#probably a little over a third lemon

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Bradley wakes up beside you, tensions boil over.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, bickering and teasing through the chapter, mlre warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc 4.6k

…

Turning onto his side reminds him that he’s not at home. His cheek meets the edge of the mattress, his arm already hanging freely off of it. He groans softly, then clears his throat, but otherwise makes no effort to move.

Your fingers curl and then uncurl, fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet. You’ve been up for twenty minutes now, staring at the man in the bed opposite you. He has kicked the covers off at some point in the night, discarded his belt too. His khaki shorts are still on, just unbuttoned for comfort.

He’s laying on his front, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow to support his head. Ashamedly, your eyes keep wandering back to the same thing. That long, even line down the stretch of his back. Starting at the waistband of the shorts, extending up along a plain of tanned, freckled skin, onto broad, thick shoulders. Before this, you’ve never thought about what Professor Bradshaw had looked like under those one-size too big button up shirts he wears.

Even his breathing is just so heavy.

Routinely, he’ll shift, pressing his face into the pillow and rocking his hips a little to try to find comfort again. Behind you, the sun has risen, casting a golden shadow over half of the lake, and, incidentally, Bradley too. Before now, you’ve never noticed quite how many freckles he has.

Finally, reminding himself that he’s got a hungover nineteen year old to go and reprimand, he forces himself to blink a few times. After opening his eyes for the first time, he’s somewhat aware of your presence. It isn’t until maybe the third blink that he finally draws his brows together, lifts his head and squints at you.

You stare back at him as he mumbles your name, his voice deep and gruff from a night of sleeping with his lips slightly parted.

“Are you watching me sleep?” He pushes himself up a little more, turning so that he’s sitting up in bed. Curls a mess, still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rolling those thick shoulders to stretch them.

“We need to talk.”

“Jesus Christ,” He scoffs, pressing the base of his palm into his eye socket in an attempt to wipe the blur from his vision. “Can you let me wake up first?”

It’s already dawning on him that he made a dumb decision in falling into this bed last night. He probably shouldn’t have left Luke alone with Robin. Even if he had, he shouldn’t have let himself into your room. Natasha would’ve gotten him a different room in a heartbeat. He had just been so exhausted, and your door was right there.

“You were in the military?” It wasn’t what the topic of conversation was supposed to be about, you’ve just never noticed that silver-balled chain dangling around his neck before. Bradley glances down at the tags resting against his bare chest and rubs at his eye again.

“Navy, for a bit.” He tells you, the sleep starting to clear from his voice. Six years, actually. He shipped out at eighteen and came back a man.

“Did you go to Vietnam?” That’s always the question that follows, and when you’re a man who turned eighteen in 1971, there’s usually one answer.

He turns his head and looks across at you, “Only for a couple months.” Finally, he takes note of his half awake state and lifts a hand to try to tame his curls. Twisting them apart and brushing them back off of his face. “Why are we talking about the Navy?”

“Because I didn’t know that you served,” You reply, lifting your hands away from the covers and instead toying with your nightgown. Bradley watches your hands fiddle in the lemon coloured material, thinking back to the conversation he had had with Luke. He’d been expecting something uglier. It’s old-fashioned, but he doesn’t hate it. “You just don’t seem like the type—“

“I’m not.” Bradley interrupts you. He pushes himself up from the twin bed and stands straight, stretching his arms above his head and craning his neck from side to side.

He looks bigger without his clothes on. All three buttons on his shorts popped open revealing the waistband of white boxers inside. A steady trail of brown hair extending from his bellybutton to that waistband, stretching from the middle of his chest across his pecs. His biceps flexing as he tucks his arms behind his head.

“Do I have something on my face?” It’s more of a groan as he stretches out again, he peeks his eyes open to remind you that you’re staring at him.

“You have a lot of nerve,” You push yourself up swiftly. Here we go. He raises his eyebrows, intrigued but far from intimidated. You walk closer, barefoot and dressed in that cute little nightie. “First you let yourself in here and pass out next to me—“

“I was halfway across the room and in a different bed, it wasn’t—“

“Then,” You interrupt, talking louder to him, “You keep me up with your snoring—“

“I don’t snore.” He tries, still calm as you stomp around the twin bed to get to him, poking your index finger into his toned chest.

“And don’t act like I don’t know what you did last night, Bradshaw. One phone call and I can have you fired.”

Bradley’s lips quirk at the fact you think you have that power, but his brows knit together. “What do you think I did?”

“You! And Natasha!”

“Are friends, yes.” He’s talking down to you, slow and soft like you’re stupid. You smack his chest with the base of your palm, then point at him again. He looks down at the digit pressing into his skin, then back at you seriously.

“Were all over each other on the balcony last night!” You correct him. He glances down at your finger on his skin once again. You consider stepping back a little so that you don’t have to look up at him quite as much, but stay where you are.

He lifts his hand and wraps it over the top of yours, taking it away from his skin, holding it just a little too tight. “I don’t know what you think you saw, or what you think you know, but I can assure you that whatever it is, won’t get me fired.”

“She’s married! Do you have no respect for her marriage, if not her as a person?”

He stares at you. You can see it in his face that he’s trying not to smile. He looks down at your hand in his and examines your engagement ring. It’s a pretty sizeable rock on that band, but that’s no surprise.

“I respect Natasha,” Bradley decides, lifting those big brown eyes to look at your face again. “Enough to know that she's a grown up and can make her own decisions.”

He lets go of your hand and reaches for the buttons on his shorts. Your gaze falls to track the movement of his hands. He buttons them slowly, watching you watch him.

“If the Dean knew that you were—“

“Are you going to tell him?” Bradley prompts, stepping invasively closer to you. His brows seem to be permanently drawn together when he’s talking to you. Your neck leans back further so that you can keep your eyes on his face. “If I go home, so do you. Meaning you don’t graduate, genius. How’s your Dad going to take that one?”

Your eyes widen and then narrow.

“It’s no wonder that all Natasha wants you for is sex — I don’t think that any woman could put up with you for longer than that.” You decide. He stares back at you, lips quirking to let you know that he’s going to be harsh before he even speaks.

“And what would you know about sex?”

He knows. He watches you react to his words try to piece together who told him or why he thinks it’s acceptable to mock you for it. Truthfully, Zoey had drunkenly giggled it last night. He was standing behind her with her hair scooped messily into a ponytail, averting his gaze as she puked into the toilet, when she had sat back and wiped her mouth.

“Hey, Bradley, did you hear that your — star pupil hasn’t even fucked her own fiancée? — She’s — a virgin.” Zoey had hiccuped, grinning amusedly.

You’re quiet for long enough that he stands there and readies himself for you to try to hit him, he knows better than to leave himself open to you.

Then, you exhale slowly and stand up a little straighter, like that makes any difference in the way he stands over you.

“You’re going to start tutoring me, starting tomorrow.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because if there’s any chance that I’m not going to pass this class then I’ll just send the both of us home today, I swear to god.” Your fists ball at your sides. He stares back at you, understanding your rationale for maybe the first time since he met you. “Either you make sure I pass, so this whole circus is worth it — or we’re both fucked.”

His lips quirk. That’s the first time he’s heard you swear. Sounds awfully grown up spilling from your lips like that. He gives you a quick once over, trailing his gaze from your bare feet to the way your lips are pursed at him.

“I’m not going to do the work for you.” He decides. If there was enough room between you, he might’ve crossed his arms over his chest. If it wasn’t so hot from the window being open and the baking morning sun creeping in through the window, he might have stayed longer. His hand cups your waist as he pushes you out of his way and steps around you. “Get Pasquale to give you his book, read chapters two and three before tomorrow.”

And with that, he leaves your room. His belt, shirt and shoes remain on your floor. He passes Robin in the hallway, wearing one of Luke’s striped t-shirts, ignores her completely and swings the door to his own room open.

Robin winces at the sound of Bradley yelling as she renters her own room. She stops, her gaze falling down to the unmade bed and Bradley’s belt, shirt and shoes on the floor. She lifts her gaze to look at you. You scowl instantly.

“Got sick of waiting, huh?” Robin’s tone is dripping with mockery as she steps past you, barefoot and not wearing a single item of her own clothing.

You’re tempted, then for the first time, to shove her, but don’t. You let her walk past, but holding your tongue is too much to ask.

“Not all of us are as easy as you.” You remind her

“Prude.” She spits, shooting you a venomous look over her love-bitten shoulder. She doesn’t even have time to turn before you lurch forwards and grab a handful of her hair, tearing her backwards.

Lake Como begins to rise, peaceful and quiet outside of the open window. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Golden rays of sunlight across the still water of the lake, a gentle breeze and a freshness in the air.

Downstairs, from the breakfast patio, Natasha sips on her espresso as Bradley pulls the two of you off of each other. His voice carries through the valley, disrupting her breakfast guests as he reprimands the two of you for your childish behavior.

Your punishment is to be exactly where he can see and hear you, for the rest of the day. At ten, sharp, you sit on his left while Robin sits on his right. All three of you looking equally miserable.

You’re being spoken to as a group by an older man, he’s grey all over and sun-spotted, but you can tell he would have been handsome in his day. He’s telling you all about Lake Como’s history.

“In 49 BC Como town came into its own under the rule of Julius Caesar,” His accent is thick but his English is good, he has grown around the tourists and knows exactly how to talk to them. “Who populated the town with its first 5,000 inhabitants and named the lake Larius. Como itself was known as Novum Comum and played host to famous authors such as Pliny the Elder and Pliny the Younger during this time.”

Bradley breaks his gaze to scan across his students quickly. Abigail is taking notes, an Italian dictionary poking out of the top of her backpack with various sticky notes poking out of it. Luke’s enthralled, watching intently with his lips parted. You’re looking down. He leans forwards and cranes his neck to get a better look at you. You’re sitting up straight, frowning down at Pasquale’s book.

More notably, the artwork on the left page. It’s a Florentine painting from the sixteenth century of two women. Nobles, both of them. One of them’s sprawled out across a bed, her undergarments bunched, breasts exposed. Her modesty would be too, if it wasn’t for the second woman with her face buried between the gasping woman’s legs. He studies your expression, unimpressed by how you’re scowling at the work instead of just reading.

Reaching over two students, he taps harshly on the back of your head and points towards the front, “Pay attention.”

You look up quickly and snap the book closed. Bradley stares at you. You stare forwards, trying to focus on the lecture after what you had just been reading. You’re certain that if your father had bothered to look over the syllabus, he wouldn’t have cared so much about you taking this class.

“The stunning scenery also attracted artists such as Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley, acting as a muse to many poems including ‘The Daisy’ by Tennyson and ‘Cadenabbia’ by Longfellow.”

The furthest thing from your mind, truthfully, is Alfred Tennyson. If you were really being honest, the one thing on your mind is the image of Bradley standing at the front of the hall, reading aloud what you had just read. Hearing the words pour off of his tongue. Maybe during a morning lecture, where his voice would have been gruff and deep like you had heard this morning.

The lecture continues on and, as much as Bradley wishes he could pay attention, he glances across at you periodically. You’re still making that face. Like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. He doesn’t get it, nor does he get you — you’re acting like the required reading for his class is porn. Turning his gaze to the water behind Guiliano’s lecture, he considers that for you it probably is.

He almost scoffs at the idea. Some sixteenth century painting being radical is such a foreign idea to him. He thinks of being eighteen, and impressed by the nude pictures on lighters and playing cards in the Navy. Impressed by the women he met at ports who liked the look of his uniform. Impressed by Natasha and everything she had taught him.

By the time it came to seeing that painting, calling it explicit was far from his mind.

“Great composers like Liszt and Verdi were also inspired by the lake. Many poems have been written about Lake Como both historically and more recently, but it’s not hard to see why the unrivalled beauty of the lake would inspire even the most amateur to put pen to paper.” Breeze carries forwards and sends Guiliano’s hair brushing back off of his forehead as he speaks. Bradley catches you turn out of the corner of his eye and looks. Meeting his gaze, you swallow and look quickly back to the water.

The morning passes slowly, it feels like Bradley’s eyes are burning into your back but maybe that’s just the warming sun. Lunch is quick, Bradley sits with Natasha and her husband. Her hand sits on top of her husband’s, diamond sparkling in the light.

Bradley stares at it as he eats his salad. The sapphire he had given her half a decade ago was prettier with her skin tone, but that’s at the bottom of the Mediterranean now.

After that, more lectures — then free time around the lake. This time, the students have organized to take a trip up to one of the towns further along the lake driven by Pasquale.

It’s less humiliating that you haven’t been invited now, because at least you’ve got the excuse of being stuck in the library of the hotel with Bradley all afternoon.

Gaze focused down, you watch the way Bradley scrawls across the page, his handwriting legible but not exactly neat. His hand’s just gripping the pen, but you can’t help but think of the way it had curled into her hair. Being six years old and having your ponytail pulled on the playground feels far from this.

You’ve been at this for a while, and it’s clear that you’re both equally irritated by each other. Slamming the pen down, he takes one look at your face and knows you’re about to ask him if he’s sure this translation that he has given you even makes sense.

“Don’t.”

You close your mouth, scowling across at him. He leans across the table and points towards the bottom of the dictionary, where a brief explanation of the Latin term you’re looking for exists.

“Stop getting yourself so mad,” He tells you calmly, shaking his head. “You’re bad at it because you don’t practice. Take a breath, think about it. It’s going to get easier.”

That’s the first nice thing he has said to you since you got here. You press your lips together, sigh, and then wet them with your tongue, trying to focus. He studies you from across the desk, each of you soaked in warm afternoon sunlight, the floor length windows open, the breeze soft. There’s an artificial smell of citrus in here.

You look back down to the work and exhale softly. Your chest rises and falls, the pale blue of your shirt catching his eye, just briefly.

“So, you didn’t like chapter two of the book, huh?” Maybe he thinks that this is an icebreaker of sorts. Your gaze is heavy, lifting slowly from your work to stare at him. He feels the need to elaborate instantly. “The painting.”

Suddenly the translation of the word fortuitous is a lot more interesting than it had been. Bradley taps his fingers against the desk as you avoid the discomfort of meeting his gaze.

“I just mean—“

“I don’t see why it should be in an academic text.” You say simply. He can tell that his question has annoyed you, but most things he says annoy you, so he moves swiftly on.

There’s a long pause between the two of you.

“Okay, you should know that I’m asking this seriously — so don’t bite my head off,” Bradley rests his palms flat on the aged, rust coloured wood, then leans forwards. His face is serious, his eyes big and round. “But, do you even know what my class is called?”

Sunlight peeking in from behind his shoulder, bathing the room and everything in it in a honeyed gold. The heat from the day starting to ebb away, a breeze from across the lake blowing at the curtains just slightly. No birds, no bustle outside — everyone’s either at dinner or getting ready for dinner. Everything in this valley is calm except you.

“Yes,” You bite, scowling across at him from over the top of the far too detailed painting in front of you. “Classics. You keep saying it.”

“Yeah, classics is the subject. But do you know what my class — the class that you picked, and enrolled in, is called?” Bradley asks slowly, like he’s just trying to be patronizing.

“It’s about Roman literature.” You answer, knowing that you’ve failed to produce a title, but are along the right track anyway.

“My class is called ‘Sexuality in Roman Culture and Literature’,” Bradley shares finally. You sit across from him, blank-faced. He taps the table softly, staring back at you, enjoying this probably a little bit too much. “That’s why the book is so ‘graphic’.”

Catherine — your maid-of-fucking-honour — enrolled you in a class on sex. You’re going to murder her. This cruel joke might have been funny if it hadn’t cost you your summer.

“But, then again, you would know that if you had bothered—“

“Oh my god, will you shut up about my attendance?” You grumble, slamming your pencil down onto the table. He stares at you, unimpressed and clearly biting his tongue. “We both know I’m here for credits and not because I care about the way people had sex a couple hundred years ago. Just do what they pay you to do and teach.”

Bradley’s brows draw together as he leans closer, his frame dwarfing the table. There’s a lingering silence as he stares across at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I just—“

“No,” Bradley holds a hand up and pushes himself up from his seat. Standing, the table seems even smaller. You feel even smaller, tipping your head back to look up at him. His eyes darken as he squints. “You either learn to watch your mouth around me or you head home and admit that you fucking failed. You hear me?”

You stare up at him, swallowing thickly as shame burns through you. The smell of dust hurts your nose, the warm, dust-covered lights make your eyes tired. You want to go home.

“Tell me that you understand. In Latin.”

Another beat of silence. The look on your face tells you that he’s far from joking. Sighing quietly, he watches as you bow your head and open the dictionary.

He gives you a moment, just hulking over you as you search for the right term. Finally, you lift your gaze and spit it out, quietly. He glances down at the page.

“Work on your grammar.” Bradley tells you, slowly relaxing back down into his seat and tucking it in. “I’m going to give you a play. I want you to read it, I think it’ll help you with some context clues.”

Just like that. He relaxes — well, relaxes as much as you’ve ever seen him be capable of — again.

You exhale. Without realizing, you had been holding on to that one breath the entire time. Your gaze drops, falling down to his rolled up sleeves, the veins snaking out from under the white linen and down across the backs of his hands.

You wonder if Natasha gets him wound up like this.

The second that the thought crosses your mind, you squash it. Staring wide-eyed at the page in front of you, you’re at war with your mind. And he’s just sitting there, head leaned back, palms flat, staring at the ceiling. He has no fucking idea.

Staring at the ceiling is truly the only way forward. He can’t stand another minute of having to watch your lips purse when you’re staring at him.

It’s so difficult, trying not to hold something that you don’t even remember against you. He knows how blacked out you were that night, you barely remembered your own damn name.

He remembers that stupid, blue fucking dress. It came in around the waist and had these thin straps, more of a powder blue than any kind of stronger color. He remembers the snow on his car windshield, still falling. He remembers his heaters up as high as they would go and his coat around your shoulders.

Finding you sitting on the side of the road, in the fucking snow, and bundling you into his car, trying to keep you awake.

And then, the two of you sitting outside of your childhood home and your freezing cold hands wrapping around his palm, pleading with him not to make you go inside. He had only seen you a handful of times at this point, but he was sure you weren’t a bad kid. You just had shitty friends.

He lifts his gaze now and studies you as you card through the information before you. Lips pursed.

“You can’t sit in my car all night, kid.” Bradley said quietly, watching you like you were something foreign to him. You blinked back, saying nothing, but looking so sad.

“I just — please don’t make me go in there.” Your voice trembled. Maybe from exhaustion, mostly from fear. Bradley knew what fear sounded like. His face creased with concern, but he hadn’t budged. You frowned at him, eyes wide and pleading, “Please.”

You must have been able to tell on his face that he was about to disagree with you. You sat forwards, reaching out to rest your manicured palm against his thigh. His gaze hadn’t faltered from your face. He had been here before, with love sick girls who seemed to think he was going to be their saving grace.

He was nicer about it back then. He was trying to be nice to you. With your smudged mascara and your missing boyfriend and your quivering bottom lip. He should’ve kicked you out of that damn car and marched you inside right then. You were still too drunk to sit still, swaying just slightly — he wanted to give you a minute to collect yourself before your parents saw you at least.

He sat there for a moment, just trying to think about what to do with you. And then, seeming to think that this would get you your way, you had sat up and you’d kissed him. Turned your head twenty degrees to the left, lips just slightly parted, pressing softly into his. Pillowy and purposeful.

He swallows, glancing down at the page in front of him. God, he wishes you hadn’t done that. But, he can’t help but wonder where that odd little impulse had come from. What had driven that shivering girl to drive forwards and kiss him, clinging onto his shirt like it was some kind of life preserver — and where was she now?

Certainly not sitting in front of him and too timid to look at a painting.

You continue on with your studies, pretending like you aren’t thinking about him back in that lecture hall, his voice dripping like honey as he tells you every intricacy that that painting detailed.

Bradley crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the details chiseled into the ceiling. He can’t help but wonder where those impulses go when you’re with your fiancé. You’d been damn near climbing into his lap after an hour alone with him — and yet, Malcolm has made it through four years of high school and three years of college without fucking you.

He curses himself. He shouldn’t think about it that way. He shouldn’t think about it at all. He glances down quickly as your foot knocks into his and withdraws as quickly as it has inched forwards.

Looking back up, you’re looking at him again. Just fleetingly, and you’re back to your work, and he’s back to thinking about you fucking kissing him. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the knee length nightgown, or the weird reaction to the painting — or, you at all, really.

So, the two of you let the silence linger between you. Even as he shifts, pushing his leg forward and slotting his foot between both of yours under the table, letting it linger there.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice e @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

[spencersssockss]

Not roller coasters

Summary: it's yours and Spencer third anniversary, the two of you go to the local fair, and you try and pretend you don't despise roller coasters.

Warnings: a little fluff, roller coaster, mentions of food…

Word count: 900

It was your three-year anniversary with Spencer, the two of you went to a local fair.

It was littered with food and carnival rides, the food ranging from elephant ears to pizza, and the rides ranging from swings to roller coasters.

Spencer had no idea, but, you were terrified of roller coasters. He loved them though, so you decided that for the sake of Spencer's fun, you would completely ignore your fear for the night and ride one with him.

The first ride the two of you went on was just a regular old Ferris wheel. It was romantic and the two of you shared a kiss before getting off.

Right across from it sat an incredibly fast and long roller coaster, which of course caught Spencer's eyes.

“We need to go on that one!” “But we should probably get some food first that loop looks like quite the stomach purge,” Spencer said excitedly grabbing your hand and walking over to the concession stands.

“Yeah, that'll be fun,” you replied smiling nervously luckily going unnoticed as Spencer was much more invested in what he was going to get to eat.

“Do you wanna get French fries to share, so we're not too stuffed for our reservation tonight?” he asked looking up at you.

“Yeah that's good, you order that and I'll grab us lemonade from over there,” you say pointing to the lemonade stand across from the food.

“Okay, I’ll save us seats,” Spencer smiled getting in line and watching you walk to the lemonade.

The line was huge for the lemonade, you swore it took forever to finally make it up to the window, but when you did it was pure heaven. The lemonade was freshly squeezed and came in a pretty bottle. You ordered and went back to Spencer at the table he grabbed for the two of you.

He patted the seat next to him and smiled, “That took forever that lemonade better be worth it,” he joked grabbing a French fry and tossing it into his mouth.

“Oh it will be, I watched them make it, they put like four fresh lemons in it,” you replied handing him it and grabbing a fry. He sipped it carefully and his eyes went wide as he swallowed it.

“Oh my, that is good,” he mumbled raking another drink before sitting it down.

“Are you excited about the roller coaster?” he asked smiling again making your stomach churn.

“Yeah, it looks super cool!” you say masking your nervousness by taking a drink of the lemonade.

It took roughly fifteen minutes for the two of you to finish your drinks and fries, but it felt like an eternity to you.

Spencer grabbed your hand after throwing the empty cup and tray away and the two of you began walking to the roller coaster.

There was practically nobody in the line so the two of you got to get on immediately.

The seats were regular-sized and they had a buckle and a bar, making you wonder about what made them out both there. You shivered at the thought of someone flying out and getting hurt.

“The ride will begin in a minute, please keep your arms and legs inside the ride,” the operator spoke making you look over at Spencer.

He had the biggest smile on his face, but as soon as he saw the frown covering yours he asked, “What's wrong?” grabbing your hand once again gently.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, looking away.

“Y/n, you don't like roller coasters do you?” he asked his gaze on you softening. Before you could get any words out the ride started, flying across the tracks and making you scream.

Spencer's hands wrapped around your waist gently and he comforted you. You, you were just hanging on for dear life.

The ride went around for what seemed like forever, Spencer felt bad the whole time.

He wanted to know why you didn't tell him, he though maybe you thought he would be mad, or make fun of you, but the truth was he just wanted you to enjoy the day just as much as he was.

The ride finally came to a stop and the two of you say in silence for a minute until the bar lifted.

“You may exit the ride on your left,” the intercom spoke you and Spencer got up from your seat and walked off the platform.

He immediately wrapped you into a hug, whispering in your ear, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was trying to give you the best anniversary ever,” you responded your eyes beginning to water.

“This is our anniversary, not mine, we're both going to enjoy it, not just me,” he said his voice full of sympathy. “You didn't have to do that,” he added frowning.

“I know, I just felt bad, your eyes lit up when you saw it and I didn't want to take that joy away from you.”

“I would've been happy doing something you would've enjoyed too,” he smiled softly, pecking your lips gently. “Promise me you'll never force yourself to do something like that again?” he asked holding his pinky finger out.

“I promise,” you reply wrapping your pinky around his and walking out of the fair to your dinner reservation.

[esmedelacroix]

Coffee Shop Love Pt.3

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, so much fluff, implied age gap, a teeny smidge of angst, suggestive

author's note: Hi lovies, third part! I'm so happy you all like this series! I really like writing it. Please let me know what you all liked its really helpful! Enjoy...

word count: 1.5k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

The next morning you got up and got ready to start baking for the morning rush. By the time you got down to the shop your two employees were already baking the muffins and cakes. You said hello and went over the menu for the day. You then started preparing lunch menu ingredients.

Just when you had finished the morning preparation and opened up. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Which was weird because no one ever texted you in the morning. You took your phone out and stared at the message that awaited you.

Miguel: Hey could you make my coffee in advance? I'm running late today...

You: Of course, hurry!

Miguel: Maybe sneak a lil muffin in there...?

You: Sugar? Am I speaking to Miguel or an imposter?

Miguel: 😡

You smiled down at your phone. You had texted Miguel last night for a while before going to bed. Older people using emojis always cracks me up. You thought to yourself. You put your phone back in your pocket and made his order. While the morning rush built up to its usual catastrophic storm of angry city folk. Mr. Smith picked up his order and his rent, just when the morning rush was at peak catastrophe and the line was going out of the shop, you saw Miguel pull up to the sidewalk and step out of his car.

You put on your scarf and earmuffs, along with a puffer jacket and gloves before heading outside. If there was one bad thing about you, it's that you were practically allergic to cold weather. You rushed out to Miguel who was leaning against his car. "Hey, I came as fast as I could," you huffed out smiling at him.

"Thank you, Baby—you look warm," he teased. He noticed the way your eyes watered when gusts of wind carried snow. How the snowflakes fell on nose and eyelashes. The way your nose turned a slight shade of pink, he could already guess that if you didn't have those earmuffs on, your little ears would be pink too. Even though you were wrapped in the warmest clothes, you still looked so chilly Miguel was resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you and warm you up properly himself.

"I'm so sensitive to the cold, my hands and feet are always cold," you explained as you held his drink out to him as well as a little brown paper bag. "I packed you a lemon poppyseed muffin, something tells me you'll enjoy it," you said.

"Hmm, I let you know," he hummed looking away. He was obviously a bit embarrassed to be enjoying baked goods. You chuckled to yourself and shook your head.

"Get inside Baby, or you might freeze right where you stand," Miguel chuckled as he ushered you back into the shop.

You waved goodbye and entered the battlefield of morning brews and muffins. It was a long day but you looked forward to the clock finally striking 9 p.m. because you knew Miguel would walk in, probably get stuck in the mistletoe, and say hello.

So he had walked through the door into the empty shop and got caught in the mistletoe while accidentally knocked over the yuletide, your night was finally complete. You never would have thought that a man as intimidating as Miguel would also be so clumsy. But it wasn't his fault that he was incredibly tall and monstrously muscular.

"Miguel, can you stop trashing my shop?" you teased as you walked around the counter to fix your holiday decor. Just when you have adjusted the yuletide, his broad shoulder bumped into a bell and it fell as well.

"Great, now you're throwing stuff at me," you joked giggling at his clumsiness.

"Oh stop it," Miguel said rolling his eyes. The both of you were so lost in the moment of laughter and bliss that you didn't realize that you were standing at the entrance of the store. You both realized and looked above you to see the mistletoe, you felt the heat rise from your chest to your face all the way to your ears.

You had never been this close to Miguel so you never realized that his eyes which you thought were mahogany brown had a slight hint of ruby in them. They were both whiskey and wine while simultaneously being black coffee and velvet cake.

He smelled like sandalwood, vallina, musk, roses, and cedarwood. In short, he smelled better than sex. His scent drugged you and kept you in his trance while swimming in his eyes. You stared at each other far too long for it to be nothing. You finally broke the tension by clearing your throat. "It's too bad you don't believe in Christmas, I'm a really good kisser," you said as you began to walk back around the counter, hoping that he didn't notice how nervous you were. He walked up to the counter visibly not over what had just happened.

"Well, who said I don't believe in Christmas?" he asked.

"I said I haven't celebrated in a while," he explained correcting you.

"Are you just saying that because you want a smooch? So needy," you said shaking your head at him. You handed him his coffee, which you already started to make. Your question made him blush a bit. Cute.

"Don't worry you don't have to answer that question, but you have to tell me if you liked the muffin I made you," you asked with a shy smile.

"It was actually really good. But don't take that wrong way, I still don't like sweet things," he said.

"Yeah sure, anyway I'm going to drop the extras off at the homeless shelter down the road if you want to tag along?" you suggested

"Okay, I don't really have much to do," he replied rubbing the back of his neck.

You were partially asking so he could help load the stuff into your car. How could he blame you? He didn't have all that muscle for nothing. As you both got in the car and drove the short drive to the shelter, you sparked a bit of conversation. "So, I've never seen you around the area, did you just move here?" you asked.

"I moved recently, I actually work at Alchemax, it's not too far away," he explained. You let out an impressed hum.

"Ohh snazzy, what do you do there?" you asked as you taped the wheel rhythmically to the Frank Sinatra Christmas song playing in the background.

"I'm a geneticist," he answered.

"Yeah, I don't know what that is, but I was born and raised here," she said as Miguel laughed at her earlier comment.

"Tell me more," Miguel said under stifled laughter.

"The coffee shop is kind of a family heirloom if you will, it's been around for decades. Naturally, I followed in my parents' footsteps and went to culinary school. But my parents passed away a while ago so I couldn't finish school," she explained.

"Well, I'm sure your parents would be proud. I think you have this coffee thing down to a T," he said, making you smile like an idiot.

"Thank you, Miguel, that means a lot," you said as you pulled up to the shelter. You both got the stuff out of the trunk. You walked in and took it to the front desk where your best friend Estella was. "Hey, Baby—oh? Who's this? Boyfriend? Hookup?" she asked while sizing him up and giving you a nod of approval.

"This is Miguel and um, he's my uh—" you started trying to find the words.

"We're friends," he answered simply. Estella still looked at us suspiciously before letting the volunteers take the goods off our hands.

"Well you two have a great night, and Miguel, she may not look like it but, she likes it rough," Estella teased throwing a wink at Miguel.

"Oh my god, Estella!" you groaned as you walked out with Miguel and got back into the car. The ride was silent until he said, "Rough huh?"

"Please forget she said that," you said smiling sheepishly at the revelation.

"Oh, so you're not going to deny it?" he asked.

"Well, why deny it when it's true?" you said accepting the shame.

You had parked and looked over at his face for a reaction to this information. But nothing, you couldn't read his expression. The two of you spent the rest of the night chatting it up about everything under the sun(or moon). You have learned so much about Miguel.

You learned that he has a brother named Gabriel, his favorite color is red, he prefers chocolate over gummies(wrong opinion), and he absolutely has to keep eye contact when speaking with someone.

As you both continued to bond over Christmas cookies and brews, your moment was interrupted by a buzz from both of your phones. It was an amber alert that read:

[Blizzard Warning! This area til 9:00 PM EST Mon. All citizens must stay indoors. All roads closed]

Next... Pt.4

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@amber-content

[livingbreathingdreams]

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice

Pairing: Bartender!Captain Syverson x f!Reader

Summary: Sy just wants to adore you.

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, some allusions to violence, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This one is inspired by Adore You by my sweet sweet man Harry. It’s a little rough around the edges but I’m just playing around right now. I hope you’re having a nice day 🧡

//

It was packed and loud at the Drink & Jive, like on every other Friday night. Sy was behind the bar like always, drawing beer on tap and pouring whiskey and Jäger shots. His usual customers did not really expect much when it came to liquor, as long as it was cold and cheap.

“Drink & Jive” what a ridiculous name, she had never liked it but right now it seemed especially obnoxious to her. The flickering neon sign in the door declaring to the world that the bar was open. When she came in someone was playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen on the old juke box in the back. Which almost made her snort at the irony. “I’m having a good time.” Yeah, right.

Slamming her card down on the counter she made eye contact with the burly man behind the bar when she told him to “Make something sweet and strong,” and to “Keep the tap open.” He slung the dishtowel, he had been using to wipe down the counter, over his left shoulder raising an eyebrow, because she usually just ordered a glass of wine and home fries; but he said nothing.

Her pink wide-legged pants were wet from the bottom up, and the rain had made a mess of her probably once neatly tied-up hair. The colour of the bright strawberry red lipstick looked far too joyful compared to her facial expression. If it wasn’t for the rain he maybe would have thought that she had cried before she came in. The spark that she usually had in her eyes was gone and the wanted to punch whoever was responsible for that right in the face.

She watched him cut and squeeze a lemon, pour simple syrup and Tanqueray. Ice and a lemon slice in a glass. Pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker over it and topping it off with some club soda. His hands were surprisingly delicate for their size. Thick dark hair and dark tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. She always liked watching him work, but today it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Gin Fizz. It’s sweet but still classy.” When they first made eye contact that day it was intense. His stormy blue eyes, keeping her gaze captive, and yet she didn’t feel the unsettling feeling of dread that creeps up your back and spreads between your ribs when a man is staring at you and makes you feel unsafe without even saying a word. It felt nice and warm.

Vodka shots and the bowl of sesame pretzel sticks he put in front of her and she ate, even though she told him she wasn’t hungry. She knew they must have been from his personal stash because he brought them from the back and usually the bar only served salted peanuts.

When there was finally a short break between orders he casually leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, which made him look even bigger, if that was even possible. “So, what happened?”

“I’ve been stood up. I was sitting there at that pretentious whatever fusion restaurant down the street, which he picked. And I drank chardonnay after chardonnay until I finally accepted the reality that he wasn’t going to come anymore and had to get out of there. The way the waitress was looking at me, like she knew exactly what had happened made it even worse.”

He wanted to touch her. His fingers along her cheek, his hand on hers. Because he’s never been good with words and touch was the only way he could think of making her feel better. She didn’t deserve feeling like this, unwanted. Because he wanted her. With all his being and yet he only ever saw her when she came into the dimly lit bar, sat down at the counter, and after the first glass of wine started talking about the third graders she was teaching, what she had bought at the farmers market and her friends’ horrible Tinder dates.

“You know Sy, you’re the only stable male presence in my life. I can always count on you being here and you always listen to me and you're always nice to me.” At this point, her speech was a little slurred but he could tell she was being sincere. That was the last drop in the bucket that gave him the courage to do what he did next. He pushed himself off the counter and took her hands into his. “You should let me take you out. I will show you how you should be treated if you let me. I would never stand you up.”

She just sat there and looked at him, with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds, and then the first real shy little smile of the night spread across her face. Then he could see her wavering again. “But I don’t want you to do this out of pity.” He dipped his head down a little to be at eye level with her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are the nicest, most genuine, sweetest person I know. I’ve liked you ever since the first time you came in here and sat down on that chair. I would be honoured to take you out.”

Apparently, she believed him because she turned her hands in his, palm up and squeezed back. “Okay, Captain. I'll let you take me out.”

[chachadelight]

Celle qui s'est enfuie

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating & Warnings: Swearing, smut, a tiny bit of violence

I’d also like to thank those who encouraged me to write this and! also thank you to @rymndsmth for some of the inspo I had for some of the saucyness that happens here. Their ‘kyoto’ series is top fuckin notch, please do give it a read!! This is a one shot technically, but if it’s well received I might write a second or third part, probably nothing longer than that but who knows! Enjoy!

Pairings: Tangerine x Assassin!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: All he has to do is follow the rules; but Tangerine’s never been big on rules. Where does that leave him?

“Yeah well, he’s a diesel innit?”

“Lemon what’d I say huh? If you talk about Thomas the Tank Engine again I’m gon- “

“You’re gonna’ shoot me in the face—I know”.

Yet there he went on again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had gotten onto the train and Tangerine was already at his limit. If he hadn’t loved his dear brother as much as he did he most likely would’ve fulfilled his promise a long time ago.

Lemon sat back against his chair, huffing with annoyance as he adjusted the lapel of his jacket. “Right well, all we gotta’ do is get this fucker his lazy sod of a son and his hard drive and we can go home”, Lemon gestured to the opposing seats, a young tattooed boy blissfully passed out and pressed up against the window. “You’ve got the drive yeah?”

“Yeah thanks for the update Lemon I got it”. Tangerine rolled his eyes before checking the time on his watch; they had hours before they made it to their stop at Kyoto. Maybe this would be a great opportunity for them to actually relax for once considering that only a few hours ago they were about knee deep in blood just trying to get their hands on the White Death’s son.

It was a job they hesitated for that’s for sure, but after hearing about the pay out and just how keen their contractor was on getting them specifically for the job, they just couldn’t say no. They were professionals after all, they weren’t going to scrutinise that for nobody.

Tangerine’s gaze was suddenly stolen as one of the train crew members rolled by with a cart full of food. Without even thinking the male reached over at pinched a couple of bags from the cart.

“You don’t need to nick the biscuits”.

“Why do I do that? It’s like a compulsion or something”. 

“You should see someone bout’ that”.

Tangerine cringed at himself, knowing full well his little klepto issue was something he needed to attend to but just never really got around to addressing.

The two men’s attention was stolen away when the chime indicating the train was coming to a stop sounded off, but only briefly once they noticed only a

couple of average looking citizens made their way through the cart. All but one.

“Mate she’s right lush”. Tangerine’s upper lip twitched upward ever so slightly as his head gestured forwards, causing Lemon to turn his head in an oh so not very inconspicuous way.

“Fuckin’ make it look any more obvious would ya, fucken git”.

There she was. The woman Tangerine was referring to. Hair ever so slightly covering her gaze, only adding to the sensual nature of her kohl lined eyes and red tinted lips. She walked with poise and a sense of elegance to her, she seemed unsuspecting but the way she carried herself said more about her that Tangerine just sensed deep down. What the sense was he had no idea but he really didn’t care at this point. She wore a black pleated skirt and socks that stopped just at her thighs, god, her thighs. The edge of the fabric hugging her flesh oh so perfectly it almost made Tangerine huff...almost.

His eyes flicked back up to catch the silver chain around her neck sat stark against the fabric of her black turtleneck. The man had obviously stared a little too long because she had caught his gaze by the time, she found her place into a seat that had her in perfect sight of him. The woman’s lip quirked into a shy smile, a blush forming on her cheek as she quickly looked away once realising his stare was for her only.

“Who’s the one makin it obvious now mate?”

Tangerine however didn’t look away, why would he? He wasn’t some shy schoolboy. He held her gaze for as long as she was staring back, knowing her bashfulness was his doing only fed his already massive ego. With a tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, Tangerine only chuckled with pride once he saw the effect he had on her, of course, too easy.

Lemon shook his head quickly in succession, twisting his face in disagreement. “Nah nah nah, none of that”.

“None of what?”

“None of—” Lemon tilted his head quickly to the side, motioning to the woman. “That”.

Tangerine scoffed and reached up to slick back his hair in a show of confidence and ease. “Dunno what you’re on about mate”.

“The last thing we need is you goin’ off and shagging some girl in the middle of a job”.

Immediately Tangerine showed offense to his brother’s accusation and started adjusting the collar of his suit with a shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid”. He shook his head again in dismissal but still managed to sneak another look at the woman, quickly getting the chance to catch a glimpse of the way her thighs pressed together as she sat cross-legged. Fuck she looked good just sitting there. Lemon and Tangerine’s line of work wasn’t exactly the most social occupation in the world, there wasn’t really time for making friends let alone a sexual partner. So, to say that Tangerine was a little ‘deprived’ might have been a slight understatement.

“Whatever Tangerine...I’m gonna’ go secure the train. Make sure everything’s in check”.

“Yeah right”.

A sudden slam to the table had Tangerine’s attention onto his brother in an instant, his eyes wide as if to say, ‘what the fuck Lemon’?

“I fuckin mean it, no funny business”.

‘Yeah yeah alright, fuckin ell’ you’re like my mother or somethin”.

And with that, his brother disappeared into the next train cart and Tangerine was left alone. Just him, the White Death’s sleeping son and his raging hormones.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and she was well aware of it herself. There was no such thing as sneaky stolen glances anymore. Tangerine had no shame at this point with the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his gaze fixated on her form, tracing a line up from her legs to her face he noticed her looking back.

Although this time she didn’t look away shyly, if anything she was now smiling back. Her red lips pulled back unto a smirk as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. With a wave the woman wiggled her fingers in Tangerine’s direction in a form of a flirtatious wave, a completely opposing energy to what she showed only moment before when she first boarded the train.

Tangerine lifted a brow as a chuckle escaped his lips, curiosity was definitely getting the better of him. He peered behind his shoulder, wondering if Lemon was going to turn the corner any moment. He did say he would behave himself.

Well who the fuck cares about what Lemon tells him what to do? He was never big on following the rules anyway.

Just like that Tangerine found himself walking towards her, a hand smoothing down his hair and fingers making quick work at is sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. Soon enough he slipped into the chair opposite to the woman, leaned back with a coolness Tangerine had long ago perfected with ease.

“Now what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here eh?”

“Just visiting a friend in Kyoto”. Her voice rang like bells in his ears and the smile on her lips was only making her that much more tantalising.

“Got a long way to go just to visit a friend no?”

She grinned “Maybe. I guess I’m just devoted like that”.

Tangerine reached up and smoothed a finger over his moustache as he gave her another once over she didn’t fail to notice. “I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”.

It was almost nard to keep her focus. Almost.

Those blue eyes paired with that accent had no doubt gotten this man anything and everything he’d ever wanted. And now here he was facing her, leaned back in his seat with the scent of his ego practically oozing off of him. The way he looked at her was predatory, his gaze eating her up with every chance he could get. She was amused to say the least, and the grin on her lips was impossible to get rid of. Her job was relatively simple, get the drive from the twins and get off the train before they ever noticed. But what her handler failed to mention was just how delicious a certain curly haired killer

“I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”. With that she leaned forward against crossed arms, her breasts provocatively pressed up against each other. Tangerine’s eyebrow twitched upward with interest, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip as he simply followed her movements by leaning in towards the table, closing the gap between the pair.

“What am I going to do with you luv?” She couldn’t help herself when her teeth grazed her bottom lip, why was he so hard to ignore? He was so close to her now and she could smell his cologne so vividly. He smelled of vanilla, cigars and smoke, no doubt fresh from a fight and it was a sent that could make her legs shake from excitement. She wasn’t supposed to get too involved but now he asked her that question and she didn’t really feel like behaving.

She had a little time to spare and she just couldn’t find herself not taking this delicious opportunity.

Their gazes were locked and for moment she let her eyes dip down to peer at his lips, head tilting ever so slightly as the next sentence slipped from her mouth with a little too much finesse. “Anything you want”.

It was clear they were on the same page. Yet what made everything in her favour was that he had no idea that she was after exactly what he had. He hadn’t even asked for her name; it couldn’t have been any better.

Tangerine let out a huff from his nose as he promptly stood from the chair, picking at an invisible piece of lint from his shirt before making his way past her. However not before slyly grazing his fingers over the edge of her jawline, letting his fingers glide through her hair for a moment before he continued his b-line to the train bathroom.

She smiled to herself, a breath seizing in her throat for just a moment as she felt the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

-------------------

She soon found herself slipping into the too small train bathroom, her palms pressed against the door for just a moment longer before she turned around to find the man leaning himself against the too small sink. The air inside suddenly turned thin, and the beating of her heart thrummed wildly against her chest. Why she did not know, she was not one to get nervous in a situation like this but this man...this man was unlike any other she had come across. He made the others seem insignificant and judging by the way she almost shook just from his burning gaze; she could tell this was going to be different.

“You know...” She cooed softly as she took a step forward, noting the way his forearms flexed as his grip on the edge of the sink tightened. “I don’t even know your name”. Reaching forward she looped a single finger over the gold chain decorating the empty space on the man’s neck, a single tug forward causing him to snicker.

She was playing a dangerous game and as soon as she took her grip on that necklace and it tightened around his neck something inside him snapped to attention. “Just call me Tangerine luv”.

“Like the fruit?” She quirked an eyebrow “and his hands found her hips. “Yeah, like the fruit”.

“How – “She looped in a second finger and tugged once more causing Tangerine to grunt at the sudden squeeze he now felt around his neck. “– Cute”.

Tangerine let out a puff of air that sounded like amusement, their lips so close to one another she could feel his warm breath fan across her face. “Watch it luv”.

“Or what?” She liked this game. But so did he.

Lips against lips in a matter of seconds. The kiss was hungry, desperate, it was angry. She had clearly pressed the right buttons because the grip he help on her hips was bruising. Fingers digging deep into her skin as they both fought for the dominance of the kiss. He tasted just as he smelled, smoke and vanilla permeated her lips and mouth, and she couldn’t help herself as she whined into the kiss.

He pulled he in closer, hips pressed flush together that had her melting into his touch to the point that she let go of her grip on his, completely forgetting that she was trying to win dominance only moments before.

His fingers soon found home in her hair, digits twisting into her locks before tugging roughly to pull her head backwards, exposing her neck to him. “Not so cheeky now hey luv?” His voice had deepened, laced with arrogance as he dipped down to attach his lips to her neck and leave a trail of hungry bruises he knew she would have to look at for days to come.

If she could see herself she knew she would be mad; mad that she had let this man cause her to become so undone in a matter of minutes. This wasn’t what she had in mind but it had been so long since someone had made her feel this alive.

“Don’t—” He cut her off quickly when his mouth found hers once more, tongue slipping past her lips without a moment wasted. “Get—cocky”. She managed to let out a few breathless words between the sloppy kisses, her breath heaving in her chest to keep up with his hunger.

Tangerine chuckled against her lips before he hauled her upwards with a little too much ease, her arms found solace around his neck whilst her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He carried her over towards the closed toilet seat before settling down, allowing her to find herself seated comfortably in his lap. This gave her a chance to catch her breath from the bruising kiss, hazed over eyes peering down at an equally dishevelled Tangerine.

He was beautiful like this, in the dim lighting of the train bathroom, perfectly gelled hair now a mess on top of his head. Blue eyes turned a storm cloud grey and hooded with desire. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to steal from him and run away, never to been again.

That’s when she saw it. Peering down his vest pocket she saw the glint of the hard drive poking its head out, her heart skipping a beat. It was right there, un his pocket. And she had him seduced and sexed up in the bullet train bathroom.

This was too good.

His hands slowly slid their way up the exposed part of her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her skirt before stopping dangerously close to exactly where she wanted him. The cold of the varying rings decorating his fingers sent a shiver through her.

With her new position she didn’t miss the way his hardened length pressed against her clothed core, a coy smile on her lips growing as she took the opportunity to grind her hips downwards. Immediately eliciting a groan from Tangerine that wanted to make her go wild

“You gonna’ ride me sweetheart?” He cooed.

She leaned in towards him, her fingers snaking their way into the back of his hair before tugging softly. Doing what he had done to hair by yanking his head back to give her more access to his neck. “Anything you want handsome”.

Tangerine’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her lips against the shell of his ear, the tightness of his hair being pulled sending him into a craze that his grip on his hips and thighs tightening even more. He pulled her down against himself, the sound of her soft mewl letting him smirk with pride.

She couldn’t help it, the feeling of having him press against her was driving her crazy. She had found herself at a rhythm, hips swirling back and forth. Her movements at his command as his hands guided her every move. It didn’t take her long to get panting, her head falling back to indulge in the feeling of his hardness rutting against her. His soft grunts filled the small space and run in her ears.

The heat that was overtaking her body was indescribable and at some point his hands had found home against the slope of her arse, kneading the flesh generously. She needed to feel him, just him.

And it seemed like he had the same idea because Tangerine was rushing for his pants—she reached down with him when she was able to become coherent enough to pay attention. They both knew this was going to be anything but sweet and slow, this was going to be quick and hard but neither of them was complaining.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl...” Tangerine gripped the base of his length, pulling her panties to side to teasingly circle the head against her folds. “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

She whimpered softly, her breath catching in her throat as his length prodded at her entrance, threatening to enter her at any moment. He was too good, and the way those pet names rolled off his tongue in that accent was doing things to her she had just never expected. But she was losing patience, and the more he had her coming undone the more frustrated she became with herself.

“Fuck me good and find out”.

He growled and with one sudden upwards thrust and guttural groan he sheathed himself inside her. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, almost regretting her show of defiance before the painful sting was replaced by the sweet sting of pleasure. Tangerine reached up, his palm pressing against her mouth to muffle her scream as he let out an amused chuckle.

“Careful luv, wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re doing in here”.

She knew he was right but the way ne filled her just right had her eyes rolling to the back of her head and all her inhibitions disappeared.

“That’s it...” He cooed again, one hand squeezing against her hip and the other snaking its way up her chest. It didn’t take long to build up a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping up against her almost painfully. The pace had her biting down on her own lip, hard enough to the point she drew a small amount of blood, the taste of iron coating her tongue as she propped her hands behind her on his knees or support.

Tangerine watched her with a lust in his gaze, hard muffled grunts leaving is lips with every thrust of his hips. He kept his hold on one side of her hips whilst the other had found its way around her throat, fingers squeezing a firm pressure onto her neck that was already littered with his bruises.

Now with the added loss of oxygen, she was being sent into complete bliss. Pleasure was already overtaking every inch of her body and she could feel that familiar twinge in the centre of her core, that feeling of unwinding threatening to break at any moment.

He never let up his pace, sweat beading at the crown of his head as he focused himself on her, on her body and the way she started to tighten around him. She was close and her warmth only egged him on, encouraging him to only wreck her even more.

“Let go for me sweetheart”. He managed to grunt out his words, focusing on getting her to the end.

She whined softly, trying her best on not screaming out as the searing hot burn of her climax finally imploded inside her. Her body seized from the pure pleasure. Tangerine’s hips stuttered with her release, the constant feeling of her core flexing around him sending him over the edge shortly after her. He filled her with his warmth, the feeling sending a shiver through her already sensitive body.

“Fuckin’ ell”. Falling forwards into Tangerine’s surprisingly caring embrace his arms wrapped around her to help her ride out her orgasm, “Good girl”. Tangerine stroked the back of her head, heavy breath blowing past her ear with the words of praise.

-------------------

Surprisingly he helped her clean herself up, where she had expected him to leave as soon as they were done. But now, here she was, watching him primp himself in the mirror, smoothing those beautiful curls back down to a somewhat more presentable way.

She hadn’t forgotten about the drive in his breast pocket however.

He had his back turned to her as she silently stayed leaning against the door of the bathroom, her head tilted in observation as she waited for the exact moment to make her move. He was gorgeous, he really was, and shit he made her feel good. Him standing there now, examining every little detail of himself in the mirror, ensuring he was presentable or perhaps just liked looking at himself a little too much. But he was charming, too charming for his own good. Damn...she was starting to like him.

“You know...it’s a real shame”. “What’s that luv?” “Sorry about this”.

“Sorry about wha—" Without letting him finish his sentence she had already gripped the side of his head, using maximum force without being lethal to send the man’s head directly into the side of the porcelain sink. With a deafening crack and a loud groan of pain, Tangerine was on the floor, a sizeable cut on that beautiful forehead of his.

She sighed dramatically before squatting down beside a groaning Tangerine, clearly disorientated from the hit to the head. “No hard feelings?” She cooed, a grin on her lips as she slipped the hard drive from his pocket and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Oi...you—f...fucken ch...cheeky”.

“Shhh, you’ve hit your head. Rest a while”. And with that she disappeared through the bathroom door.

--------------------

“You’ve got to be fucken’ kidding me”. Lemon stood before Tangerine, hands on his hips as his twin held a bag of frozen whatever against the forming lump on his forehead. “What’d I fucken say?”

“Shut up mate”. “Thomas would nev-“ “Don’t even fucken go there”.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Also! May I request some baby fever hcs for tan? It could be any genre you want. Sorry for spamming again, this will be the last request I send, promise. 💺 anon

hii!! ofc ofc! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

…

pregnancy hc’s

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 744

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

✧ firstly, this man is a girl dad. that's it, nice and simple. but that doesn't mean he only wants a girl. he just suits being a dad to a little girl. BUT I do think he'd also look great as a boy dad. he doesn't care what gender the baby is, as long as it's yours, his and healthy. he'd just look great as a dad in general, cough cough preferably as the father to mine. I'm just kidding (no, I'm not)

✧ but with his job, he's always had doubts about starting a family. so I think the idea of having a baby has always been up to fate. like you don't plan it, but you'd be happy either way. you go with the flow, if it happens, it happens. if it doesn't, it doesn't

✧ he's also had doubts about being a father, as he was a foster kid, he's always thought that he isn't made for fatherhood. but you've seen the way he is with babies and kids in your family, so you know he has it in him to be a great dad. you also reassure him with all of his doubts, which he massively appreciates

✧ but when you told him the news you were expecting, you were soft and gentle when announcing it, it was also private and special. you told him, then he gave you a hug, kisses etc, then he called lemon. he might have been tearing up a little, and lem was VERY VERY happy for you both, you could hear him from tan's phone (probs shouting and congratulating a lot)

✧ he'd be AMAZING helping you through the first trimester, just a doll. helping you with morning sickness (as best as one could) would manage your mood swings like a champ (he's got tough skin, he can take it) would do things for you when you feel tired. would get you ALL the foods you're craving, and get rid of all the things and foods that makes you want to vom

✧ during the second, he'd cream your tummy with lotions and ointments, massage you if and when you feel sore and swollen. would continue to do things for you, get things for you

✧ in the third, he'd probably be the most helpful and reassuring. he knows that by now you're over being pregnant, so he'd be the support and cheer you along for the last mile. he knows that you hurt and he wishes he could do more for you. he helps wash and dress you, put on your shoes, and just anything that you can't do yourself. guides you to the bathroom if you're having trouble

✧ he's helped you practice everything. gone to classes, workshops, and yoga sessions. booked the thing with the exercise balls. helped to work on your breathing. did practice drills. became a pro at doing the nappies

✧ he knows that he might be smothering you, but he just wants to be there for you. so if you tell him to leave you alone, he takes it with a grain of salt

✧ reassures you constantly, tells you how he's never going to leave you etc

✧ he bought lots of pregnancy and baby books !! (primarily for himself)

✧ when it comes to labour, he might be the opposite, he knows that he has to be your support and rock etc. but I feel like it all gets real for him, and he's a bit of a mess (not in a bad way) just a little uncoordinated and uneasy. but he snaps back into it and back to his usual self, and helps you breathe, pats you down, adjusts your gown, pushes your hair back. anything he thinks you need

✧ he'd definitely cry

✧ and when the little bambino is born, he'd be the most protective and vigilant (watching over baby while they're getting cleaned and weighed, making sure nothing happens) then once he knows they're safe, he's back at your side. telling you how proud of you he is, how well you did

✧ you get the first hold (he turned it down, bc you did the hard work you should hold them first) he'd kiss your forehead and stroke your arm while you hold the baby

✧ if it's a girl, he tells you how she's so beautiful and that she looks like you. and if it's a boy, you tell tan how he's so handsome and that he looks like him

✧ the best little family <3

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[star-writes-sometimes]

bullying and cuddles

word count: 2.3k

cw: fem reader, reader implied to have anxiety cause im projecting, swearing, bullying (affectionate), fluff, idiots in love, probably ooc tangerine but whatever

a/n: i needed domestic fluff, is this similar to other stuff ive written? yes but i dont care i love domestic fluff. i geniuenly was debating posting this because i kinda hate it but yknow c'est la vie

---—---

you emerged from the safe house bathroom after brushing your teeth in an old tshirt and pyjama shorts. both of the boys bedroom doors were closed and you could hear the thomas the tank engine theme song coming from lemon’s room. 

the door of your room was open and your suitcase was on the ground, clothes messily thrown all over the place. you had been here for about four days now so you were settled in as much as you could be in a new environment.

you and the twins were staking out a place and it was long and tedious, by this point you were thoroughly bored and ready for this to end so you could go back home. you couldn’t stand another night in the cold unfamiliar bed. 

so, instead you knocked on tangerine’s door.

“come in.”

you opened the door and walked in, quickly shutting it behind you and leaning against it, facing tangerine. he was sat up in his bed reading a book. he was wearing a plain tshirt and pyjama pants. he looked comfy, more relaxed than he usually was. the quilt was folded neatly at the end of his bed and his suitcase on the floor was immaculately organised, a stark contrast to how your room looked.

“hi,” he said smiling at you.

“hi,” you returned the smile.

“cute pyjamas.”

you were wearing a faded marvin the martian tshirt and pyjama shorts covered in little oranges, “they’re oranges.”

“you sure you didn’t wear them just for me, love?” he smiled wider at you, cocking his head to the side slightly, “cause you look adorable.”

“why would i wear them for you, you’re my third favourite person in this house,” you scoffed.

“are you putting yourself above me?”

“i know my worth,” you squinted at the book he had in his hands, “whatcha reading?”

“uhh,” he glanced down at the page he was on, “the hunger games.”

“really?” 

“why are you surprised?”

“i don’t know,” you laughed slightly, “i can only image you reading old or pretentious books.”

“are you calling me pretentious?”

you snapped your fingers in realisation, “tolstoy, you seem like the tolstoy type have you read anna karenina?”

“well, yes i have but i don’t just read old books.”

“so, hunger games.”

“yeah, it’s good criticism on violence in capitalistic societies.”

“i don’t think professional assassins should have a say on violence in capitalistic societies.”

he rolled his eyes, “then i enjoy the commentary on consumerism.”

you glanced at the gold jewellery on the bedside table, “i don’t think you can have a say on that either.”

he followed you eye line, “oh fuck off.”

you laughed, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” you shifted around slightly in your spot against the door.

“did you come in here for a reason or just to take the piss out of me?”

you thought back to your lifeless room, “i was bored and i couldn’t annoy lemon.”

“why not, you’d probably enjoy his company more than mine,” his eyes drifted back down to his book.

“he’s watching thomas and there’s only so much of that i can take.”

he nodded, “understandable.”

there was a pause and you fidgeted with your hands nervously. you didn’t notice tangerine staring at you intently, contemplating what he should do.

“come sit with me,” he gestured to the empty spot next to him.

“are you sure?” you hesitated, bringing up your hand to chew on your nails.

“‘course love.”

you slowly moved over and sat on the bed next to him, keeping distance between you both on the queen sized bed.

it was silent again and you pulled your knees up against your chest, resting your chin on your knee.

“what part are you up to?” you asked.

“the interviews with caesar.” he turned his head and focused on you, noting your position and the gap you put between the both of you, “have you read it before?”

“back when i was a teenager but not since then.” you avoided his eyes, feeling anxious about the sharp eye contact, “have you read it before?”

“yeah, i’ve read it a few times.”

you just hummed in response. despite the nervous thoughts running through your head it felt better being in here with tangerine than being alone in your room. it was better having anxiety over being alone with the guy you were crushing on than the emptiness you would have felt by yourself in your room. 

“come here love.” he said softly.

“what?” your eyes snapped up to him.

“sit next to me properly.” 

you moved slightly closer, still leaving space between you both.

tangerine rolled his eyes and put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, “i’m not gonna fucking bite ya love, you can sit next to me.”

you scrunched your nose up at him, “i just didn’t want to get cooties.”

“you think i have cooties?”

“yup you have phytophthora gummosis.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

you laughed and leant into him more, “it's a disease that affects citrus trees.”

he tried not to smile, “how long have you been waiting to make that joke.”

“a few weeks,” you smiled brightly, “i did research on citrus trees.”

“just so you could take the piss out of me?”

“i had to, you look cute when you’re all annoyed and scrunch your eyebrows up.” you reached up and run over one of his eyebrows with your thumb.

“don’t call me cute.”

“why not? you are.”

“i’m meant to be intimidating.”

“how could anyone be scared of you? you’re reading the hunger games.”

“very funny, i can be scary and enjoy the hunger games.”

“are you team peeta or gale?”

“definitely peeta, he was smart and a romantic,” tangerine said, like he had thought about it a lot before.

“oh so you’re a romantic that adds to your scariness.”

“you’re bullying me, you’re a bully,” he pinched your side, enjoying the way you squirmed into him.

you yawned and put your head on his shoulder. he repositioned his arm that was around your shoulder and started stroking your hair.

“are you tired darling?”

you blinked sluggishly, “yeah… i should probably go-”

you started to get up but was stopped and cut off by tangerine.

“no, stay,” he held onto you, “you just relax.”

you bite your lip anxiously but try to relax into him again. you stared at the book in his hand, studying the mockingjay symbol on the cover. 

“what’s on your mind pet?”

you felt your neck heat up at the unfamiliar nickname, “uh can you maybe read to me?”

“you want me to read to you?”

you nodded.

“you sure you’ll be able to understand with the accent?”

“you’re british not an alien, i can understand you fine.”

“okay.” he pulled you close, you settled with your head on his chest and his arm comfortably around you. he smiled down at you, silently grateful that you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you, “you ready?”

“yeah,” 

“okay darling,” he took his focus off you and onto the book, “i’m still in a daze for the first part of peeta’s interview. he has the audience from the get-go, though; i can hear them laughing, shouting out. he plays up the baker’s son thing, comparing tributes to the bread from their districts.”

“what would your strategy be in the interviews?” you asked.

“i’m not sure.”

“i don’t think you could pull off the charming thing.”

“wow, thanks love your doing wonders for my self esteem,” he replied sarcastically.

you smiled, “no that’s not what i meant, you’re plenty charming, i just think you’d be better as one of those career tributes everyone is scared of.”

“i thought you said i wasn’t scary?”

“shhh that was minutes ago you should’ve forgotten about that by now, just keep reading.”

“right sorry,” he laughed slightly, “then he has a funny anecdote about the perils of the capital showers. ‘tell me, do i still smell like roses?’ he asks caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house.”

“maybe you would be charming, you always smell really nice.”

“thank you, darling,” he kissed your forehead and pulled you impossibly closer, “you smell nice too.”

you smiled and adjusted your position so you could hold onto his shirt. 

“i’m coming back into focus when caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home.” he continued, “peeta hesitates, then gives him an unconvincing shake of his head. ‘handsome lad like you. there must be some special girl. come on what’s her name?’ says caesar. peeta sighs. ‘well there is this one girl. i’ve had a crush on her ever since i can remember. but i’m pretty sure she didn’t know i was alive before the reaping.’”

tangerine glanced down at you half surprised and half disappointed you didn’t interrupt again. he liked listening to you talk.

your breathing had evened and your eyes had closed. you’d fallen asleep against him. he bookmarked the book and placed it on his side table. he carefully reached down, grabbed the quilt and pulled it over the both of you.

“goodnight, love.” he kissed your cheek gently.

— 

lemon woke up the next morning and stumbled into the kitchen, prepared to see tangerine already up and cooking breakfast for the three of you. he was shocked to find the kitchen empty, no trace of you or tangerine. 

he looked over at both your bedroom doors and saw yours open and empty. weird. you were usually the last awake, having to be woken up by one of the twins.

lemon walked over to tangerine’s door and opened it, “hey bruv have you seen-” he cut himself off looking down at the scene in front of him.

you were asleep in tangerine’s arms and he was holding you close. he was awake and staring down at you, playing with your hair and gently tracing your features as you slept.

lemon snickered, “whats going on here, then?”

“shut the fuck up,” tangerine immediately fired back but lemon knew it was less harsh than it usually was. despite all the teasing tangerine knew he’d get, he was happy.

“this is cute, it really is.” lemon quipped, “but i have no clue how to make breakfast so please get up soon.”

“i’m not interrupting her sleep just cause your fucking incompetent.”

“fine, just don’t blame me if i burn this place down trying to make toast,” lemon started to leave.

“stop, just wait ten minutes then i’ll make you some fucking food.”

“thanks bruv, really appreciate it.”

“whatever.”

lemon left and tangerine was alone with you again. 

tangerine moved your hair away from your face, “sweetheart?” he kissed your forehead, “if you don’t wake up soon the smoke alarm will probably wake you.”

you stretched slightly and snuggled into tangerine more, “this is nicer than the way lemon wakes me up.”

“if we don’t get up soon lemon is gonna try to cook,” he held your face and kissed you cheek gently.

“we can’t have that he’ll probably poison us all,” you sat up and rubbed your eyes, “why is your bed comfier than mine?”

“because i actually make mine?” he got up and stared down at you still wrapped in the blanket.

“ha ha,” you laughed dryly and fell back into the bed.

you closed your eyes again and settled back into the bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. it really was a comfortable bed. 

your peaceful rest was interrupted by getting lifted into the air.

your eyes flew open as tangerine picked you up, carrying you into the kitchen. you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tightly.

"what the fuck are you doing, you fucking numpty!?"

"you looked peaceful i didn't want to have to wake you again."

"well it didn't fucking work you twat."

"sorry, love," he set you down on the kitchen bench and kissed you cheek, "but you look cute when your annoyed."

you felt your face heat slightly and turned your face away from him.

"stop flirting and make me breakfast." lemon interrupted.

"you could say please, you wanker," tangerine snapped at him.

"please, make us breakfast, please, mr. fruit?" you said giving your best puppy dog eyes.

"for you, not for him, darling." 

you smiled, "thank you, tan."

“you’re a twat,” lemon added.

tangerine flipped lemon off and started making pancakes. you jumped off the kitchen bench and moved over to the kettle, checking it was full before boiling it.

“lemon, do you want a cuppa?”

“yeah,” lemon mumbled, distracted by his comic.

tangerine whacked lemon up the side of his head.

“yes please, sweetheart," lemon corrected himself.

“thanks lem,” you laughed slightly at the sibling abuse.

the kettle flicked off and you finished making the three cups of tea and handed one to lemon who smiled in thanks. you walked over to tangerine and placed one on the counter in front of him.

tangerine grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a kiss on the cheek, “thank you pet.”

you pulled away from him and started drinking your own cup, watching tangerine as he cooked and plated the golden pancakes.

“so did you two fuck last night?” lemon abruptly asked.

you choked on your tea and tangerines head snapped up to glare at him.

“no we slept together,” tangerine slowly replied.

lemon snorts, “i thought that was the same thing.”

“no you bellend we actually just slept, we were tired,” tangerine snapped.

you gulped down the rest of your tea and quickly placed your mug in the sink, “i’m gonna go shower boys, please save me some pancakes.” you smiled at the both and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

once you were gone lemon spoke up again, “you gonna tell her you love her yet?"

“shut up,” tangerine hissed, glancing at the shut bathroom door.

“she likes you too you know.”

tangerine didn’t respond for a few seconds, “really?”

“you’re in love with each other you both just fucking stupid.”

and for once tangerine didn’t feel the need to throw an insult back, he just reveled at the thought that you could like him too.

[ursawastricked]

Distracting: Part 5

The Sun Chaser: An annual, 24 hour work day in the lab, used to catch up on any missed work time from the past year..and this is your first year joining Viktor and Jayce for it..armed with an ungodly amount of caffeine, excitement for time with his lab partners, and a crippling sense of shame for his newly found intimate thoughts of you, Viktor will try and make it through an entire day without thinking of you in that way again..at least not with you realizing..

Wordcount: 3,366

WARNINGS: Alcohol, mention of sexual acts, but mostly fluff and light flirting so have fun! part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

After another long shower, the third one that night, washing, rewashing, trying to scrub away any of shame that still coated the extent of his being. It had soaked far below his skin however, and had settled somewhere in his stomach, somewhere he couldn't run over with a loofa. But he would be damned if he didn't try. He stood in the kitchen, towel wrapped around his shoulders as he poked at some over cooked eggs on his plate, making every attempt to eat them as fast as possible after they had made a particularly squishy sound, and only further added to his shame. Oh that awful noise,

“Viktor, are you crying over your eggs?” Jayce asked, leaning on the counter edge, successfully getting Viktors attention as he had been hunched over, head in his hands for about five minutes at this point.

“What? No..just thinking” Viktor replied..in all fairness it was not a lie. He wished it was, because honestly not thinking right about now would probably save what was left of his sanity. He glanced at Jayce, taking what he realized was a coffee being offered to him, an offering he eagerly consumed, hoping it would jolt his brain into working order.

“Are you getting excited?” “For what?” “The Sun Chaser..” Jayce spoke the words like it was a legend, and in a way, it was.

The Sun Chaser, an annual tradition in The Hextech Lab. It was one, twenty-four hour work day, no sleep, non-stop make-up day, to push themselves ahead just a little bit and catch up on any work time lost over the last year. It was a night filled with workshopping, junk food, drinks..an ungodly and probably severely unhealthy amount of caffeine. But it was one of the pair's favorite nights of the year. The mixture of constant work, and sleep deprivation always made for a good time, lots of bonding, not to mention many many hours of laughing at jokes that probably aren't actually very funny.

“The Sun Chaser? Is that tonight?”

“Tomorrow, we have to prep Vik” Jayce chuckled, patting his shoulder and shaking Viktor a bit. “So you should get dressed, we need to go shopping. Here I made the list for this year,” Viktor glanced at Jayce, who held out a small folded paper, which he promptly plucked from his hand. He hummed to himself as he unfolded the paper, glancing over it for a little sneak peak into tomorrow's events. “Energy drinks, instant coffee, pastries, sweet milk,” he sighed constantly, already excited for that last item. “Booze, lemon juice..salt..what is all this extra stuff Jayce? Why would we need booze, a-and lemon juice?” “Oh,” Jayce blinked, uttering your name under his breath. “Yes..what abo-” Viktors sentence stopped in his throat..of course. You will be there tomorrow too. Of course you would, how on earth did he forget, “And..they asked for this? Why?” “Why said something about how booze would be fun as it got later, lemon for a chaser, and salt for before.” “They want to do shots?” “Sounds like it..oooo maybe they want to try body shots-” Viktor was quick to stop that idea, with a swift hard kick to Jayces leg. “OW!” Jayce howled out, quickly following it with a loud laugh as he saw that Viktor was now covering his head, shielding his entire upper body against the counter top.

“Oh this is going to be the best year yet!” Jayce cheered, shaking Viktor hard  by the shoulders with a loud huff of excitement.

The clock rang twelve o'clock, and with it Jayce banged an obnoxious fake gong with a loud howl into the empty lab, you followed suit with your own, egging Viktor join in as well before you all took one long sip from individual mugs of coffee. The usual starting ritual for this thing, with one extra person this time around. “Hell yeah! Let's do this!” You call, quickly rushing to your notes and starting immediately, Viktor laughed, watching as you scattered away and quickly began his own work. A very pleasant beginning to the Sun Chaser.

Five hours in,

“Viktor! Viktor, can you come help me with something?” You asked, holding together two wires, observing how they resulted in a small spark. You heard the familiar click of Viktors cane against the floor before you felt the warm sensation of his body leaned over your shoulder looking down at your work. “What is it?” He asked, glancing down at your current project. You turn to meet his gaze, finding him much closer than you already had expected. He met your gaze, about half an inch between yourselves. Your cheeks grow warm, your mind stalling a little in its tracks as you watch his face stare back, maybe a little more surprised than you. He cleared his throat, catching your attention away from where it had settled on his lips. You flicker your gaze back to the device you have noticed was now smoking just a little from the unstable wires touching. “Oh shit..” You mutter, ceasing the connection. From next to your ear you hear the familiar sound of Viktors chuckle, right before he reaches over into the device.

“I see..You need me to hold these while you weld them together?” He assumed, but you again were not paying any attention, your mind a bit foggy from the smell of Viktors collogne wafting off of him. “Yes..” You whisper, finding yourself out of breath. You try again, inhaling and rephrasing the reply “Yes, you need to hold them for me okay? D-don't get burnt alright?” You remind him. And again you fight away a shiver when you can feel his chest rumble with laughter behind you.

Needless to say it took about ten minutes to finish the melding of the wire, all the while Jayce sat back in his chair, watching you with a familiar smirk. “Cute..” He muttered to himself, writing down a note in a little black notebook.

Nine hours in

You were eating your dinner quietly, a moment of shared silence while you took a much needed break. Viktor had taken liberties with the word “break”, hence why he was currently jotting down a theory he had in an almost full book of notes. But then the slightest movement caught his eye. He turned his head to look toward you, catching the tail end of your shiver.

He watched as you brought your hands up to your bare arms, rubbing them for some needed friction, the slightest bit of warmth. And before he could think too much about it he walks over, coat in hand before tapping your shoulder,

“Are you cold, děcko?” he asked, putting a hand on the back of your chair. You barely lift your head from your food to give him a little groan, rubbing your arms a little more furiously. “It's cold..” You reply quietly, resulting in a soft smile from  Viktor. He nudged you with his coat, offering it to you,

“Here, until the heat comes on '' he said quietly, handing you the coat which to your credit, you stole away faster than he expected. In nearly half a minute you stood in front of him, hugging the coat around your form. It fit around you rather well in all honesty..but god this was a mistake.

Your body was perfectly tucked within something of his..he could feel his stomach tightening. And with the length of the fabric, it almost looked like you were not wearing anything under it- he needed to walk away. And so without a word, he walked away, very fast, to the bathroom, leaving you to settle back into your chair with a new found sense of warmth. Meanwhile, Viktor took the next fifteen minutes to try and cool down in the locked bathroom. Fifteen hours in

“Okay, okay, best shitty pick up line go!” You were all sitting around, about two shots in each. Jayce pointed to you first, “Go go go!” he chanted, watching as you chased your shot with an energy drink.You coughed a bit, tapping your chin as you tried to pick one, “OOOh I have it ok..” You turn to face Viktor, giving him a lightly goofy smirk, one you couldn't hold without giggling, “hey Vik..are you a triangle? Because, you would be acute one,”“What?” Viktor chuckled, watching as you nearly lost your mind giggling, leaning back against the floor as he began to mirror your giggles, “That..truly was terrible.” He sighed, sipping his drink and leaning back against his hands and watching as you began to wildly gesture to Jayce,“Ok now you! You go!” Jayce jumped at the idea, and quickly grabbed Viktor by the shoulder to get his attention, “Viktoooor..” Vik lazily turned his face toward his lab partner, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Do you have a bandage?” “No..why Jayce?” “Because I scraped my knee..falling for you~” Jayce cooed, leaning closer and swiftly giving Vik a kiss on the forehead before he pulled away, the three of you all bursting into tired laughter. Viktor took a brief moment, watching as you held your aching stomach, your hair splayed out on the ground around you like a halo..he couldn't begin to think about how pretty you were before Jayce caught his attention again. “Ok, Viktor..your turn. Best, shitty pick up line..go”  Viktor blinked, trying to filter through any he had heard, at this point his memory was a little foggy, and now with booze in his body, he was having a harder time thinking of any he would consider particularly"shitty ".He grabbed hold of your forearm, with a little effort, hoisting you back up into a sitting position. You snickered lightly, leaning closer as he kept a firm hold on your arm, gazing into your eyes with a passion that had your belly fluttering. “You look familiar..did we have class together?” He asked, his accent thick and breath smelling of the rum you had been sharing. You give one soft chuckle, tilting your head in prep for the rest of this surely crappy punny joke, “Because I swear..” He leaned a little closer, your nose scrunched..but you didn't pull away, “we had chemistry.” He hummed, drawing out the end of the word a little and leaning close enough that your noses brushed briefly, right before he pulled back. You felt your cheeks burn, and you stared forward at him as he took a leisure sip of his mostly empty drink. His gaze flickered off you, toward Jayce who groaned loudly, “BOOOOOOOO!” “What?” “BOO that was gold, I said shitty!” Jayce protested, sending you to his side of the argument, “Yeah that was so good! BOO!” Viktor laughed, putting his hands up to defend when you tossed an empty can toward him, weak enough that it just bounced off him. Jayce watched as you both continued your little scuffle, a few kitten bats here and there as you debated what exactly made a pick up line, a good one. He quietly jotted down another little note, smiling softly to himself when he caught You and Viktor leaned over, laughing toward each other, your hand using his shoulder to support yourself.

Twenty hours in

Viktor was so exhausted at this point. His mind was barely functioning at this point, so he was working on auto-pilot, which meant only his hands and eyes worked in full. That's probably why when you asked him if he had an extra screw, he didn't respond in english..not fully. It was a mix of his mother tongue and a few english words half slurred in there. “What?” you giggle, leaning closer. He lazily leaned sideways to hear you better, “Hm? jenom chvilku..I will..” He sputtered off after that. You chuckle slightly, stealing some of his empty cans of soda away so you could sit closer on the desk. “Jenom..” You try to repeat. Viktors brain gets the little spark it needs, one that brings a little more consciousness to him and he turns to look at you, still tucked in his sweater and leaning a few inches away from touching him. “What was that?” He asked, putting a hand on your head to keep it from laying on his shoulder..at this rate he knew it would completely turn his brain off if he could smell your hair. “I'm trying to speak your language. You sometimes mutter under your breath while you're working, and it always sounds really pretty.” “Well, your accent is atrocious..” He chuckles, resting his cheek against his hand as he watches you mirror his posture again..it was becoming one of his favorite of your habits. “You need to stop enunciating so harshly..Jenom. Chvilku” He purred, saying the words slowly for you to repeat. “Jenom chvilku,” you chuckle, trying to mimic his accent. “What does that mean? Does it mean something pretty?” Viktor shakes his head slowly, his smile plastered on his face as he watches you exhausted form slump over the desk, “It means ‘just a moment’,” he replied, “something pretty would be ‘něco hezkého’, if you meant that literally” “I didn’t, but that still sounded nice” you mutter, smiling toward him. At this point the sun had risen again, but Viktor in his ever nocturnal nature had drawn the curtains, allowing for the softest golden glow to invade the lab. The gold color played well of Viktors features, his chiseled cheekbones glowing lighty, and his eyes almost the color of the lighting..it was warm and soft, sending a buzzing feeling into your chest. One you were only partly aware of how mutual the feeling was. “Do you want me to keep talking?” He asked, bringing his hands back to his work. His gaze flicked between yours and and his project,“Yes please,,” You mutter, resting your head on your folded arms, watching as he fiddles with the machine, letting his voice filter through your brain and numbing it beautifully.

Twenty-four hours in

You were out. Your head was heavy against the desk, your chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm, one that Viktor had been observing for the past hour. A full day of working had passed, just about, and he had finished all he needed too, even fixing one or two of your projects up for you after you had fallen asleep. Jayce was sprawled out on the couch, watching the clock and trying to finish his calculations. Though he had made sure to keep check on you and vik as he worked. Viktor was slumped over the desk, watching you sleep lazily, a dumb smile on his face as he fiddled quietly with your relaxed hand still laid out on the desk. He was gentle..simply fluttering your fingertips under his, experimentally brushing them against your palm from time to time. Your skin was soft, and while your cheek was flushed with exhaustion, all he could do was focus on how lovely you looked. The sun had snuck its way into the lab, and dotted along the desk, warming your skin and highlighting the shine in your hair. It was bliss, the kind that had him humming a little song from his home, imagining that he was singing to keep you asleep. It was a brief moment, a perfect ending to the long day in his humble, love sick, opinion.“Watches her sleep..” Jayce muttered, scratching down the note in his book. Viktor raised his head, swiveling it toward his lab partner to see him jotting down something again.“What? What are you doing?” “Adding to my list,” Jayce replied simply, giving Viktor an innocent look..one Vik was able to see past instantly. “What list..” He muttered, standing and taking a firm hold on his cane as he limped closer. Jayce chuckled, hiding away the contents of the notebook like a teen girl hid her diary, “It's private! Kinda, if you still wanna play the clueless act” He laughed, leaning away as Viktor went in to snatch it from him eagerly. The boys played this game for a few minutes, one minute Jayce offering the book, before pulling it away again and adding to an ever more impatient Viktor, who was now too curious to let something like this go. “You have been writing in this thing for the whole day-” “I've been writing in it way longer than that,” “How long?” “I don't know, a few months?” Jayce shrugged, trying to do the math with what little was left in his tired brain, that is when Viktor was able to steal away the notes, snatching them and leaning away from a weak attempt to get them back. He flicked open the small book, reading the first few lines, “What could you possibly be taking note of? ‘Pointed out a bruise on their thigh’, ‘fixed his hair’, Jayce what is thi-” Viktor lost his words half way through, his tongue feeling heavy as his overworked head began to place memories together..notes..he was nothing interacts between you two? Why? How many things have been written down? His eyes widened, ‘spent the entire party staring at them, and then stole a champagne glass they used’. His cheeks flushed, a mix of rage and embarrassment filling his exhausted body almost enough to spill over and lash out if his weak body would allow it. “Y..you have been taking notes? Why?”

“Research..thought you would wanna keep track of each little detail for later” “Jayce this is improper! Taking notes on my interactions?” “Theirs too,” Jayce corrected, watching as Viktor gave him a confused look, he pointed to the index on the first page, “Red is interactions you initiated, blue is when they initiated”

Vik looked  at the pages, flicking through them quickly and indeed..seeing a mix of red and blue scrawled across the pages expances.He took a brief moment to read over some, ‘Stared at Viktor while he tested the Hexclaw’, ‘Asked if Viktor liked milk in his tea’ His cheeks flushed lightly, flicking through a few more pages before the pair heard you stirring at the desk.

Your head felt heavy, like it was full of rocks. Not only that, but your ears rung, as your eyes watered in protest of your current consciousness. It was not a good idea to be awake right now, however you had found that a desk was not a comfortable place to rest, despite how cozy Viktor seemed to make it look.

“Guys..? Is it over? Did we do it?” you ask, turning your head to look at your lab partners. You for a brief moment can't make out what is happening, seeing only a blur as Jayce struggles to his feet, and Viktor hurries to put his hand in his pocket. When your vision clears, you see them looking at you, a little too surprised for your liking. “What..?”

“Uh..nothing! Nothing! Just..packing up” Viktor barks out, rushing to grab the things still left on his desk. Jayce follows suit, packing his bag at a speed that leaves you trying to catch up,

“OH!” Jayce suddenly pipes up, interrupting as you try to wrestle your notebook into your bag, “You're still sleeping over at our place today right?” He asked. Viktor froze..his hands stalling over the zipper on his satchel as his mind tried to double check what he was hearing. ‘Sleeping over…at our place’..

Fuck. 

You were. 

Two days ago, while planning for The Sun Chaser with you, Jayce had offered for you to crash at their shared apartment the day after, seeing that your apartment was much further from the lab, it would be best to sleep in their apartment and not risk passing out on the way home.

“Yeah! I got my pajamas packed and ready in my bag!” You reply, smiling as you start to make your way to the door, following close behind an exhausted Jayce, and behind you..a much more awake Viktor.

A very awake, and very screwed Viktor.

TEEHEE HEE thank you for reading part 5 HEHEHEHEHEHEHHE, oooo shits going down next time gang, bro cant find his shit anymore @zaunitearchives @astralkiss @mackbethart @theseuscloud @g4l4xy-qu33n @ears-queers-gears-n-fears @thymesoup @cheeriecherrymain​ @saumspam​

[avocado-writing]

resting foreheads together with tangerine?

Tangerine likes to think he’s a difficult man to read. That he’s got his poker face down to perfection. It’s cute, really - you reckon you probably know his feelings better than he knows them himself. The arch of an eyebrow or the twist of his lip betrays more than he can imagine. 

And lately when he’s been staring out the window at nothing? Yeah, that’s a sure fucking giveaway. 

“Tan?”

It’s the third time you’ve said his name but you’ve only just got his attention. He looks over his shoulder at you, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Mmm, sorry love? What’s that?”

You sigh, putting down the mugs of tea you’ve brought through from the kitchen, and instead of an answer simply pull him into your arms. He seems surprised but doesn’t resist. 

“You’re being a numpty.”

He recoils as if you’ve threatened to put a bullet in his head rather than just called him something relatively harmless. 

“I’m not being a fucking numpty-!”

When you card your hands through his hair he calms again, though you still catch the little facial twitch which suggests he’s still on edge. You press your forehead to his; warm skin against warm skin. You take in a deep, deliberate breath and exhale slowly. Soon you find him matching his breathing with yours. The tension he holds so often in his shoulders finally leaves, and he’s left looking a bit deflated as it does. 

“‘For better, for worse’, we said, didn’t we? I know when something’s under your skin, Tan. Just tell me.”

Tangerine sighs. There’s no use hiding it. Not from you. 

“Last job, Lemon took a bullet.”

“Fuck. Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Clipped his leg. Still though, bit too close for comfort. That’s all.”

His voice is strained as he explains. You know it’s hard for him to admit when things make him, well, feel. So you don’t say anything. You just hold him tight. His arms grip you hard enough that you know he’ll never let you go. 

[roosterbox]

Hey

Hey hey

Guess what? It’s someone’s birthday today!

That’s right, my dear Inception fandom peeps, if my calendar is to be believed - and I hope it is! - then today is the birthday of our own beloved @lolahardy !!

Happy birthday, Lola ❤️

Also, I wrote you a Thing. Just a lil ~500 word piece, featuring our favorite pair of silly boys, lol. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you have the loveliest of lovely birthdays today.

Not putting it under a cut because, again, it’s only a little over 500 words, so not too long.

Tags: baked goods, schmoop, tooth-rotting fluff, slight slight slight references to sex (I’d probably rate it a T juuuuust in case, but this is like the lightest T rating you’ll ever see, lol), Eames has a sweet tooth and Arthur decides to enable him.

———

“Happy birthday,” Arthur said.

The cake looked immaculate, situated as it was, perfectly centered on their kitchen table. Every dip and wave of frosting was perfect. Each candle equidistant from each other. It was all so very Arthur, and Eames loved it almost as much as he loved him.

“Oh, darling,” he said, drawing Arthur close for a kiss. “Yet again, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Arthur’s cheeks were slightly pink. “You say that every year.”

“Because every year, it’s still true.” He smiled. “You grab the plates while I cut?”

Turns out, it tasted like perfection too. The smoother than smooth lemon buttercream frosting adding just the right amount of tangy bite to the sweeter cake. Eames couldn’t help his satisfied groans at the peach and strawberry flavours bursting over his tongue. The taste, and the sight of Arthur’s face getting even pinker at the noises he was making, was absolutely everything to him.

Mouth half-full, Eames started to say “At the risk of repeating myself-“

“Don’t.” Arthur took a small bite of his own slice. “It’s good, yeah?”

“It’s perfect.” Eames swallowed his last bite, and moved to serve himself another piece. “All three of my favourite flavours, conveniently in one gorgeous package? I almost didn’t want to eat it.”

“Almost.” They shared a smirk. A long stretch of comfortable silence followed. Well, silent other than the frankly obscene noises Eames made as he enjoyed his cake. Halfway through his third (and as it would turn out, last… for now) slice of his birthday meal, Eames observed, with sly pleasure, Arthur loosening his shirt at the collar. Seemed like his vocalizations were having the desired effect. His darling was looking almost as pink as the crumb on the cake he’d made.

“You know,” Eames said after getting another mouthful down, “there’s one somewhat unfortunate thing about this.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?” He seemed genuinely confused, and a little concerned that he might have messed up or forgotten something.

“Tragically, my actual favorite flavour in the world isn’t one that usually finds its way into baked goods.” He gave his partner a sidelong look. “A bit more of a… personal touch, that one.”

It took Arthur a minute. But then, he groaned.

“Eames, please. I’m trying to eat.”

“Still made you smile though.” Eames nudged his leg under the table.

“Pretty sure I’ve done nothing but smile this whole entire day.”

“Even while baking?”

“Especially while baking.” Arthur looked down at Eames hand sitting on the tablecloth, and covered it with his own. “You know how much I enjoy doing things like this. For you.”

Now it was Eames’ turn to blush. “No fair getting so sappy, love. Not after my best attempts at salaciousness.”

That got him a dry chuckle. “If that’s your best attempt, then there goes the rest of my plans for this evening.”

Eames gasped. “Why, Arthur,” he practically purred. “How very forward of you.”

A squeeze of his hand. “Finish your cake, Mr. Eames, and maybe you’ll get to have some of your ‘favorite’ flavor before the night is through.”

He barely tasted the last few bites. And sometime later, as he caught his breath on the comedown, all he could think was that it was worth it.

[undercoverdarling]

Collecting Pieces of Us (1) | Yandere Taehyung

Pairing: Yandere Idol! Taehyung/Reader

Summary:

Curls lay soft, just the right amount of wild, framing stark eyes. Eyes, number twenty-one. The first thing to make you feel queasy.

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, manipulation, controlling behavior, general creepiness, overuse of the word oppa.

Notes: This is my first time posting! I've always wanted to write something in this genre, and a few days ago I had a dream. Five hours later, I had a Tumblr. I hope you enjoy!

(P.S — All ages are written in the Korean system, making everyone around two years younger internationally.)

This is probably the twenty-first thing you’ve noticed about Kim Taehyung: his eyes are dark. 

Perhaps the first thing had been his smile, wide and brilliant and the very personification of laughter in the very first photo Jungkook-oppa sent you from Seoul. 

You were only thirteen, then, stewing in a left-over-soup of emotions. 

Betrayal stung like chilli pepper, hot on your tongue, in the balls of your fists. He left, you thought, he left. 

Then, beneath that—the snark and complaints; the raging fire you directed towards your parents—was the salt. That profound sadness that stuck to your throat, a muck you couldn’t scrape or swallow, welling into tears you couldn’t make sense of. He left, he left.

Deeper still came the taste of lemon, sharp and aching past midnight when you laid awake because you couldn’t hear his breathing. The house was too still. Too quiet. You were alone. He left. He left, and he was alone too, chasing what mom and dad called a lost cause instead of a dream. 

You loved your brother, and yet you couldn’t stand to think of him. So grand and tall in your mind’s eye, in the memories of your childhood where he kissed your bruises, and pulled your hair, and sung so beautifully to your offbeat drumming. 

He wanted to be something, you knew. He could be something. But he was yours, he’d always been yours. Your talented big brother, not the world’s. He was only fifteen.

Something dark and slimy whispered to you past midnight, buzzing in the silence. What if the world doesn’t love him? What if they’re stupid, and they don’t see him like you? What if he’s sad? What if he’s hurting? 

He must be scared, all alone.

You didn’t answer his calls or his texts in the first months after he left, because you were thirteen and angry, and so many other things, because he’d left.

But, then, he sent that picture, only a few minutes after twelve, and you saw ‘Taehyungie-hyung’s’ smile for the first time. Happiness bloomed from it, large and dashingly boyish. It was near the centrepiece of the entire photo.

You noticed the second thing in stodgy succession: Jungkook-oppa was smiling too. It was a little tired around the edges, but giant, and undeniably him. Undeniably yours. Undeniably happy.

Whoever this Taehyungie-hyung was, he made your brother happy. 

This second observation becomes unrivalled in importance.

(Something fluttered in the space between your ribs. A revelation.)

You texted him back within seconds. Who’s that?

He replied just as quick. Jeon Yebin, is that the greeting I get? My own sister… Then, why are you up so late? Nightmares? You should make some tea.

(He’d left you, but he was not alone afterall.)

Taehyungie-hyung is the best, Jungkook-oppa told you. You filed that in for third.

You filed his voice in for fifth. It was more always startling than it ought to be, wrenching through your phone speaker with a crackle each time he interrupted phone calls. (Jungkookie, are you talking to your parents? Ah, your sister? Ah! Yebin-ah, have you eaten today?) 

Sixth: Taehyung was the oldest in his family, and, consequently, it seemed the mothering instinct had been ingrained into his brain. The little time you talked was filled with questions and disapproving clicks of a tongue.

After their debut, you hear his voice in songs. This, unfortunately, does not make it any less startling. It does, however, make it replayable.

For a long time, you think that you must have to get used to it at some point. Maybe it was just a matter of exposure, and then you would build a tolerance. You would have to build a tolerance at some point, right?

You think the same of his face. Until, of course, you see him in the flesh. 

Jungkookie-oppa’s graduation comes to mind. 

You were trying your best not to cry at the time, gazing at the bumblebee pinprick of your brother from the audience. The rest of his band members were excited, yelling cheers and crowding together, not too far from where you stood, knuckles paper white against the railing.

Taehyung came up behind you. He patted you twice, gently, on the head. 

You sniffed, too caught up in balancing your wobbling eyesight to be offended.

He chuckled, “Yebin-ah, are you okay?”

You sniffed again, more pointed this time. Somehow, you choked out an, “He’s so old.”

This was a usual joke made between you and your brother. Albeit, normally it sounded much less devastated.

Taehyung laughed nonetheless. He tapped you once more, this time pulling a hand through your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear.

You made the mistake of looking over, then.

He was leaning against the railing, much more languid and refined than you could ever be, and he was looking back at you.

You didn’t register much in this moment. Individual features blended together. A pointed chin, a strong jaw, and soft lips became a monolith . . . only an imprint upon your being.

Perfection. Magic.

He looked like a fairy, but you couldn’t understand how. Couldn’t pinpoint what held the illusion together.

The moment shattered at a breakneck speed. There at once, then gone within a blink, only known by its silk within the jagged of the day. A voice piped up from the melting word, saying something too close to Jungkook! to be ignored.

You hiccuped. Taehyung’s lips quivered into a smile.

Then, you saw your brother, and promptly burst into tears.

Two years later, you wipe away different tears, faced with thing number twenty. Hair, Taehyung looks nice with long hair.

It's black again, and it's permed. Curls lay soft, just the right amount of wild, framing stark eyes.

Eyes, number twenty-one. The first thing to make you feel queasy.

They cut into you. He's staring now, not in surprise, but in something like enlightenment. Something like determination.

"You always cry when you see him," he says, after a moment. The corner of his mouth quirks up with the statement.

You brush your hands against your shirt. A knot is forming inside your chest, squeezing your heart. "I missed him, that's all."

"It’s alright, you know. It’s cute."

"Cute?"

"Very cute," he says, softly, wryly, "makes me wish you missed me too."

A breath catches in your throat. You turn a blank, and say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Of course I missed you."

His head tilts, tossing soft curls. He’s still staring, and his eyes are so dark. The silk comes. The world melts. All you can focus on is this moment.

"Did you really?"

[cowardlybean]

Hey. The Times They Are A Changin’ by @bandtrees and @tigsbitties amiright (muffled face down on the floor)

more (some unsettling things) beneath the cut :3

(Image 3 is my favorite sequence from an animation for TTTAAAC I’ve been working on, so here it is just in case I never finish </3, image 4 is me thinking about Mob’s house. If. That makes sense.)

OH MAN. OH MAN OH MAN. this fic has altered my brain chemistry in a way that has doctors baffled and leaves tragedy in its wake!!!!!!!!! Absolutely a masterpiece I’ve reread it 3 times now and every time I notice a new detail, there’s just SO MUCH CARE put into it. I think I could write an essay about every page of this fic LMAO it honestly blows me away, huge kudos to everyone who was a part of the project!!!!

Especially the multimedia aspects, they were so much fun to find and in some cases decode (Scared the SHIT outta myself with Breathe I think it’s one of my favorites). the youtube videos were so cool as well

Realizing a third of the way in that things will never get better was such a gut wrenching experience, and by the time I realized just how deep the hole Mob dug himself into was it was absolutely too late for anything to happen (the end of act 1 was horrific in the most amazing way. So many things stuck with me: the state Reigen was left in compared to how he was, Ritsu’s “surgery”, Dimple losing his best friend, Shou’s report to the police, Minori’s conversation (if you can call it that) with Mob?? Bone. Chilling.

One of the parts that has been sitting in my gut is Reigen’s fall, where he starts to ramble through fragments of old times. I genuinely thought he was calling out to Mob until just as the same time Mob did I recognized the words and it hit me like a HAMMER. I don’t know how to put it into words but Reigen rambling on like a broken record tore me apart, and then it gets WORSE. I only realized on my second read that the intro of the fic. (Correct me if I’m wrong) IS REIGENS PERSPECTIVE OF MOB SEVERING HIS TENDONS???? Holy fuck. Holy FUCK. The vague semblance of consciousness written there is so deeply unsettling I’m absolutely OBSESSED with it. ESPECIALLY THE FACT THAT EVEN IN THAT STATE HE STILL WANTS MOB TO BE HAPPY (the cheer ^^ mob bit) and idk if I’m interpreting right (this is gonna be so embarrassing if I’m not) but him recognizing the filthy jacket as well. Taking me OUT. AND. AND THE FACT REIGEN NEVER SPEAKS AGAIN AFTER THAT?????? (I could be wrong oops)

The mental states of every character in the fic are written so chillingly well. I can understand how Mob spirals, the anger and grief Tome feels, Shou's spite and anger, Teruki's conflict, Dimple's loss of his best friend, Serizawa's waning optimism, I can't name every character in this fic but they are ALL characterized so well. There's no needless conflict that make them OOC, there's a reason behind every little tragedy building upon themselves and creating a giant disaster that deeply affects the entire cast. Not to mention how its not just the loss of Reigen and Ritsu, but the loss of Mob too. If they were to have died on impact, its unsettling to think that things may have turned out better than this.

There’s a lot of things I wanna say that would basically be restating the fic (dimple losing his best friend, teru shaving, and the irony of ritsu’s powers being taken away by mob) so instead of writing 20 more paragraphs I’ll ask some questions I’ve been mulling over (ofc yall don’t have to answer if it’s revealing too much or smth)

Does Mob actually end up getting investigated or arrested? The formatting of the social media posts and texts makes them seem as if they're evidence and so does the ongoing "interview?" with Shou throughout the fic

In the party, is Reigen saying he doesn't like citrus a reference to the lemon sour :eyes:

I'm probably missing something but im curious about the metaphor around Reigen and a stray cat (hair clinging to Mob's clothes, comparing him to a stray cat finding a place to die, comparing him to a cat outside Serizawa's door)

If I'm not wrong and the "glitchy" sections at the beginning and end of the fic are Reigen and Ritsu's povs respectively, is their mind constantly like that or is it just in the specific circumstances where they have a small burst of consciousness?

last (thats a lie im definitely drawing more fanart in the future) but not least, some notes from when I was re-reading

[gvfgal]

Not So Strangers

Sam Kiszka x reader

18+ minors take a hike!!!

Content Warnings: graphic sexual content, dom!sam, sub!reader, roleplaying, brief thigh riding, dirty talk, fingering (f rec.), impact play, restraints, choking, degredation kink, edging, throat fucking (yeah I'm sick), unprotected sex, maybe some more but you get it… filthy.

A/n: I postponed uploading this, considered not posting it at all because as I was editing it to post, I saw another fic writer had posted something similar to it. But after thinking on it for a few days, I realized I could post it in confidence knowing I didn't intentionally try to copy anyone's work. Plus, our fics went in two entirely different directions, so that makes me feel a lot better.

BUT WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, please enjoy this delicious fic I cooked up. Think I temporarily threw myself into Sammy's lane with this one cause whew...

Word Count: 5.4k

****ANY RELATION TO OTHER FIC WORKS IS PURELY COINCIDENCE****

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You liked this woman that you were tonight. By yourself at some upscale bar, strong, sexy, confident. This bar, void of loud rock or techno music and drunk bachelorette parties, wasn’t made for your everyday appeal. But for the woman you were tonight, it was perfect.

Without the pressure of holding conversation with company, you were able to relax and listen to some music (at a reasonable volume), and enjoy some much needed alone time.

Two lemon drop martinis in, you were sips away from finishing your third, and ready to order another, when a handsome 'stranger' began to approach you. You’d noticed this stranger across the bar awhile ago, practically eye fucking you for the last 30 minutes, but you paid him little mind, attention like that wasn’t foreign to you.

“Excuse me,” his grin was charming, “I’m sorry to bother you. You just look really familiar, have we met before?”

So much for that alone time.

In no rush to respond, you took several moments to look him over.

He was tall and lanky, and you immediately noticed his long slender fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of brown liquor. His hair was fairly long, about shoulder length with loose, silky waves,and his face supported nicely trimmed facial hair; a thin mustache and a goatee that were both as silky as the hair on his head. His outfit was simple, a pair of slacks and a button up shirt, a couple top buttons undone and the cuffs rolled up around his forearms messily, as if he’d just finished a long day of work. 

Yes, very handsome indeed. 

“Can’t say that we have,” you finally answered, looking back to his face.

Your response was clipped and lacked enthusiasm, your body language making it appear that you were uninterested, but honestly, you were quite intrigued.

The stranger continued smiling at you anyways as you downed the last sip of your drink, “yeah, you’re probably right. I think I’d remember a face as beautiful as yours.” 

Scoffing, you decided to call his bluff, “really laying it on thick huh? Does that line work with all the girls you decide to randomly approach at bars?”

You thought your smart response would ward him off, but it only seemed to interest him further.

He chuckled, “actually, that’s my first time using that one. So you’ll have to tell me how it’s working.”

Strangely, you admired his confidence. There was something about the way he carried himself that had you slowly falling into his trap. He was cool and composed surely, but he still had a sort of boyish, whimsical charm that you found magnetic.

“Might’ve worked a little better if I had another drink in me,” you lifted your empty glass and shook it briefly in his direction. 

He flagged down the bartender, “I’ll have a rusty nail, and the lady...” he paused to let you answer.

“Lemon drop martini,” you smiled at the bartender sweetly, and he sent the two of you a nod before moving to prepare your drinks.

“I’m Sam,” the stranger extended his hand to you.

Hesitantly, you took his hand in yours, noting his firm grip, “y/n.”

The handshake lingered longer than you wanted, as he looked directly into your eyes.

“Y/n, that’s beautiful. You live around here?”

You withdrew your hand, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why? Plan on following me home later, Samuel?”

He laughed at you rather loudly, causing a few people in the bar to turn in your direction, but that didn’t stop you from eyeing him skeptically. 

“Hardly. It’s just, I come here often and I’ve never seen you before.”

“So you live in the area then?”, you questioned, flipping the question back onto him, keeping him on his toes.

“About five blocks away,” Sam answered truthfully, leaning onto the bar, a sign that he planned to be there awhile.

“This is a nice area,” you feigned being impressed, “you must be doing pretty good.”

“You could say that,” he humored, “I’m in stocks.”

The corner of your lip quirked up slightly, and Sam sent you a wink.

“Stocks, huh? Sounds boring.”

“It can be pretty dull, yeah,” he nodded, still smiling at you, “that’s why I try to get out as much as I can.”

“And meet pretty young ladies.”

Before he could answer, the bartender returned with your perfectly constructed drinks, and Sam pulled out his wallet to hand the man his card.

He handed your drink to you before grabbing his own, raising it in a toast.

“To meeting a pretty young lady.”

Your gaze was still cynical as you touched your glass to his lightly before bringing it to your lips for a delicate sip, your red lipstick marking the brim.

Sam’s eyes fell to the imprint, his tongue briefly making an appearance to lick along his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to you with a smize.

“You know I find you very fascinating, y/n?”, he finished signing his receipt, sliding it back across the counter.

You cocked your head to the side as the two of you ogled each other.

“Yeah, and why’s that? I’ve hardly told you a thing about myself.”

He sipped his drink again, “perhaps that’s part of the attraction. I admire a woman of mystery.”

You hummed around your glass as his eyes continued boring into you.

“Most girls would be ready to go home with me by now, the stocks are usually my selling point. They seem to love a man in a suit. But you, you’re a tough cookie to crack.”

You scoffed, setting your drink down and leaning in close to him. He smelled rich, and you swore his eyes flickered down to your cleavage that your little black dress left clearly visible.

“Are you saying you’re trying to take me home, Samuel?”, your voice dropped to a seductive tone.

His eyes were on your lips as you spoke before they met yours again.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Your red bottom heel extended to run up the expanse of his leg, slow and calculated movements.

Sam Drew in a deep breath, zeroed in on your bare leg. He looked like he wanted to reach out and grab it, but was showing difficult restraint.

“And tell me, Sam from stocks, what would we do if I came home with you? What would you do to me?”

Unable to hold back anymore, his hand grabbed ahold of your outstretched leg, clenching your thigh with a twitch of his mouth.

“There’s a lot of things I’d do to you, but a woman as beautiful as you, I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Is that right,” you raised an eyebrow at him, this once civil conversation taking a hard right turn, but you were far from opposed.

Sam was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and the size of his hands had you wondering what else on his body might carry the same trait.

Your faces were inches apart now, breathing in each other’s air as his hand continued rubbing soothingly along your leg.

“Yeah that’s right. And I have a sneaking suspicion you like the sound of that. Is that right?”

You let your hand run along the expanse of his chest, growing frustrated that his button up shirt stood between what you really wanted to get your hands on.

“It might be,” you were so close that you could’ve planted a kiss to his lips, but the lingering suspense felt too good to give into just yet, “but I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

His grin was devilish as he pulled away from you, and you found yourself already missing his touch.

He drank again, grin still visible through his glass.

“You always leave bars with guys you just met? We haven’t established that I’m not a serial killer yet.”

Matching his smugness, you decided to finish off your drink, more than ready to make your exit, “only the ones who are in stocks,” you teased at his ‘profession’, “and call me crazy, but I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

With a final gulp, Sam’s drink was now empty as he nodded towards the door, “well then let’s get out of here, shall we? I can show you why the ladies love stock brokers.”

Momentarily slipping out of character, you giggled at the statement, causing Sam to send you a look that read ‘stay in character. Things are starting to get good.’

You gained your composure before putting your sexy persona back on as he presented his arm for you to link onto.

Rather than accepting it, you grabbed your clutch purse from the bar top, standing and straightening your dress before making your way towards the exit, hips swaying a little more than necessary, giving Sam an eyeful.

He stood dumbfounded as he watched your round backside before lighting a fire under himself to catch up to you.

He hailed a cab as the two of you stood outside the bar, and quickly one came to your aid, Sam, ever the gentleman, opening the door for you and ushering you into the back of the car.

The driver input the address that Sam gave him, and as the car took off from the curb, Sam latched his lips onto your neck, no concern for the aging cab driver that was transporting you.

He had you cornered, his body pressed into yours as he kissed and nipped your flesh fiercely, hands roaming your body with no particular destination.

An airy moan left you as he did so, and you gripped tightly on his shoulders before forcing him off of you, although you wanted more than anything for him to continue, and your face read just that.

“Some restraint, Sam. You can’t jump my bones in the back of this cab.”

He was breathing heavily as he drank you in, that cool calm collective act he had at the bar now long gone, replaced with a primal desire.

“You don’t know how badly I want to. From the moment I saw you at that bar I had to have you, y/n,” his fingers tracing along any part of his skin he could get his hands on, “this sexy little dress you have on, leaving so little to the imagination…”

His warm breath danced across your face as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, faint smell of alcohol on his breath turning you on even more.

“You look so beautiful, but also like such a slut.”

The word sent electricity humming through you, some girls might have been offended by it, but coming from Sam, it sounded like the most elevated of praises.

“The entire time we were talking, all I could think about was taking it off of you, getting my hands on that tight little cunt I know you have. Putting you over my knee,” his hand began inching underneath your dress, “making your body bend to my will, just having my way with you.”

As he whispered his desires to you, you allowed your hand to rub along his covered erection, feeling how hard he had made himself.

Both of you inhaled as he came in contact with your soaked underwear, his finger rubbing along it delicately.

“God, I can’t wait to have you in my mouth, angel.”

Taking advantage of the position, you leaned in and nipped at his ear, “oh I’m far from an angel, Sammy.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly, losing his composure quickly as you continued palming over him. 

Luckily for the both of you, the ride was a short one, and the cab was pulling up to the high rise building just before you two were about to pounce on each other.

Sam fumbled with his wallet as he fought to pay for the cab fair as quickly as possible. Not wanting to waste any more time, he handed the driver a crisp $20 bill for the $8 charge, before pushing the door open and all but yanking you out onto the sidewalk.

You thanked the driver with a sheepish grin and half wave, and stumbled behind Sam as he pulled you into the building.

He raced through the lobby towards the elevator with his long legs, your heels clicking against the floor rapidly as you struggled to keep up.

Once inside the thankfully empty elevator, Sam’s body was back against yours, pinning you against the wall as his lips crashed carelessly into yours. The kiss was hungry and feral, both of your hands gripping and tugging at one another as your tongues battled.

Moans and groans filled the elevator as the two of you attacked one another, and after several moments, Sam pulled away and wrapped a hand around your throat securely. 

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you, you have no idea,” he growled, and upon seeing how much you were enjoying his hold on you, he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

You pushed your body into his, and he slotted his leg between yours to give you something to grind against. 

Accepting the invitation, your allowed yourself to rub against him, sighing at the relief it gave you, if only momentarily.

“Yeah look at you. Such a needy little fucking thing. You like how that feels against that pretty cunt of yours?”

You nodded breathlessly as he kissed you sloppily again, starting to get lost in the feeling.

Just as you were about to pick up your pace, the elevator dinged, signaling that you have reached your floor.

Sam pulled away from you, biting your bottom lip harshly before moving away completely.

You were panting against the wall as he stared at you hungrily, before grabbing your hand and once again yanking you behind him.

A few long paces down the hallway had the two of you standing in front of what you assumed was his apartment; 2217.

“So this is where the magic happens?”, you teased as you looked at him with twinkling eyes.

“Among other things,” he winked.

He began patting around in his pockets, in search of a key, but after his search came up empty, he turned to you with a meek smile.

You scoffed, putting your hand on your hip, “babe, did you really forget your key?”

“May have been a little too excited to get the night started,” he shrugged.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you fished your own house key out of your clutch and unlocked the door, Sam stepping in first to regain control of the narrative.

“Ah yes, here we are, Casa Del Samuel,” he put on a phony Spanish accent.

You looked around the apartment that you were more than familiar with, as if it were your first time, allowing yourself to fall back into character.

“Nice guitars, you play,” your question full of mischief as Sam retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cabinet. 

“They’re bass guitars actually,” he corrected with a smirk at your féaux cluelessness as he poured, “and yeah I play a little. More as a hobby, really.”

He crossed over to you with wine glasses in hand, “not like I’m a rockstar or anything.”

He handed you your respective glass, and you took a sip, “yeah, you don’t give me much of a rockstar vibe anyways.”

His face dropped into a pout momentarily at your teasing, before straightening his back, taking a sip of his own.

Clearing his throat, he cocked a brow at you, “now what?”

“Well, Sam from stocks,” you took one large step that landed you directly in front of him, “as much as I love being wined and dined, I think I wanna skip that part, and get straight to you making good on all those promises you made earlier.” 

You shifted your balance on your toes so that you could reach and give his bottom lip a quick nip with your teeth.

“What was that you said… something about putting me over your knee, bending me to your will,” your lips ghosted along his ear, hand pressing against his ever growing erection, “fucking wrecking me.”

Although you couldn’t see his face, you could tell that your seducing was working, his breathing becoming increasingly unstable, his hand feathering over your ass and the back of your thighs, almost as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Let me show you the bedroom,” he whispered, pulling you gently down the hallway.

Once inside, you made yourself comfy on the edge of the bed as Sam shut the door and locked it.

He turned back to you with a shit eating grin, twirling his wine glass.

“Now what,” you used his question on him.

He was still for a moment as he stared down at you, appearing as if he was in deep thought before he answered.

“Take your clothes off, all of them,” his voice was low and gruff, and with the look on his face, you didn’t dare challenge him.

Sam stepped forward and took your glass from you, and you stood from the bed, tugging your dress down to your ankles.

As he sat both of your glasses onto the dresser, his eyes never left your frame, and when your tits spilled from the dress, he practically tripped over his feet. 

You stood before him in nothing but your heels and lacy red underwear, Sam leaning back against the dresser, waiting for you to finish the task he appointed you. 

Slowly and seductively, you hooked your fingers around the material, making a show out of working them down and off your legs. Once they were discarded on the floor, you kicked your heels off one at a time, losing significant height, until you were finally completely nude in front of his watchful eyes.

He drank you in with a hunger you’d never seen him display before, taking one final swig of his wine before taking long strides over to the bed, sitting in the spot you occupied moments ago.

You stood and waited for instructions, but he gave none to you verbally, only beckoning you over with a single curling finger.

Swaying your hips, you took your place in between his slightly gapped legs, and his hands immediately latched onto the back of your thighs, squeezing and rubbing them as he peered up at you.

“You really are beautiful, you know? The prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You nodded, bringing a hand to stroke along his jaw.

The once enamored look that graced his face quickly shifted to one of twisted desire. It was dark, like a predator hunting its prey.

“But I meant what I said, love. I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

Without warning, his hand crashed around your right ass cheek, sending you reeling forward into his body.

He steadied you with a hand on your waist, his other large palm soothing over where he struck you.

“You think I don’t know about girls like you. Parading around in posh bars, skimpy little dress on, waiting for some well off guy to come pluck you out of the flock. Well you got picked darling, how does it feel?”

“Feels good,” you gasped as the remaining sting from his lashing began to cease, but you were far from mistaken if you thought that was the last of it.

Sam roughly pulled you into his lap, stomach down, your legs dangling behind you off the edge of the bed.

“I have to punish you, for being such a little slut, you understand that, right?”

You did your best to nod in your awkward position, adding a mousey “yes sir,” along with it.

“See,” he cooed as he rubbed circles on your ass, “I knew you weren’t a brat, just a needy little whore. Letting some stranger from the bar take you home, after a very brief conversation, might I add, and have his way with you, hm? Are you gonna let me have my way with you, y/n.”

“Yes Sammy, yes,” you were whining now, wriggling underneath his touch as he admonished you, “have your way with me. Hit me, spank me like you do your bass.”

He smirked at that, but still in character, he raised a questioning brow, “now how would a stranger I just met only an hour ago know that I like to do that to my pretty lady,” another lashing against your flesh sounded into the room. 

You caught yourself then, a simple goof up in a moment of heat, but ever quick on your feet, even with the searing pain of another strike to your skin, you managed to fix your mistake.

“You look like the type,” you huffed through gritted teeth, “doesn’t surprise me.”

This made him laugh, but only briefly, before he sent two more rapid smacks, his hand soothing over them afterwards.

You were soaked now, your arousal began to leak from you and onto Sam’s lap, there was no way he wouldn’t be privy to it soon.

And as if the thought itself brought it to fruition, Sam’s fingers snaked down and began playing in the mess between your legs.

“Only sluts get this wet from getting treated this way,” his tone was casual. You moaned out as he sunk a digit into your waiting hole, “and look,” he continued, although he knew that in your position you could do no such thing, “even got it all over my good work pants.”

You managed to roll your eyes at his silliness, still obviously involved in his story arc.

His finger worked into you at a lazy pace, and you deeply wished that he’d speed up, or at least add another finger. You knew he was aware that this wasn’t enough stimulation for you, just barely enough to keep you steadily leaking. He wanted to toy with you, but you wanted to cum.

“More,” you whimpered, “more I need more.”

He struck your ass again, this one causing you to yelp loudly, out of shock and at his force; this one was harder than all the previous. 

“You take what I fucking give you,” he scolded you, voice raising several octaves.

His hand gripped your hair tightly as he pulled your head back, the awkward angle straining your neck.

Sam's eyes burned as he looked into yours, your waterline beginning to well up with tears for many reasons, known and unknown.

He sunk a second finger in you down to the knuckle, and your mouth dropped open, a single tear sliding down your face as your eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he sounded so gentle, so enraptured, that even though he was teasing you with his words, it made your heart swell.

He loosened his hold in your hair, letting your head rest back on the bed before using his thumb to wipe the tear from your cheek.

His fingers began hitting that sweet spot inside of you at a quicker pace, sending you racing towards your end.

“Fuck Sam,” you moaned loudly, “I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, please!”

Right on the brink, you could see the light ahead of you, just out of your grasp, before everything stopped.

Sam had removed his fingers from you, holding them up in the dim light of the bedroom to watch them glisten with your slick.

You could do nothing but whimper. You should’ve known he wasn’t going to let you cum yet, but you were oh so hopeful.

You laid in place panting, listening to the sound of Sam sucking his digits clean above you, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

“Bet that was gonna be a good one, huh baby? Shame I had to take it from you.”

He sent a quick tap to your thigh, “up on the bed lover.”

Your movements were slow as Sam helped you from his lap, legs buckling as you stood.

Sam chuckled a bit as you crumbled back onto the bed, deciding on crawling up the bed instead of walking around.

As you did your best to get comfortable with the constant throbbing between your legs, Sam stood and began working his clothes off. 

His shirt was the first thing to go, then he made quick work of his belt, tossing it onto the bed rather than letting it drop to the floor.

He removed his pants and underwear in one swift movement, his cock springing up causing you to gasp at its intimidating stature.

It stood practically pointing towards the ceiling, unbelievably hard and tinted red, beads of pre cum leaking from it slowly.

Sam stood and allowed you to marvel at him for a few more seconds before taking himself in his hand, stroking slowly and shivering at the sensation.

“This is what you do to me,” he huffed out as he continued working himself, “see how hard you made me?”

You nodded, moving your hand down your body in search of your clit, needing desperately to relieve the pulsing heat that radiated from it, but Sam stopped you with only the tilt of his head. 

“Hands to yourself, y/n. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You pouted, a small whimper of disappointment, “please Sam, I need to…”

The thought trailed off, not knowing exactly what you were asking for. Of course being able to cum would be nice, but you knew that wasn’t happening until he said so.

He was still pumping along his length as he climbed onto the bed with you, straddling your body.

Your breathing was ragged as you looked up at him, feeling touch starved already. You wanted him on you in some form, and he knew that.

“Need to what? Cum?”

You nodded meekly.

Sam grunted at a particular downward pull on his shaft, head lulling down for a moment before he looked back up at you again.

“I’ll tell you what, you take my cock down your throat like the good little slut you are, then maybe after that I’ll let you cum. How does that sound?” He stroked your cheek lovingly.

Again, another nod was all you could manage.

He let go of your face in favor of reaching behind himself and retrieving his belt, cock still fisted in his other palm.

Reluctantly, he let himself go with a soft moan, taking both of your hands and entangling them with the belt and the brass headboard.

Once your hands were secure above your head, he smiled down at you.

“So perfect like this,” he spoke warmly, bending down to kiss your forehead. But the sweet display was cut short, as he now hovered over your waiting mouth, his cock bobbing up and down.

“Three taps on the headboard if you need it. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” you were growing impatient, and you lifted your head off the bed, trying to close the space between your mouth and his mouthwatering erection.

Sam gently pushed you back down on the bed, “so eager to choke on my cock. You’re gonna get it, don’t worry.”

He grabbed himself again, giving his shaft two slow pumps, “open up love.”

You did as he said, mouth open as wide as you could, and slowly, he sunk his length down into your mouth.

A gag sounded out of you as he nudged the back of your throat, the constriction causing him to inhale sharply.

“Fuckkkkk,” he moaned out, “fuck y/n.”

He sat still in your mouth for a moment, and just when air was needed, he pulled out of you swiftly, letting you catch your breath.

Once you recovered, he plunged back in, repeating this until soon he was moving in and out of you at a steady pace.

Your throat was full with every pump of his hips, and the noises he was letting out above you made the wetness between your legs increase. He sounded like he was in a complete state of bliss.

You had an ironclad grip on the bars of the headboard as he used your mouth, fresh tears replacing the ones from earlier, and just when you thought things couldn’t get any better, Sam leaned back and began rubbing quick circles onto your clit, watching the way your eyes bulged with rapt attention.

He smiled at the way you moaned around him, still fucking into your mouth, and by the way your body was fidgeting nonstop, he knew he was bringing you close to your end.

But just like earlier, everything stopped just before you could reach it.

He removed his fingers from your heat and his cock from your mouth, causing you to sputter and cough, spit running down your chin. In a move that knocked the air out of you, he took your face in his hand and licked from your chin up to your mouth, cleaning the mess that stuck to your skin.

“Sam,” you groaned as he continued to lick, even the tears were cleaned from your face by his mouth.

Without a word, he slipped his cock into you to the hilt, capturing your moan in his mouth in a heated kiss. 

“Say my name again,” he mumbled onto your mouth as he began pumping into you, hand finding your throat and squeezing lightly.

“Sam,” you purred, “feels so good. I wanna touch you.”

Taking pity on you, he swiftly untied your bound limbs, and no sooner than you were free were your hands clawing at his back, his thrusts becoming increasingly powerful.

The sound of your skin slapping against his, the way your pussy squelched with every pass of his cock, the way he groaned out your name and a mixture of curses, it was a sinful symphony. 

“You like being fucked like a little slut don’t you?”

“Yes yes yes,” you repeated like you were casting a spell, your nails digging further into his back as he sped up, “please can I cum? Fuck please?”

You were breathless now, and so very close to finishing, all you needed was his approval.

With a smirk, he nodded his head at you, “let me have it. Cum for me love.”

His finger began working at your clit, and with a long guttural moan, you were spilling onto his pulsing cock. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you did so, your cunt squeezing around him.

“Oh my god,” you whined in a high pitched tone, “fuck Sammy.”

His thrusts didn’t stop or slow, Sam’s mouth hung open as he continued wrecking you, just like he said he would, and you felt another release building up after being denied for so long.

“Again,” was all you managed to say as your eyes screwed shut, followed by another pathetic moan.

“Me too,” he nodded, thrusts now sloppy, “me too baby. Fuck.”

Finally, unable to hold on any more, you let out a loud yelp as you came undone again, and Sam was right there with you, the hand that was around your throat tightened as he did so. 

“Fucking milking me,” he grunted through clenched teeth as he rode out his high. His eyes became transfixed with the sight of your mixed releases seeping out of the side of his cock lodged inside of you, “so good y/n. Shit.”

You couldn’t manage any words, only pitiful whimpers and sobs as your release streamed out of you. 

He came to a stop finally, collapsing onto your body, sticking to you like glue.

Both of you were a panting mess as he softened inside of you, until you broke the silence.

“Stocks, huh?”

He grinned at you mischievously, “you said I could choose whatever job I wanted.”

“And you chose stocks?” You giggled, wrapping your body around him as he rolled over to lay beside you.

“Stocks, it’s the language of love you know?” 

He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches.

“Ugh Sam,” you scoffed, raising off of him and shoving his shoulder lazily, “I told you smoking on the balcony only.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he chuckled, sitting up with a grunt, “come join me.”

After taking a moment to fully regain your composure, you wrapped yourself in the white duvet and tiptoed across the cold hardwood floor to join Sam on the balcony, his naked body perched on a stool like some 17th century French painting.

A cloud of smoke was already billowing above him as you sat between his legs, looking out on the cityscape below you.

“Hey,” he whispered, and you turned your head to the side to hear him better, “it was nice meeting you tonight.”

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Bullet Train

I've been missing a few Film Fridays lately, partially because mental health has just kinda been like that and partially because I've been struggling with a slightly more meaty analysis that my brain just won't let me figure out properly. As such, I'm going to get into the swing of things again with a movie that is pretty stupid, and I say that with all possible love and admiration.

Ladybug isn't really comfortable with the title of hitman anymore, he's trying out a more harmonic life, but even so he does find it in himself to undertake what should by all accounts be a simple last-minute job. Board the eponymous train, grab a suitcase, and get off at the next station. Oh, were it only so easy. Turns out said bullet train is flush with kooky assassins and hitmen who are either out for the suitcase, the lives of one or more of each other, or have larger and more ominous designs.

There's Ladybug, of course, the quirky pair of British wetworks men Lemon and Tangerine out to escort a drugged-out VIP and a suitcase full of money, notorious and sneaky The Hornet who's skulking about somewhere, the megalomaniacal but brilliant Prince playing a larger game with the life of desperate father Kimura's child as ante, as well as the hot-headed Wolf who is out for vengeance and a paycheck, but mostly the vengeance thing. It's quite the web of coincidences, interferences, and merry chaos as these murderers navigate the crowded train.

It's chaotic, but one throughline that honestly makes the constant shifting priorities and allegiances of Ladybug and the other hitmen work is that it's all a job to them, a very messy job that may or may not be arranged by a Russian usurper of the Yakuza crime syndicate known as White Death, but still a job. Whenever it's expedient for our heroes and antiheroes to not kill each other, they'll show professional courtesy to each other, bantering in that "a little bit too cool" stylized way that's second nature to Hollywood assassins.

What sets the banter apart, though, is a distinct sense of humor. Lemon, much to Tangerine's annoyance, has a theory of human personalities and moral character based on Thomas The Tank Engine. Ladybug has luck that fluctuates wildly between being impossibly good and impossibly bad, and he has a problem with remembering faces which makes some of the networking with his fellow killers challenging. Wolf's role in the movie is short in a way that feels darkly comedic yet apt, and I was surprised to learn this was, in fact, a cameo from musician Bad Bunny (listen, I'm old, ok?)

It's all breezy fun. The movie takes itself about as seriously as any movie that features a Japanese-language cover of "Holding Out For A Hero" in a moment of high drama, but that's fine, the movie expects you to chuckle along, knowing full well it has your heart in a vise by the third cover of "I'm forever blowing bubbles." Not a joke by the way, the few moments that Bullet Train allows itself to express emotion more complex than "holy shit" and/or laughter, it's acted well enough and with enough genuine skill that it actually gets to me a fair bit.

It'd be an act of overstatement to call Bullet Train all that deep, but it adds up to more than the sum of its parts. It ends up saying some fun things about fate. I wouldn't exactly cite it in a philosophy paper or anything of the sort, it is fun to sit at the end of the "Michael Shannon plays Russian roulette in an oni mask to look badass" movie and go "You're right movie, maybe human misery DOES come from the hubris of believing ourselves to be masters over fate." I don't know, it's just nice for a crowd-pleasing action movie to go out on a note of what seems like a genuinely held belief and not "welp that happened" glibness. It reminds me a bit of Mr. and Mrs. Smith like that, a movie I'll probably end up talking about here one of these days.

[eggseabutter]

A small Drabble of Aleena being…not a good mom and Honey the cat giving body positivity after it.

//Tw: child abuse,body shaming.

Her clawed hands put more pressure into the binder making it fit more roughly in Sonic’s chest.

The smaller blue hedgehog gasped.

“M-mom? That’s too tight” The queen hummed without truly acknowledging his complain.

Sonic tried to control his breathing, so he didn’t suffocate.

Aleena went on brushing his quills, pulling a little too hard when the younger one struggled.

“Bring me the white linen shirt with the denim blue shorts, quick” The dark purple hedgehog commanded to one of the servants in the room.

She pulled Sonic up from the armchair he was sitting in.

He stumbled.

Aleena slapped him in the shoulder and he suppressed a squeak.

Servants immediately took over him, adding make-up to his face while his mother corrected his posture.

Sonic sneezed.

Aleena pinched his left shoulder.

“Quiet when I speak and stay put when I move” She ordered.

The younger one nodded.

The queen pulled his gloves off and shot him a warning glare when the blue hedgehog tried to protest.

It was something private.

He didn’t feel safe with Aleena watching them.

But he should! It was just stupid paranoia.

‘It’s my mom, it’s okay’ The hero repeated in his head.

Nonetheless, the caramel hands of the older hedgehog pressed against Sonic’s paw pads; they were a soft pink and squishy.

“Like marshmallows” Shadow had told him in one of their cuddle sessions.

“And you smell like lemon trees, reminds me of camping” Knuckles supplied.

Aleena pinched them with her claws, as of testing them. The indigo hedgehog couldn’t repressed a yell now.

There is a reason they wore gloves.

Mobians’ paw pads are sensitive.

Mom knew that. She probably thought he was stronger than average, it wasn’t on her to treat him rough.

He could take it.

She still hit him for his yelling, though.

After he was changed into the white shirt and the blue shorts, his mother put black boots in his feet and a cardigan winter cape over his head.

The fabric was soft, and it would obviously keep him warm, it was a blue pastel color with white flowers at it’s end.

The servants combed his quills into a ponytail with a light blue tie.

His mother’s petulant eyes judged from head to feet, she circled him watching him from all angles.

He winced when she raised her hand to brush his quills with her claws.

Aleena then took his face into her hands, with a gentleness Sonic didn’t know she was capable of.

Her eyes were thoughtful and almost…melancholic?

She always looked perfect, a beautiful queen for an adorable kingdom, but now her eye told another story.

She looked miserable.

“Mom…?” Sonic asked, fearful of her response.

Strangely, she did not hit him for speaking.

Aleena just blinked.

The queen’s gaze then shifted to something more judgmental and aggressive , more like herself.

“Your cheeks are chubby” She pinched him in the shoulder for the third time in the hour.

“T-they’re not that bad…” He whispered.

“Believe me, sweetheart, they are” The dark purple hedgehog growled. “You will not eat until noon, when the feast starts”

“But I didn’t even had breakfast!” Sonic said.

Aleena pulled his cape from the part of his neck, instantly making him choke.

She was taller, she was always taller, so when she pulled Sonic to her face, the hero was no longer touching the ground.

He couldn’t fight her right?

She was just a force of nature, she was his mother. He could not act against her.

He was weaker.

Stupider.

“A whole day without food is the minimum punishment for you eating like a fat pig for all these years” She finally let him go.

He coughed nastily.

The choking plus the tight binder that seemed to adjust even more over his chest was making him hyperventilate.

His eyes watered.

“If you ruin your make-up, I’ll lock you in this same room for a week” Aleena shouted.

Sonic had practice in repressing his emotions, he quickly sucked up whatever tears could have fallen and focused in regaining his breathing.

The servants left in the room adverted their sight of the poor half prince.

Aleena left, probably going to prepare the real prince and princess.

The moment she was out, the servants ran over Sonic checking his injuries.

Honey, a very important cloth designer who had been hired by his mother to keep him as elegant as possible, went straight to loosen up his binder.

Sonic actually breathed.

But then paranoia set in his heart.

“Mom will notice it’s not adjusted-“He choked.

The usually sly cat wore a less challenging face and more of a sympathetic one while she shooed him with words of comfort.

“You know what’s my number one rule when designing something for a client? The fashion expert whispered like if it was a foreign secret.

The hero shook his head, his vocal cords deciding to just not work anymore.

“For them to feel comfortable and confident in what they wear” She said.

“And I’ll make sure that no matter what your mom requests, you will always be able to run in it”

Emerald eyes turned to her, a smile forming in his muzzle.

“And your cheeks are totally adorable, boy! Don’t listen to old mouths ‘Kay?”

Sonic should have defended his mother. It was the least he could after her giving him… c’mon-Hard Lessons? A roof over his head for his first years of life?

But after the physical and emotional beating.

He giggled at Honey’s comment.

[sunlightandsuffering]

CONDOM BUYING CONTINUATION!

Eren stands in the grocery store, discretely eyeing up the aisles while Armin stands next to him nervously, Mikasa on his other side, attached to his hip, her arm linked with his. "It has to be this one," He proclaims boldly to the two and with confidence, he leads his best friend and girlfriend down the aisle vaguely labelled 'hygiene', the third aisle they've tried so far.

They find nothing but cleaning products and deodorant and Eren is ready to give up, do grocery stores not sell condoms anymore? "Oh my god," Mikasa clicks her tongue, "You two are so useless, follow me." She leads them to the next aisle over, where feminine hygiene products can be found, and there, next to the tampons and pads is the condom section. "I knew it all along I was just testing you Mika." She pinches his arm before leaning up for a kiss, long and slow, and she tastes like lemon today, her lips soft and still flavoured with the tart she was eating when she came over and Eren resists the urge to pull her in deeper.

"Whatever you say 'Ren."

He catches her by the waist before she can twist from his grasp, locking into his arms as Armin makes a disgusted noise, "You two are gross." Armin huffs as he squats down to look over the colourful array of condoms, "So what should I get?" "No fucking clue," Eren tells him casually from over Mikasa's shoulder, "Baby do you know?" She shakes her head, her hair brushing against his nose and he smells the faintest whiff of vanilla from her shampoo, he can't resist dropping another little kiss to her temple for good measure for being so cute and smelling so good and being so undeniably Mikasa. "Why did you two even come?" "To help you find the condom aisle," Mikasa supplies and Eren nods, teasing his friend "I just wanted to make fun of you, look Mika, they have sex toys too!" His girlfriend groans as he becomes distracted by the nearby vibrator, like a kid on Christmas.

"Should we get one?" He asks, his hand slipping down to tease at the line of her jeans, his lips finding her ear, "Could be fun!" Mikasa's face is colouring rapidly and he figures maybe he should tone it down a bit.

Armin huffs in irritation, "Stop flirting and help me you assholes." "Fine," Eren grumbles, letting go of Mikasa to kneel down next to his friend, he begins fingering through brands at a rapid pace. He may not use condoms, but he still remembers the good old days of puberty, rolling up to the drugstore after the puberty talk, self assured that he'd buy a box and use them with gusto.

Of course then he'd slept with Mikasa without one and decided rather promptly that condoms just weren't for him.

Spoiler alert: the box had never been used and he's pretty sure Mikasa had thrown them away when she'd found them in his room a couple months ago, afraid Carla would see and think they were up to naughty activities. Which of course they were, but she didn't need any evidence.

He looks back up at Mikasa to wink briefly before he begins his sage advice.

"These ones are glow in the dark, that's a bit much." Armin nods in acceptance, and Eren continues his perusal, "These are probably too small, I know what you're packing buddy." Eren pats Armin's arm reassuringly and Mikasa whistles at their friend who looks unbelievably uncomfortable. "These ones suck, these ones have a shitty logo, avoid those, and these ones-" "Eren I think that's enough," Mikasa teases him, "You're talking a lot of shit for someone who never uses them." "I'm trying to help!"

"Ignore him, Armin just get these trojans or something I feel like that's fine."

"Which size?" Mikasa makes a face, "I'd get a few sizes umm, just in case you know." "In case of what?" "In case they don't fit, because I can umm tell you from experience, you won't want to go the drugstore again to replace them." Eren looks at Mikasa smugly, the smirk practically engulfing his face and MIkasa brings a hand up to his cheek to shove him away while Eren cackles. "I don't want to know do I?" Armin questions. Mikasa blushes, shaking her head, "You really don't, just trust me, get a few sizes okay?"

"Thanks Mikasa."

"Are you sure you don't want these glow in the dark ones Armin? They look cool." "I'm going to kill you Eren." "Ooh they also have cherry flavour, but what are those for?" "Blowjobs," Mikasa supplies helpfully and he makes a face, "Why would you use a condom for a blowjob." "Have you ever practiced safe sex in your entire life?" Armin asks in exasperation and Eren shrugs innocently, he thinks the question is valid, why would you use a condom for a blowjob??? "No," Mikasa answers for him, "Never in his life." Eren beams, "And I won't be anytime soon because I have Mika baby right here and she's STD free and happy to blow me without a condom."

Mikasa sighs, and Eren takes this as his opportunity to slip into the feminine hygeine section of the aisle, "Baby you need more tampons right?" "Yes Eren," her reply is exasperated and Armin does not look impressed as he kneels in front of the large array of condoms. "How do you put up with him?" Mikasa shrugs, "It's the good sex, that's about it." "Hey!" Eren snaps back, turning around, a pout painted on his face, "I heard that, I'm good for other things too you know!" A reluctant smile curves his girlfriend's lips and she shakes her head fondly, "I guess, now go get me some chocolate from the candy aisle, we'll meet you at the front." Eren huffs before taking off in search of M&M candies, how ungrateful they are for his wealth of knowledge.

Ridiculous.