─ Tangerine cleared his throat ─ we’re playin’ in one team, darlin’? No more scuffles?

While finishing, he looked at you with his eyes made of ice and a manner you could no longer describe. He still kept his hand on your hip, leading you during your walk together. It irritated you a bit and you wondered - was he always acting this cocky?

─ You and your brother do what you have to do and I’ll stick to my stuff. Everyone gets what they want. Seems cool, right, Mr. Bond? ─ You jokingly addressed him. Turning your head, you caught him staring at you, which sent some shivers down your spine.

─ Seems cool. We’ll finally have some pleasant memories together, won’t we, love?

You sent him a quick, cheeky smile, before leaving him behind.

Brunette Britishman brought his hands to himself, placing them in his pockets as you walked away from him. It was high time to pursue tonight's commissions. The auctions had started and Mr. Birdwhistle was about to pass out drunk. He had to find Lemon fast, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you in that evening dress.

Oh, that fucking dress. It almost made him go insane.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

She patiently waited.

Waited until the bodyguards would get bored with keeping an eye on some blue jewel that nobody came to see. One of them decided to go on a break, leaving only one man on the post. The universe has blessed you.

Now it was a matter of minutes. You had to remove the other guy from the camera’s lens. So while heading to the lobby with the exhibition, you lit up a cigarette and inhaled it a single time. Then threw it into the nearest bin and waited until the other rubbish caught the flames.

Only when you saw the smoke coming out of the metal container did you continue the plan. Acting a bit lost and concerned.

─ Is anyone here, hello? ─ You started asking for help, almost approaching your final destination. And there he was, a bodyguard leaving his post. ─ Oh, God gracious! I think there is a small fire in that bin. Can you help that, sir?

The man said nothing but regardless, he went to see what caused the smoke. During that time you’ve managed to loop the image, so you wouldn’t be seen on the CCTV. By the time you stepped in, the security was gone - probably went for the fire-extinguisher.

You’ve already put gloves on (not to leave any fingertips) and started to unlock the glass cabinet. When it finally popped open, you grabbed the jewel from the little, red pillow and replaced it with the cheaper replica from your baggie.

Then you quickly positioned it at the exhibition, locked it up and removed your gloves. Everything was looking fine, so you decided to leave. The security guy was coughing on the white fog that put out the fire you started. Little pyromaniac.

You stood in one place, waiting for him to finish, so he would think you stayed there all this time. That you hadn’t just got into the lobby, he was supposed to look after.

─ So we don’t need firefighters after all ─ you giggled, passing by him. ─ Should I inform someone?

─ That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Thank you.

You proceed to leave the area, to go back to the main hall, where almost everyone gathered. Only when you turned around the corner, you recovered the cameras to its original state.

The commission was almost completed. Now you just had to deliver it within 48 hours to the messenger or something like this. And when it’s done, you’ll finally have some white wine.

You passed through the whole crowd of excited people and found yourself near the roofed part of the patio, when you turned around to take a look at the scene - at the valuable and collectable items they were selling off. Suddenly you bumped into someone, while continuing to walk and not looking forward.

─ I’m so sorry. ─ You started to apologize just before realizing who you just bumped into.

─ Don’t be, love. It’s always nice to see you. ─ Tangerine’s smile was highlighted by the movement of his mustache, when his hand locked you close to him.

─ Very funny. Is it done?

There was no time for him to answer as the scream for a far filled the whole room. The lead person of the auctions stopped, while the gathered people began to speculate.

─ Oh, I see.

─ Lemon’s already outside and I have to disappear too ─ Tangerine looked around nervously, which was uncommon for him. But by squeezing your arms he brought you closer and placed a short kiss on your cheek. ─ Take care, sunshine.

You stood there mortified as he merged with the disturbed guests of the hotel. The place he had just kissed pleasantly burned and your cheeks blushed. “What was that? A fucking farewell?” you also wondered if he was toying with you.

And then, out of bloom, something made you check your baggie. Which was slightly opened as it turned out. Not panicking yet (but almost), you started to search for it. But only found out that Britishman in fact stole your sapphire, leaving a piece of paper instead.

─ Bastard!

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝

You wandered across the sixth floor searching for room number “610”, because a note the Britishman left in your bag suggested you to search exactly here. Your feet hurt more than ever. With every step, the heels dug into the carpet flooring and your chafed heel felt like burning.

But your suffering was awarded the second you’ve noticed silver, a three digit number on the door - 610.

You stopped upon the frame and knocked a few times, not realizing those knocks put together made a cheerful melody. While waiting for something to happen, you couldn’t decide how to manage the situation - to be mad and feisty or to turn it all into a joke.

But when he finally appeared in the doorframe, all your anger was gone. There was something else instead.

─ Lovely, I was wondering if you’d come. ─ Tangerine moved aside. His hand politely pointed to the inside, welcoming you. An invitation you didn’t reject.

─ You have stolen something from me.

─ Oh yes ─ brunette closed the door behind your back and proceeded to head to the counter nearby. Then he handed you a small, navy crystal. ─ Here you go, love.

You turned it around with your fingers, searching for any marks or cracks indicating it’s fake. But you hadn’t found any.

─ That’s all? You just… gave it back to me?

─ Yeah, sorry about that, love. I’ve some ongoing kleptomaniac issues.

Brunette man stood in front of you, in the middle of the hotel room. His jacket was lying folded in half on a seat back. No creases could be seen.

His chemise, on the other hand, was slightly opened, exposing his collarbone and partially his chest. The new vest fitted him perfectly.

─ I see. You’re off duty or is your brother waiting outside?

─ Lemon? Nah, he left. My brother wanted to sleep somewhere else.

─ Somewhere he hadn’t killed someone, hm?

─ Exactly.

─ But you don’t mind.

─ Not really, no ─ Tangerine took a deep breath out. ─ Listen, darlin’, you clearly want to ask me something that is bothering you ─ you opened your lips to intervene, but the Britishman was quicker. ─ You’d leave otherwise. You won back your little jewel, didn’t you?

“Fair point, Mr. Bond” you thought to yourself “then why am I still here?”. You placed the bag on the closest cabinet, tightly securing it before that.

─ Since we’re both finished tonight ─ you started the sentence, calmly and carefully collecting your thoughts ─ what was that?

─ What?

─ The patio? After you’ve put your sticky hands in my bag?

Quite suddenly the man cupped your face with both of his hands. Moment later he placed a long kiss on your lips, this time directly on them. You’ve expected his mustache to irritate you, but the outcome was quite the opposite. You’ve never melted like that through the kiss.

You knew you desired more, but afraid to let go, you turned your head away to the side, breaking the kiss.

─ Stop treating me like some… pet or something. Jesus, Tangerine.

─ A fuckin’ what? ─ An older man could not hold his short laugh back, while his hands lowered onto your shoulders.

─ You’re having a laugh, huh? You all do.

─ No one’s laughin’ at you, sweetheart. And if they do, I’m gonna smash their fuckin’ noses into bloody mush. Because I like you, darlin’. I really do. ─ The Britishman was dead serious, when he put his whole hand against your chest. Christ’s sake, his hand was so warm.

─ I thought you despised me.

─ Despise you? Why would I, eh?

─ I don’t know, I’m being annoying sometimes?

─ Yeah, well, sometimes. Only when you’re teasing me like this, princess.

You gripped both sides of his vest, pulling him closer into a kiss. Both of you hungirly searched for each other's lips, taking only a short breaks in between.

His long fingers traveled across your sides and its curves. Tangerine’s hands grinded on your hips, crumpling the material of your evening dress.

─ Would you mind, stayin’ here for tonight? ─ He asked you, caressing the outline of your jaw with his right hand.

─ But only for tonight.

You weren’t prepared for him to grab your thighs at their tops, inviting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He held you close and tight, when your shoes fell off your heels onto the carpet floor.

As the Britishman slowly made his way to the closest cabinet near the wall, you continued to leave a trace of kisses from his cheeks until the earlobe. Few hours ago, you wouldn’t even imagine - that now you were entangled around Tangerine’s body.

He placed you carefully on the edge of counter’s top. While the brunette stood close between your legs, he swiftly took off his vest and just threw it behind him. With no folding. God, he was desperate.

Tangerine places his hand on the inner side of your thigh, but before he went further, he locked his blue eyes with yours. Wordlessly he asked you for permission. And you gave him another long, passionate kiss as an answer.

─ Ladies first, eh?

His slender fingers slipped through your panties and dipped deeper between the folds. His gentle touch made you slightly twitch. But not in an unpleasant way, more in relief.

─ Show me, sunshine ─ he said calmly, nibbing on the skin of your neck ─ how to touch you. Show me.

One of your hands left the cabinet’s edge and you placed it above his palm and knuckles, so you could guide his two fingers. You guided him a few slow motions around the clit that already made you gasp.

After a while he caught on and continued on his own, while you clutched on his white chemise, poking out the trousers. Brunette’s other hand secured your hip, while he showered you in kisses - his facial hair tickling your skin.

Even though he caged you with his body, you’ve never felt so safe around anybody. Never.

─ Like this, y-yes. ─ You encouraged him.

Few minutes later, you were so close to an edge. Your whole body relaxed and you couldn’t hide the little moans no more. Tangerine guessed you were close to your high. He placed his other hand on the side of your face (covering almost all of it), bringing your head to his forehead. Your hair was now messy, but it didn’t matter.

─ I’ve desired you long before Vienna, love.

─ I know. ─ You almost stuttered saying that, as you’ve finally reached your beautiful climax.

You took in a few sharp breaths, when you crossed your sighs again. All this time he kept his hand on your face in a comforting manner. And you acknowledged that he was smiling under that mustache. No more grumpy Britishman.

Both of you waited a moment, giving you the time to come down from the high, as your dingling from the edge legs were shaking. But when you were feeling alright again, he helped you get on the ground.

You grabbed his hand and led towards the other part of the hotel room. By the way, checking if the curtains were closed. You stopped at the edge of the bed, turning around to face him.

Slowly you unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, exposing his torso to you. A golden necklace swung between his collarbones and a few tattoos, you didn’t know about, were undiscovered.

He patiently waited there, letting you walk around him and explore his body with your fingertips. But he grew impatient, as a growl escaped his lips. You combed his dark brown hair, before coming back where you initially stood. Then you started to undo his matching trousers.

Tangerine vividly slid them off along his socks and shoes. His already half hardened cock was visible under the boxers’ material.

─ Sweet Jesus, now it’s my turn, love. ─ He said, eagerly looking at you. Brunette turned you around and unzipped the dress that tempted him so much. You let it slide past your ankles.

Lack of coverage exposed a garter with a dagger still in it.

─ We won’t need that, won’t we, darlin’? ─ Older man took it out and threw it aside. Tangerine stepped even closer to you, as you tried to take off your underwear. He followed your movements with his boxers. ─ Come ‘ere.

No more invitations were needed. He welcomed you with open arms. You tucked your hair behind an ear, while you were almost swallowed by his eager kisses. Then, he once again lifted you up, so you just sat on his hips and he made his way to the bed.

The man placed you gently onto the soft sheets and quickly climbed over you. He placed his hands on both sides of your head, resting on his forearms, so he could lean closer to you.

─ Fuckin’ hell, you’re so delicious ─ Tangerine asked, right after nibbling on your hardened nipples. ─ You okay, love?

─ Very much.

Your hand found a way up the base of his neck. Once again you ran through his curly hair with your fingers. He smelled like whiskey and wood’s smoke.

─ I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart. ─ He positioned himself and with determined, but not violent movement he buried his length within your cunt.

It wasn’t painful, you were already wet from the foreplay, but the feeling of stretching made you gasp. You clenched on his arm as he started to thrust his hips against your pelvis.

─ You’re so beautiful, you know?

─ Oh God ─ you moaned shamefully, when he shifted his position - I am?

─ Yeah ─ Tangerine’s weight was on top of you (his form perfectly fitting to your body), but you didn’t mind. As long as he was close to you, holding your tight. ─ Especially when you make those lil noises.

The man continued to thrust against you, letting some growls escape his own lips. The sensation of your warm and welcoming womanhood, made him closer to his pleasure. So you squeezed his biceps, letting him know you wanted to change position.

He was moving freely, following the movements of your body. He comfortably half sat, his back resting on the pillow. While still joined together in an act of pleasure, you straddled him which only pushed his cock deeper inside you.

You made that obvious by tilting a little bit forward. Not mentioning you opened your mouth.

─ You alright, love? ─ He asked to make sure.

─ Mhm. ─ You muttered, enhancing your position atop of him.

Your legs felt like jellies, from the overstimulation beforehand and from the things you wanted to do to him. Your hands rested on his broad and bit hairy chest.

─ Left you speechless, hun?

─ Now it’s my turn, lover boy ─ you explained, when you’ve finally got used to his length buried inside your walls. ─ Let me make you happy.

Tangerine placed his hands on your hips, supporting your position. He already knew what you intended. And only after you sat on your heels, you started to ride him.

His facial expression quickly changed when you moved just the way he needed it. You quite quickly found the pace to go with and started to enjoy yourself too.

Louder moans escaped your pretty mouth as you continued to ride a “cowboy”.

─ Oh fuck, yes ─ he stuttered loudly, his right hand blindly searching for your bouncing breast. ─ Like this, yes.

You continued to sway your hips against him, as you two grew closer together. He leaned forward, holding you tight. Tangerine’s and your breaths became shorter and shallower. You wished that night could last forever.

You once again gained your climax thanks to that man, who followed you right after, buckling his hips for more. Your thighs shivered uncontrollably and your wet cunt clenched around his cock milking it dry. Tangerine unintentionally harsly gripped on your hips, leaving little marks indicating - you’re his.

In the moment of your biggest pleasure you whined his real name, not the alias. And it really moved him. Deeply.

─ Good girl ─ brunette praised you, while you brushed his now ruined hair back. ─ You alright, love?

─ Quite alright, can’t you see? ─ You jokingly said almost breathlessly.

─ I see quite fuckin’ fine, thanks, hun. Now, come ‘ere. Come.

The Britishman guided you to come back down, supporting your forearms so you could lean onto him. You were gracious for his help as you could barely feel your tired legs.

He stayed in a half sitting position, while you lied down on your side. His strong arm invited you to different type of affection, so you cuddled up to his side and rested your head on his chest. His heart was still beating uncommonly fast.

Brunette held you close to him, so your body heat kept you warm. Meanwhile all of this Tangerine pulled the sheets on you both, covering the naked bodies.

─ I really enjoyed myself tonight ─ you stated, when you finally collected yourself. ─ Thank you.

─ Oh, you fuckin’ did, yeah ─ Tangerine smiled through his thick mustache, you could tell that. ─ But I did too. Yeah, it’s been a fuckin’ ride with you.

Britishman continued to caress his soft hand with rings against the skin of your arm that was sticking out from the sheets.

─ Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry for…

─ Don’t worry about that ─ you interrupted him with a cheerful smile, knowing what he wanted to say. ─ I think I might actually like you after all, Tangerine.

The confession made you blush immediately. And even more when you looked up at him and realized he was watching you all this time. His other hand cupped your cheek again and his facial expression became a bit more serious than before.

─ I want you to be mine, darlin’. Mine.

─ I’m already yours, silly bastard.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #reader insert #request

490 notes · View notes

lafcadiosadventures · 1 year

Text

Madame Putiphar Readalong. Book Two, Chapter XXIII:

For the first time in this novel where any place can suddenly become a prison*, we enter the first tangible, actual jail in the novel, and it's none other than the Bastille.

*I believe Proust ironized about noblemen becoming the hosts of whichever place they were in. In Borel’s novel, they are imbued with the alchemic power of transforming any place into a jail whether they own it or not.

J.M.W.Turner, Lecture Diagram 75: Interior of a Prison c.1810 based on an etching from Piranesi’s Prima Parte de Architettura e Prospettiva (1743, pl.2)

We follow Patrick, armed with Pompadour’s letter, into the building. Borel compares it with a beast. Patrick is entering its belly to rescue an already semi digested Fitz-Harris. The jail itself is alive, slowly ruminating on and digesting its prisoners in its gut-like cells. The Bastille is a stone bull, a lot like Phalaris’ Bronze Bull, the narrator remarks. This was a terrifying torture device from ancient Greece, the neoclassicists’ model of rationality and measure, imposing the style in repressive official art (for example see Auguste Préault’s Tuerie: a Romantic response to Triqueti’s La Loi vengeresse a previous and official neoclassical bas-relief)

I’d also say Borel is putting us in perspective with this example: it not only casts the horrors of the Bastille in a magnitude of excess worthy of a capricious, self-appointed tyrant from antiquity, it also shows us how this type of power abuse is not specific to a determinate place and time period (although this novel is very much about ancien régime and restoration era France), it has happened in ancient Greece, it has happened in 18th c France, whenever this abysmal power imbalance is allowed to exist these types of abuses will happen. Finally, the brazen bull is also a great metaphor: its acoustic design transformed the tyrant’s victims desperate cries into the bull’s mooing, a final insult to those dying in it, transformed into a gag or entertainment for the tyrant. (also worth noting, Phalaris was established in what now is Agrigento, Sicily, a colony of Greece, coexisting with democratic Athens)(Phalaris was also, like the French tyrants, finally overthrown by the native population, and some say, roasted inside his own bull)(it is a VERY relevant comparison, on so many levels)

It’s also interesting to note how abstract Borel is keeping France’s most iconic prison. Most of his readers would have had a mental image of it I suppose. But think of how precise Balzac gets when depicting the Concièrgerie (or Hugo in his Choses vues, or Dumas with the Château d’If in Montecristo) it’s almost as if Borel, for now at least, is not interested in documentation of a precise space, we are allowed to imagine any prison, we are allowed to go full Piranesi here. [Insert your mental image of an ancien régime prison here] in lieu of ancien régime France’s most iconic prison, because, maybe its horrors exceed a concrete time and space, specific as they are.

We do see the vault Fitz-Harris is locked in, in its tangible side: a dreadful place where you can barely stand upright, humid, dark, freezing; as well as in its psychological dimension, the effect it has had on Fitz-Harris, how different he sounds now, no more cheerfully mean spirited “monomania of speech”. After weeks of sensory deprivation and immobility, probably half starved as well, he’s grown completely paranoid and afraid of his own shadow. He has probably been hallucinating before, since he thinks Patrick is imaginary too, he also fails to react to the sound of his cell’s door opening.

Fitz-Harris’ monomania of speech is not entirely gone, he cannot help and call Pompadour “—L’infâme! La Putiphar!” right within the guards’ earshot. Patrick grows understandably anxious....

(Interestinly Patrick, a relatively recently emigrated man, knows the Bastille by reputation, he mentions in reference to Fitz-Harris’ anti Pompadour outburst, something called citerne-aux-oublis, a place he says, prisoners were thrown into for harsh(er) punishment. I tried looking this up on Borel’s Bastille related sources but had no luck with the exact words or synonyms I could think of... It is possible Borel is referring to the apparently famous “oubliettes” of the Bastille?

“M. Viollet-le-Duc has assured us, quite gravely, that the famed oubliettes (the bottoms of which were shaped like sugar loaves, so that prisoners might have no resting-place for their feet) were merely ice-houses! It is not denied that these cells existed, and those who care to believe that a Mediæval architect built them under the towers of the Bastille as store-chambers for ice to cool the governor's or the prisoners' wine, are entirely welcome to do so. These were amongst the places of torment in which Louis XI. kept the Armagnac princes, who were taken out twice a week to be scourged in the presence of Governor l'Huillier, and "every three months to have a tooth pulled out."

From The Dungeons of Old Paris, by Tighe Hopkins.

Violet-le-Duc’s drawing of the vaults, and explanation of its origin as ice storage here

Whether he means that or something else, it speaks of the Bastille’s infamy as a symbol of terror, mentally torturing the general population in an attempt to keep them in line out of fear.)

Fitz-Harris, maybe out of prison instilled paranoia, or maybe just projecting his own faults into others, thinks this is a trap, Patrick is lying, he falsely claims he is pardoned, but Patrick is actually leading him to his execution. He still follows, because he has to prove he’s not a coward. (this reminds me of the duel and how differently they both understood masculinity and honour... more on that very soon, in a shocking reveal about Pat’s character)

This routine of Patrick begging for FH to follow him, and the prisoner refusing to be set free is pretty interesting.... there’s something Plato’s Cavern to be said about it, surely. However terrible the conditions, a routine is a routine, sudden change is more scary than quotidian incarceration. It is uncertain and stable at the same time (trying to put myself in the shoes of a person who could barely see his surroundings, calculating the passage of time by the irruptions of the guards, once you realize you’re not being moved I imagine you grow calm because it means you get to live, since any abrupt change is seen by Fitz-Harris as the possibility of execution)

However, as F-H is not as far gone yet as to be unable to notice that he is in fact, being released, showers Patrick in praise, abases himself, swears to change for good and live to “earn” Patrick’s friendship, which he has without having really deserved it. But Patrick reveals a dark side to what we before though was his Christlike behaviour. He confesses a rather perverse pleasure in subjugating the one who hated him so much by making him thankful. His revenge is simply not won by the force of an iron blade, but it is a much crueller revenge, he says. Patrick is less of a saint, less of a Christ intuiting virtues in his potential apostles than what we had been led to think before. He of course has never shared this secret source of pleasure to Debby, not even when she thought him mad and too good for this world for helping Fitz-Harris...

(i am including Fitz-Harris’ previous phrase, I bolded a part that seems like it will be relevant in the future, translation by @sainteverge )

“Apologies, apologies for the all the harm I have done to you! My entire life shall henceforth be entirely dedicated to cleansing myself of my crimes towards you. I shall do everything to be worthy of your esteem; for he whom you esteem must be esteemed by God. As for your friendship, do not ever give it back to me, it would be to profane it! Keep it for hearts righter than mine. Oh! you have my eternal gratitude!” “Fitz-Harris, no gratitude. You owe me nothing, I told you I do not avenge myself with a blade; but I did not tell you that I am not capable of revenge; therefore here is mine: a good deed for an insult. This one is more cruel, I think, than the blade, what say you? to force someone who hates you to bless you, despite himself, in the depth of his conscience; to force a man to blush, to die of shame before his fellowman; that is, if I’m not wrong, a revenge! What say you, Fitz-Harris? We are even, I believe?”

I for one, did not expect this from Patrick... his revenge is still, killing them with kindness in a way... but there’s something about his choice of word that is sensuous and almost cruel, that reveals a vanity, and a perverse relishing in other’s subjugation that is surprising from him. He seemed exceedingly good, and it’s interesting for borel to suddenly introduce this mildly sadistic streak in him.

We are denied Fitz-Harris' reaction, but I bet he was surprised himself.

#madame putiphar #long post #text post

13 notes · View notes