#Aaron Taylor johnson fic

[etherealily]

ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ, ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ // ᴀʟᴇxᴇɪ ᴠʀᴏɴꜱᴋʏ

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader.

My other Vronsky fics. If you have the time.

Warnings : non-explicit, but NSFW. Infidelity. Queued.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : There's a flicker in your husband's eyes for you, and one in your heart for him.

҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉

Expectations had never existed even remotely in your realm of thought. Honestly. Of course, the expectation that your dowry was unnecessarily huge and your husband's... endowment may not be was one instilled in you by your already-married friends. However, this was different, and you could feel it. The notion that you would not have to settle, that he would be a pleasant man, that you could have... if not romance, at least an amiable rapport with, it itched at you, gnawed at you.

You weren't entirely wrong.

You were wed to the most beloved man in Russian nobility.

Your new groom... had not been too much of a pain to deal with, in all honesty. He made love gently the first time, read you (or perhaps just to himself, but you happened to be in the room) the paper in the morning when you were drinking tea, addressed you with your name and not "wife".

But there was a coldness, a detachment, an indication of a man who was smitten with another.

This did not ever upset you. You were equally as cold, and equally as detached, and, well... you had been in love with another, as well, before this wedding (opulent as it were), and you did not think it fair to harbour ill will against a fellow romantic with an unruly heart. Hypocrisy does not become you.

But all at once, on a normal spring's day, it hit you.

In a ballroom, as most life-altering events occur, you'd noticed that his charisma, his natural way with people, it over-extended to the ladies.

The same ones he was rumoured to have shared a kiss with.

Bastard.

He wasn't smitten.

Not with you, not with another woman, no, he was smitten with the high that came with being wanted, with wanting and getting whatever your heart desires.

Indiscretion over indiscretion, his iciness to you only increasing although you made no comment on it — it all piled up, a heap of treacherous orange leaves in autumn, huge enough to engulf you.

And engulf you it did.

You were bound to do something reckless, honestly, something that might teeter on the line of revenge for all the names and taunts you'd been called since you could 'not keep your husband's attention' (not that you wanted to, anyway. He grew steadily rougher over the days, and you'd rather he sate that energy elsewhere in lustful enthusiasm than with you in marital obligation).

You had received a letter. In the dead of night. Your first love wanted to show you how much he truly loved you before he was married off, as well.

Alexei's not sure what you told this lover of yours, but he controls all of the mail. And so, when this ghastly piece of paper came into his fingers, he held it up against the firelight to read through it.

Poorly written, poorly punctuated, poorly emphasised, just... poorly done. Poor. Not enough for you, not nearly.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to burn this and bed you or leave it back in the mailbox and bed you anyway.

Listen, listen, Alexei Vronsky's a modern man, he had no illusions about 'owning you'. Though it irked him, this... indiscretion of yours was permissible, in his eyes.

He goes to others, you go to another. It was only fair.

He has been cold to you, ignorant of you, nearly cruel, too, considering your young age. So there wasn't anything you could take from him, by being with someone else.

Except... his pride. His control. His public image.

Superficial though they may seem, they linked directly to everything he had built. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that you'd caught onto that quite quickly. He'd expected, you being so young, it'd take a couple years for you to know where to strike if you were bored and wished to coax a reaction out of him.

But this prodigious inclination of yours made you just a little more interesting to him.

Kindled the same feeling that came when he found an intriguing lady to pursue. It was always a pleasant affair, when his brain reminded him that you were already technically his.

So, he left the ghastly letter exactly where it was. It's not like you'd actually go, unless you were far more of an intriguing character than he'd thought.

He'd decided to wait and watch.

But naturally, you went, the next afternoon. A rose was presented to you, a kiss was pressed to your lips, and before you knew it, your childhood was so close in front of you that you could practically touch it. Instead, you touched him.

It was so different. His sheets were softer, as was his temperament. His touch was gentler, as were his words. It was a welcome distraction from the monotony of your every day.

The closest thing to bliss you'd had in the longest time.

(Un)fortunately for you, that exact night, your husband had been informed by his mother that he needed to put an heir in you, and had trotted back home, inebriated and slightly miffed at the timing. Clearly, he'd intended to go elsewhere that night.

However, if anything could be said for him, it was that he never felt fulfilled if the woman he was with didn't, and so, there was a moment when his lips had changed from bruising to praising.

And then, it happened. He lifted his head up, furrowing his brows. "Oh." A slight smirk — reluctant respect, perhaps? You couldn't tell, his face was buried in your neck.

"What?"

"I do not take turns. You have been with another. Not that long ago, either."

"Come again?" You'd been naive enough to think that he could feel it, but in all honesty, he'd seen a tiny kiss-bitten bruise left on your collarbone.

"It is pathetic, a simpleton's form of revenge, but I suppose it is only fair.", he declares, coldly, cruelly, with enough malice to power a small town, but all the while grazing his knuckles over the apple of your cheek, thumbing hair out of the way. "Adorable, really."

He'd gone from apathetic near-alienation, to ingratiating patronisation in a second, and you'd have cried about it after he left that night, had you not caught a silent flicker in those eyes.

You had to find out what it was, though you weren't sure how to go about it.

Perhaps it'd come to you in a dream.

҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉

A neat pattern, hung out plainly like clothes to dry in the scorch of the Sun for all to see, these earliest days as a wife played out in an excruciatingly predictable manner. Wake, dress, eat, while away time, eat once more, while away time, wait for him to come home, eat once more, but with him.

Your acceptance of offers to dance, the eyes Ivan still made at you from across crowded ballrooms, even after marriage, they all fuelled rumours about things that had never even taken place, through the mouths of ladies who you knew had nothing better to do than intrude on others' lives and fabricate tea-time-gossip out of it.

About yourself, mostly.

"Dalliance upon dalliance", the general whispers of gossip flew around you. You, however, had learnt quite a bit about toeing lines, and so, these were never, in anyone's mouth, pushed as the truth.

And you let it happen. Because it annoys the arsehole in your bed, clearly, and what better present existed than that?

Did he think you were inadvertently playing with fire? Sure. But that's also part of Alexei's newfound allure to his wife. You don't seem to exactly understand the effects of your actions, and he's sure that that's an advantage for him, because he could just as easily convince you that the only person you should be worried about is him.

Tell you you're ruined if not for him.

So yes, he allowed others to dance with you.

What could he do? Reprimand you, especially publicly? He was a cad, yes, but he was also rational, and not a hypocrite. He was entertaining other women when these offers had been presented to you, and so, honestly, what right did he have to pull you away?

None. A word he hated.

And yes, normally, he wouldn't have cared, if his mates hadn't furrowed their brows at him, asking why he did not seem to pay heed to the handsome, eligible suitors that were asking his wife to dance.

But by his third cigarette (and drink), he's struck with the most wonderful idea, and he's sure he needs some sort of award for it.

"Dance with me."

It unnerved you how quickly you could snap his attention back to you (if it ever was on you, in the first place).

You look over your shoulder at your husband. "Alright."

He seems mildly surprised at that. "I did not expect such easy acceptance."

"You are my husband. Who else do I dance with?"

"Every suitor here, apparently.", he whispers, light flowing and dappling over his features as he moved you across the dance floor. "It's like this...", he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours as he lifts your finger that holds your wedding ring up to his lips. "Means nothing to you."

You don't respond, and then he whispers one last thing into your ear before he moves you away from him for a turn. "We need an heir."

This is odd for many reasons. One, it's a Friday, which usually means he's out with his mates and you get the luxury of a house without your wanker of a husband. He's not supposed to be thinking of bedding you. And second, he enunciates so comically, it's as though he wants to be lip read.

"You're not funny."

"I'm not joking. It's either that or my family's barmy idea, and trust me, sweetheart, a beautiful little thing like you does not need it."

An audacious finger taps on your nose. You're inches away from biting it off.

"Need what?"

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he dips you, your hair brushing the ground just as his lips brush yours the next second, with so much caution, it's nearly impossible to not listen to honeyed words coming from his honeyed lips.

You finally understand the appeal, now.

You're sure the others in the ballroom can smell the pretense dripping from the two of you. "Come back home with me."

҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉

"You feel different.", he slurs against your neck, later that night, as though it's as factual as the sky being blue or leaves being green. You're sure that both of those facts would cease to be true if they could just see how much of a bastard your husband really was.

And besides, what were you supposed to say to that?

You're just waiting for it to be over, to be honest. Pleasure at the hands of your mortal-enemy-slash-husband is the most hypocritical, betraying thing your body has done to you.

"Oh?"

"Yes, you feel good."

Eurgh. Disgusting.

When it's over, you're allowed all but five minutes to clean yourself and freshen up, before his booze-addled self requires your presence back in his arms again.

Alexei huffs, his eyes galloping around the room before they reach yours.

A single finger crooks. You're expected to follow. A finger points. You're expected to bring him his cigarette. When you do, he makes space for you on the bed once more. It's funny, it's sort of like snow, his sheets, and him making space was the equivalent to your childhood memory of making snow angels. Of course, he was the furthest thing from an angel.

He reaches for you with the fervour Icarus had for the Sun, as though he's done one act his entire love, and that was to adore you.

Manoeuvring you just how he wants you, your head's on his bare chest and his arm comes down once every few minutes to press his cigarette to your lips.

And you take a puff because you're borderline terrified of what his family's cooked up for you if you don't cooperate. He makes it sound so threatening, you're not sure how many hours you have left on this earth.

You're already starting to miss everything. His coldness. The warmth of this house, even if the residents weren't the source.

On the other hand, it's not the worst thing, is it? Getting to go back to your parents'? Not being subject to the teasing and name-calling of spiteful ladies that think the only achievement a lady can have is to warm her husband's bed.

"I need a list of names. I will give you mine if you give me yours.", he murmurs, fingers dancing along your neck as though he were playing a piano.

The imaginary notes buzz around the two of you.

"You are far too confident in your ability to get me pregnant, it has barely been two hours."

"Of your dalliances, wife.", he snorts, shaking his head as he reaches back down to hold his cigarette to your lips.

"Why's that?"

"Dousing fires. No matter who you have...", he grumbles, his fingers carding through your hair as though dripping with affection. "No matter who it is, money will shut them up."

"Why do you need money to shut them up?"

"Because a threat won't.", he replies, yanking you closer. "Or will it work on you?" His voice quietens at that.

"You like me talking."

"You do not know me at all, wife.", he grits out, practically shoving the cigarette into your lips once again, huffing as you sit up to better glare at him and shoot daggers from your eyes.

"No? Whose fault is that?"

"Yours, entirely."

Was he asking to get stabbed? "Entirely?!"

"Yes, entirely.", he spits, before his eyes move behind you to the clock. "Stop it. The back-talk. It's infuriating."

"So is your behaviour."

"My behaviour? Who just allowed around five men to ask her to dance, like some common whore? My wife, that's who.", he snaps, standing to move to the fireplace, the bed, the woman, all seeming far too uncomfortable for him, all of a sudden.

"I need to go.", you mutter, tying your robe on. It's midnight, you're aware, but if you spend one more second breathing his petulant, imbecilic air, you'd suffocate and die.

"Really? Where?"

"The moonflowers. The gardener needs to be reminded to tend to them."

"The ones that bloom at night? Like the rumours about you?"

He rolls his eyes in frustration when you continue fiddling with your robe without providing him a reaction to that statement. So much frustration that his eyes reluctantly trail back to you. "The gardener is not a fool, I am sure he knows to tend gardens. He is paid by the hour."

"Much like you, I think."

"You have grown so much audacity that you now imply I am some form of whore?", he laughs, shaking his head as he throws another log into the fire, watching sparks and flames devour it, engulf it and drown it.

"I commended you on your revenge once. Now, it's just getting childish.", he grumbles, his signet ring rolling between his fingers as his eyes reflect the sunset glint of the fireplace.

"Childish?"

"Yes.", he replies, only glancing at you momentarily as you sit across from him. "I am nothing if not a feminist, my darling, but this is ruining both of our reputations."

"Me dancing at a party? Enjoying myself, just as you probably are, as well? As it ought to be?"

Oh, how he wants to see the look on your face when you realise he knows of Ivan Demidov, your first love, and, possibly, your worst lover.

But not now.

He licks his lips, shaking his head as he snaps his fingers to get your attention away from the fire. When he does, he tosses the ring to you. "The Vronsky seal."

"What do you want? For me to kiss it?", you ask, absentmindedly running your thumb over the ridges of the engraved crest.

A whisper of a chuckle. You have amused him. "No. I want you to toss it. In the fireplace."

Your frown fades, your eyes widening slightly. "Your signet ring?"

"Yes, do you have any others you wish to burn?"

"No, but..."

"It is only a ring."

"It is your family crest."

"Precisely. If you are hesitant about destroying a ring that can be replaced a thousand times over, then you must be vigilant about ruining a name that cannot be replaced, once tarnished."

His words make sense, but you simply cannot let him sit here, all self-important as though you have committed a mortal sin by dancing, and he is freshly baptised, pure and unstained.

You suck at your teeth, eyes back to the flames in hope that you might develop some magical ability to direct them onto him and his indiscretions. Instead, you develop the ability to maintain indifference as you train your eyes on the blaze in front of you, leaning your hand to the side. "Here. Take it back."

Instead, he tugs your hand closer to him, screwing the ring on your finger instead. "Perhaps the next time you let a pubescent "suitor" press a kiss to your hand, you'll see the ring as a reminder."

"You are unbelievable."

He grins. "So I've been told. But flattery will get you nowhere."

"I'm not—"

"Listen, honestly, it does not bother me how many people you dance with, nor how many people you let think they have a chance to court you although you are married, nor if you allow some pathetic fool like Ivan Demidov to even look at you as lustfully as he does.", he begins, softly, with hair being shoved behind your ear. "I can divorce you just as fast as I married you."

The silent flicker again, but this time, a little louder, like a snap of a child's finger.

Envy.

You'd gotten under his skin.

A win. Something you hadn't had in months.

"Then do it. Clearly, neither of us enjoy each other's presence, let alone love each other."

He scrunches up his nose as though thinking about it, before leaning forward to kiss your forehead. "Too much paperwork."

҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉

You're not sure what's gotten into you.

Perhaps it's the fact that the flicker had identified itself. Perhaps it's the fact that you're suddenly noticing the way the sunlight weaves itself through his already golden locks, or the way his eyes narrow just subtly and just momentarily when he sees you across a ballroom and not right beside him.

With someone else.

Holding your waist like a lifeline, whispering things far sweeter than anything Alexei had ever said to you, in your ear? Death fucking wish, it seemed.

Because it's changed for him, too.

Because he thinks, for once, that he sees what all the fuss is about, for you. Every young man in every ballroom has his head turning involuntarily when you walk in, and now, in afterglows and candle-glows, he feels like those teenagers again. Enamoured and eager.

He's never laid a finger on you, only his tongue.

So, yes, it was worth watching the drinks race down his throat, worth watching his eyes glaze over, a full eclipse, as he sunk down onto his knees before you every night that you had looked at another man.

Which was almost every night that he got unforgivably inebriated.

"I thought you'd done this before.", he groans against your lips. "One of us lovers should have taught you."

You're not in the mood for this. You're trying desperately to make sure you're not having a good time.

"Your legs need to be around me, not on either side of me."

"What? That's unnatural."

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, tugging down to shut you up. "Do it."

Gingerly, you wrap your legs around him, and he pushes deeper.

Fuck.

"Hide it all you want, my dear, it's better, is it not?", he breathes, kissing your palm. "I'm going faster, so if you have an issue with that, now would be the time to speak up."

If you could speak, you'd have told him no, but there's something that neither of you can name, something that's changed. It's almost like this is the first ever time you've made love, not the, what, thirtieth time you're attempting for an heir.

He, for one, is revelling in the way you're gripping onto him. It's adorable, really. He's sure he's got lacerations painting his trapezius from your nails, but he's still going.

Perhaps he'd like to see what you two could create together.

And once again, after everything, your hair's in his hands, and his cigarette is in yours.

You take the cigarette, but you do not do anything but stare at it. Well, past it, to where Alexei was attempting different positions and combinations for your wedding ring and his signet one on your fingers.

"Should this go above or below the seal ring?", he questions, patiently.

"Signet's thicker, so the thinner one should be above it."

"You need to hold the smoke in for longer, my darling, this isn't a competition of speed.", he advises, gently taking the cigarette from you. "Watch."

You do. You watch as his lips wrap around the tip of the cigarette, his cheeks hollowing in slightly as he puffs, and you watch him playfully cross his eyes to make you laugh, before blowing the smoke out at your face. "See?"

"Were the eyes part of it?"

"They can be.", he says, handing it back to you. "And you'd better ask me the question that's been etched on your face this whole week, or you'll drive yourself mad. I'd rather infidelity than insanity."

"Come again?"

"Mm. You going to ask, or must I kiss it out of you?"

It takes a long, grimace-worthy moment, but you finally form the sentence. "What was it? Your family's 'barmy idea'?"

He traces his fingers over your features, your forehead, down your nose, then parts your lips. "New marriage rule. If I do not want to answer something, this is what I will do.", he murmurs, and then, he's kissing you once more.

You scoff as he pulls away with his trademark toothy grin. "Marriage rule?"

"Yes."

"We have rules now, do we?"

"We've always had rules. Unspoken. For instance, get your maids to collect letters from your lover before they reach your husband."

You frown at that, and shuffle to face his expectant eyes. "What?"

"A certain Demidov's invite to reignite a childhood spark."

He says it like it's a joke, but his eyes fixate on you with the force of water behind a dam.

"You know about that?"

"Yes.", he smiles. "Is he better?"

You nearly scoff, quickly dancing your fingers down his face, forehead to lips, and then kiss him.

He raises his brows, fighting a smirk. "Marriage rule, I take it?"

You nod. He does, too. "Fair enough."

Moments pass like logs in a stream, and your eyes turn heavy, memories and fantasies slowly becoming embossed deeply into one another in your mind, and you're lulled into it until his voice settles nicely into your ear. "I do not love any of them."

You're hoping he means his family, the ones that, for all you know, could have snipers ready outside the window because you are unable to provide them with an heir. But what were the chances of that?

"Yes, I know. You do not love anyone."

He snorts, shaking his head. If only you knew. "I suppose that is true. The same goes for you, I take it? Or does Ivan Demidov still have your heart?"

His voice is as hopeful as spring, so you decide to deign him with the truth.

"I'd be a huge hypocrite if I complained about you entertaining other women while allowing a married man to entertain me."

Alexei's head tilts. He's pleasantly surprised, and it shows, in his face, in the way he's tugging at your elbow to lay on him so that he may use both hands to hold your hair from your eyes. "You really do have something of worth in that stunning head of yours, don't you?"

A kiss to your temple.

"Wish the same could be said of you."

He grins, his nose scrunched up as he brings it up against yours. "And, I suppose, you've just implied you've got a heart. Though the jury's still out on that one."

A kiss to your breast.

"Do you have one?"

"A brain or a heart?"

"Does it have to be either/or?"

He raises a brow. "How do you do that? You make audacity look glamorous."

"You make it look normal, so I suppose we're cut from the same cloth."

He bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "I feel I am lucky. Anyone else would have been screaming adultery and begging for a divorce ages ago."

You allow him to trace the lines on your hand. A con man had told you they meant something once, and you'd never considered it true until your husband's fingertips grazed over them with infinite reverence.

"I cannot be certain I will love you."

And that was, funnily enough, the one thing the two of you had in common. A lack of love. It was the bargaining chip that helped you get through all the sins, all the blows at one another, all the strikes slowly chipping away at the armour once known as the sanctity of marriage, with the least amount of guilt possible.

You rest your chin against your palm, the one on his chest, and tilt your gaze to look at him. "I know. I'm in the same boat."

He grins. "But I can promise fidelity. Annoying, infuriating, ingratiating fidelity."

"Ingratiating fidelity?", you chuckle, allowing him to sit up.

"Yes. I will be so faithful, you'll want to jump into a lake. I will be there every moment that you need me to. I will smother you.", he muses, through gritted teeth and sparkling eyes.

"With... love?"

"No, no, remember? I will smother you with ruthless amounts of attention."

This was supposed to be a truce, instead, he's making it sound so much like a confession, like a renewal of your vows, he's half-expecting doves to pop into the room and deposit roses at your feet.

"I may not love you, as of yet, but I will be yours, in every sense of the word.", he offers, his pinky patting your nose, your cheek, and then flicking your forehead to further provoke you. "Yours, entirely."

Ugh. Sometimes, you hated being wed to the most beloved man of Russian nobility.

Because who'd say no to that?

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of reader's death, crying, panic attacks, swearing

~ anon, this idea was amazing! thank you ☺️ ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James's arrogance is his Achilles's Heel.

He truly can't help it sometimes—especially now when that arrogance is accompanied by his friends' laughter as he teases everyone about their stupid boggarts. Emma Johnstons' was a spider, which scared Peter, but had Sirius and James in tears at the back of the classroom.

"Wait until it's your turn, Potter," an annoyed Emma hisses as she walks by them, still pale from fright and embarrassment. She sends James a murderous look and continues, "Then we'll see who's laughing in the end."

James's grin only widens and he sees her words as a challenge. His hand shoots up in the air and he bounces on his heels. "Oi! Professor?! Can I be next?!" 

Professor Windward looks at him behind his small glasses, already exhausted by James's antics but he allows him to walk up to the front of the classroom anyway. James sends his best friends an obnoxiously confident wink and struts up to the front of the line.

James isn't in any way prepared for his boggart. 

He's expected something mundane—like an animal, or even death eater—or maybe some scary creature he'd read about in library books. What he didn't expect was to see you, dressed in your uniform and robe, your shiny hair sprawled across the wooden floor-board as blood slowly dripped from your mouth.

Your eyes are round but they're lifeless and your clothes are soaked in crimson liquid. You aren't moving and it looks too real that, for a moment, James is completely frozen. 

He hears the whispers of his classmates—whispers of your name and reminders of your relationship with James. Friends, the word rings around the classroom just as James's mind breaks and he completely panics at your body on the ground in front of him. 

He drops his wand, breaking into an awkward run to where you lay, entirely prepared to skid across the floor and hold you in his arms, but Professor Windward is quicker. He grabs James by his collar and pulls him back, his arms encasing around James's shoulders as he makes the boggart disappear with another spell. 

It seemed too cruel to turn the image of your dead body into something ridiculous. 

No one in the room is laughing, not even Emma Johnston, as James makes a pained sound and attempts to shove past Professor Windward and hold you like he'd planned. His mind is racing and he's panicked as the sounds around him make him feel like he's trapped underwater.

"Son, it's a boggart. It cannot hurt you. It's not real," Professor Windward explains, his grip on James firm, but James doesn't seem to understand him. Sirius, Remus, and Peter are beside James in an instant, holding him up and comforting him. 

Without much convincing, Professor Windward lets them lead him outside into the corridor and down the stairs. James is a mess and he keeps looking around for danger or you. His mind screams at him that he's being unreasonable, that it wasn't real and he knows this, but his heart is in a complete panic. 

"Prongs, hey, it's okay," Remus tries to explain as James's hand tightens in Sirius's. "She's probably in her dorm—she's okay."

"Should we take him to her?" Peter squeaks, looking between his friends with concern. 

"No–"

"Yes–" James interrupts Remus's answer and he turns to Sirius, his eyes round and desperate. "I wanna see her. Please. I wanna see her now. I need to know she's okay!" Remus doesn't think it's smart to bring James to see you when he's like this but Sirius can never deny James what he wants so all the boys pile into the door to the Common Room and then quite obnoxiously, James and Sirius start to scream your name as Peter rushes up to their dorm to find the map. 

A moment later, when you still haven't answered, Peter scampers back down from their dorm and holds up the map. "She's in the library," he says breathlessly. Sirius jumps up, snatching the map from Peter's hands.

"Onwards," he shouts in an attempt to lighten the mood but that only earns him a sniffle from James and a glare from Remus. 

* * * 

You're peacefully unaware of the chaos that's about to ensue as you're curled up in an armchair, a book in your lap. You absentmindedly chew on your lower lip as you concentrate. 

"Y/n!" a familiar boy screams your name and you look up, sitting normally in the armchair as your four very anxious looking friends stumble in front of you. "Look, she's okay," Peter points, sounding relieved as well as he moves aside to reveal a very distressed looking James Potter. 

You stand up, dusting your uniform and your eyebrows crease. "What's happened?" you ask seriously and then you feel James's arms wrap around your shoulders as he pulls you into him. His lips find the exposed skin of your collarbone as he inhales your scent and almost crushes you closer to him. 

James's always been an affectionate person. Since you can remember, he's never not taken an opportunity to kiss your cheek, wrap his arms around you, or even hold your hand, but this is extreme even for him. You glance at the other boys, confusion evident on your expression, and they send you sympathetic looks. 

"Jamie," you whisper and hug him back, your hand hesitating but ultimately finding his hair. 

You hear a choked cry and you realize he's almost in tears. Concern overwhelms your senses and you pull away only to have James's hand find yours. His eyes are shiny with tears and, as if he's reminding himself, he mutters, "You're alive." His thumb caresses your palm. 

"You two should talk," Remus interrupts bluntly and sends Sirius, who seems entertained by the scene in front of him, a sharp glare, "Alone." Remus pulls Sirius away, ignoring the latter's hump of protest as Peter trails behind them.  

James doesn't seem to care as he stares at you, he looks much calmer now. 

"What do you mean? Of course I'm alive." you ask gently, pressing your palm to his cheek. 

He leans into your touch. "I saw you dead. In Defense Against The Dark Arts. Professor Windward was showing us boggarts and it was funny until it was my turn and that dreadful thing turned into your lifeless body, right there in front of me, and—and I didn't know what to do because I realized if you died, I would just have to die too," James explains, sounding like he's made up his mind if the scenario ever comes up. 

Boggarts? James's biggest fear was your death? You can hear the sincerity in his voice and you can't help the way your heart jumps for his. 

"Does that make you the Romeo to my Juliet?"

James frowns and asks, "Who?" which reminds you that James hadn't heard of some muggle writer like Shakspeare and that even if he had taken Muggle Studies last year, like he was supposed to, he wouldn't have listened that intently anyway.  

"Star-crossed lovers," you shrug, ignoring how warm your cheeks have become. 

James's shoulders relax and he chuckles. "So, you're saying we're star-crossed lovers now?"

You like that your little quip has lightened the mood successfully so you shrug again, deciding to tease him. "Never said that. Why? D'you want to be star-crossed lovers?"

"No. Because I don't want our relationship to be doomed," James deadpans and he runs a hand in his curly hair nervously. He looks behind you through the stained glass window of the library and hears the soft patterns of afternoon rain. "It's raining," he says and he moves closer, his hand finding yours again as he fiddles with your fingers.

"It appears so," you answer in a whisper. You look at him, trying to read him. You squeeze his hand. "I'm right here, James. 'M not going anywhere."

A moment of comfortable silence passes and James looks so serious as he stares into your eyes, his breathing becoming harsh again. He leans in and he's wearing the same look on his face every man does before he kisses someone—only James Potter wears it well. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, nerves bubbling in your stomach.  

When his lips touch yours they're accompanied by his hands around your jaw. He's gentle with you, kissing you like he's savoring your touch. He pulls away only to press his forehead on yours.

"Merlin's beard, I've wanted to do that for so long. You're intoxicating, Y/n," he whispers as if he's just made a revelation and he takes your chin in between his thumb and index, smiling like the love-sick fool he's always been. 

"I really like you."

Your eyes widen. "You do?"

James's smile turns into a smirk. "Yeah, 'course I do. Was that kiss not enough confirmation?" He raises an eyebrow and leans in again, this time peppering open mouth kisses across my entire face, "Here. I really really really like you," he mumbles and enjoys the sound of your giggles as you shy away from his kisses. 

"I really like you too," you say, finally escaping his kisses as James pulls away. He looks over the moon happy.

"The boys are never gonna believe this," James mutters, completely unaware that unlike him, it hadn't taken Sirius, Peter, and Remus this incident for them to realize James is madly in love with you. They'd known from the first time James had uttered your name. 

"Shit, you're already the best girlfriend I've ever had—not that I've had many," James says, almost to himself as he tucks some hair behind your ear. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Woah, slow down there. Take me on a date first, then we'll talk about labels," you joke, knowing damn well that by the end of the date James would be proclaiming his love for you to everyone who would listen and you don't mind one bit. 

James's eyes shimmer at the opportunity to spoil you. "You have a deal, m'lady."

You laugh. "Merlin, you're so cringe, James." You take his arm and pull him towards the window where a bunch of pillows are laid out on the edge and you plop down, momentarily looking out the window at the rain.

James follows your lead and when he leans against the wall, you lay your head on his chest and rest in between his legs. 

"Stay with me for a bit?" you ask.

His heart feels like it's fluttering at your closeness and he's completely calm—the memory of your dead body completely distant now. It's now a memory he'll only remember in the dead of night, when he'll have you to hold him and kiss all his worries away. 

James nods and then he leans his head on the wall and looks outside, his hand playing with your hair as you hum and continue to read your book. The soft sound of rain is like a piano melody as he watches the droplets fall down the glass. They're racing in his mind like they would when he was a child and he smiles. 

He kisses the top of your head, earning him a giggle as he mouths, "I love you," into your hair. 

One day soon he'll say the words out loud, just not now.

Today, he's happy just being near you and knowing that he finally has you in some significant way—in a way he'd denied himself for way too long. 

You nuzzle in him and turn your page, your gaze so focused, and his heart swells. 

I love you, he thinks again. I love you so damn much. 

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - y/n jane porter (you) decides to prove men wrong by searching for the lost man, and you happen upon him after insulting a bunch of baboons, only to realise that you will never leave again.

warning - smut, dubcon, chase, marking, insulting animals, swearing, oral sex, creampie, kidnapping/held hostage?

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You huffed as you stalked the forest, searching for a man who had been lost to the world. Explorers have searched high and low for him but have yet to succeed. You were determined to be different, to prove to them that you could find the lost man. Secretly though, you knew he would be feral, not even knowing what a woman was and the pleasure you could bring him. You hiked up your light yellow dress, white-gloved hands scrunching the material between your fists. You spin when you hear a sound, looking up into the trees, and your eyes widen when you notice the many baboons staring down at you. 

“Oh, hello.” You look closer, squinting your eyes and scrunching your nose. “You’re quite ugly creatures, aren’t you?” You stumble back when they begin to screech, looking ready to attack, and you put your hands up. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just…” Your words are lost to them, and you start running as some of them jump from the trees and chase you, the others swinging through the branches. You pick up your pace, dodging trees and rocks, trying your best not to trip or get caught. You feel your breath shorten, and your lungs burn. A scream escapes you as your foot gets caught on a root, but before you can fall, something or someone grabs you, swinging you away from the baboons. 

You screw your eyes shut, not daring to look at what had grabbed you, feeling it would be better if you didn’t see what fate had planned for you. Your brows scrunched as you felt whoever or whatever was placing you down softly, and your eyes widened when you opened them, noticing the man everyone had been searching for. The lost man had saved you from being torn to shreds, and the excitement caused a jolt between your legs. You scanned his physic, noticing how tanned and beautiful he looked. Your eyes landed on his face lastly, eyeing the moustache and imagining what it would feel like in between your thighs, his unbrushed hair all curled and wild, like him. 

Tangerine’s head tilts, doing the same to you. He was curious, never having seen someone like you before. He’s seen others that look like him, but none so… Beautiful, so soft looking. He licked his lips, scanning you like you were a meal for him to feast on. He glared when you lifted your hand, and you returned it with a soft smile. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you… I’m Y/n Jane Porter. Do you have a name?” Tangerine grunts, lifting his hand and cautiously placing it against yours, thinking of his words. You squeeze your legs together at his touch, causing his eyes to snap down to the sweet nectar that lies between your thighs. 

Tangerine’s hand moves from yours and taps his chest. “Tangerine.” Your eyes widen as the words fall from his lips, and you offer a soft smile.

“Like the fruit?” Your head tilts, knowing another name that would fit him. Tarzan stays on the tip of your tongue as you watch him.

He grunts again and stops, looking around before roughly grabbing you, causing a gasp to pass your lips. “Danger.” He growls. You are lifted onto the large man’s shoulders again as he begins to swing away just in time as the baboons swing, missing you by inches. Tangerine lands roughly on the ground. After a while of swinging and making sure you were no longer being followed, he lets you get off of him. You fall as your legs feel shaky, and you stumble back. He spins, eyeing you more, gazing at your exposed legs. 

You clear your throat, brushing the dirt from your dress. “Thank you again.” Your chest moves up and down as you breathe heavily. You try and keep your eyes from looking at the bulge hidden behind the tiny cloth. Tangerine’s eyes lock to your heaving chest. You watch as they become black, filling with feral lust. He stalks towards you, backing you into a tree. You feel your cunt pulse, the large man turning you on. “W–what are you doing?” You gulp, squeezing your thighs together when he traps you against the wood.

“Me do you.” Tangerine growls. He grabs your hips, dragging you onto the ground and climbing over you. “Stay… Still.” He grunts, trapping you with his large body and rubbing his bulge against your dripping cunt. Tangerine had never felt something so incredible, and he hadn’t even explored that far yet. He sits on his legs, looking down at you with dark eyes filled with lust and hunger, growling as your dress becomes annoying. Tangerine grips the material, shredding it and causing you to squeal and squeeze your thighs together, feeling yourself clench around nothing. “Annoying” You don’t know why, but this feral man's few words turn you on. 

You whimper, subconsciously spreading your legs for him, watching his mouth open and close as he glares between your legs, watching your pretty pussy drip. Tangerine growls as he dives in, lapping at your sweet cunt. Your back arches, and you let out a scream that echoes through the many trees. Your hands curl into the ground, legs slamming shut around his head as he continues to feast on your cunt, licking and sucking, wrapping his lips around your swollen pearl and sucking, flicking the sensitive little bud with his tongue. You move your hand into his hair, gripping the untamed locks, pulling him closer. “O–Oh! That feels so good!” You exclaim, feeling the band inside you tighten, ready to snap. “Keep going, please!” Your eyes screw shut, and your toes curl, but suddenly everything stops, and you open them again. “What are you doing? Why did you stop?” You felt furious, sexually frustrated. This was the most pleasure you had felt in your entire life, and you couldn’t let it slip from your fingertips. 

Tangerine growls and your eyes widen when you watch him grab himself. The tiny cloth has tented massively and keeps nothing hidden. He rips the pathetic material from his body and throws it aside, tilting his head as you make an embarrassingly loud choking sound. You look at him and back to his cock repeatedly, staring with your mouth open. “That’s not going to fit inside me.” Even as you say those words, your walls clench as you watch his cock twitch. 

Tangerine grunts, shrugging. He crawls on top of you, forcefully placing your legs onto his shoulder and tapping your gaping hole with his swollen tip. “Fit.” You gasp as he begins to push in, his hair covering his face as he puts his head down, never having felt something so good. “Good” The grunt he lets out causes you to clench around him and his hips to thrust forward, forcing his way deeper inside you. Your head rolls back into the dirt, closing your eyes as he picks up his pace, releasing the animal buried deep inside of him. Tangerine slams hard and fast into you, his cock so large it feels like he’s in your stomach. If possible, the bulge that forms causes him to become even more feral.

Your hands fly up and grip his arms, digging your nails into him before whimpering when he pulls out and flips you around, pushing your face into the dirt and lifting your hips before plunging back into you, grunting and growling as he fucks you like an animal. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes roll back, clawing into the ground and clutching onto it, trying to find something to ground yourself too. Tangerine grips your hips, pounding against you, moaning when he feels you grip his cock like a vice, dragging him deeper into you and allowing him to hit your sweet spot repeatedly. “Ah! Oh! Fuck… Right there!” You whine, fucking and grinding your hips back into him, wanting to feel him more. 

Tangerine pulls out again, your mind too fuzzy to get angry as he grabs you and pushes you against the tree, wrapping your legs around his waist and reentering your sweet cunt. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, mouth open in a silent scream as he fucks up into you, his lips against your neck, marking you as his. You are so close, feeling your walls pulsate and clench around the feral man, feeling so dirty and full. “I–I’m close!” Tangerine grunts, slamming harder into you, pinning you against the tree, not caring if the bark marks your flesh. Your vision goes white, and your body goes slack in his arms as your orgasm rips through you, squeezing his cock and coating it with your cream.

A growl rips through the large man. Tangerine bites into your shoulder, fucking deeper as he feels his balls tighten. He had only experienced this when he’d touch himself, teasing his cock and balls until he was close to cumming before stopping and repeating. He knew the release would feel amazing, causing him to continue to thrust, his hand moving between your bodies, locating your swollen, sensitive clit and rubbing. Your back arches, causing another orgasm to rip through you, and Tangerine groans, releasing his cum deep inside you, filling you with thick amounts as you squeeze his cock.

Your head slumps against his chest, your chest moving up and down heavily as you try and catch your breath. Your walls pulsate around his still-hard cock, wondering how he could still be ready for more. Tangerine cups the back of your neck, grunting as he makes you look at him. He grins, leaning close as he slowly begins to thrust again. “Mine.” 

The growl can still be heard as you realise you will never be able to leave again, but maybe that was a good thing.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[padsmoony04]

[sweetprfct]

Please Please Please

Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected coffee accident turned your life upside down into a world full of glamour and flashing cameras everywhere you turned. You thought with Aaron by your side, it was going to be easy to navigate, but it turns out life in front of the flashing cameras isn't so effortless after all.

Author's Note: Welcome to my new era. I know most of you have read my JQ fics, but I've moved on these last several months now. This prompt was originally requested by @metal-redcherries for a JQ fic, but I decided to twist this a little bit and turn it into an ATJ fic. Anyway, enjoy! :)

Wordcount: 3.4K

Disclaimer: 18+

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - chapter nine - chapter ten - chapter eleven - chapter twelve - epilogue

“So, I know that we’re lacking staff at the moment, but we are working on getting some more hires…”

Your boss, Keith’s, voice slowly turned into a ringing sound in your ears until you had tuned him out. You swatted your hand in front of your face as a small fly flew in front of it. Your eyes slowly shifted towards the many plants that were sitting on the back corner of Keith’s desk. The plants were creating a new habitat for small flies, and it was annoying you lately. It was all over the office area and sometimes, it would enter your own office. 

Keith had mentioned that he bought some new spray to get rid of the small flies. His plants were too important for him, so he couldn't get rid of them that easily. He loved them and took care of them in the years he had been in this company. The fly problem was resolved quickly, but there were still a small amount that would live within his office. 

It had been a long week, and it was only Thursday. You still had one more day to go, and you were dreading for this meeting to be finished so you could go home. Keith had called you and Asher, his two leads of the department, to break the news that the lab production was expanding, which meant more work for the team with less people. 

You work at a genomic lab, and your position was a chemist lead for five months now, which meant more responsibilities and more document work than lab work.

Same goes for Asher. 

Asher had asked Keith the question of how this was going to work given the less people you all currently have. Keith was currently explaining everything to him. You had tuned them out for about five minutes now as Asher continued to question him. Asher has always been like that. You have known him since freshman year of college, and he always asked ridiculous questions that were unnecessary. 

No one questions Keith’s decisions. Ever. 

And yet, here he was. 

You didn’t understand why your supervisor, Max, wasn’t the one who told you this. Besides the fact that he was barely at work all the time, Keith was the director of the chemical production that went on in the lab, and he already had enough on his plate. You couldn’t help but shake your head slightly at the thought of how unreliable Max could be. 

“Anyway, we won’t be doing this right away.” Keith’s voice suddenly resurfaced back to your attention. “I already made a proposal for hiring new staff so hopefully, we’ll be able to get some new people around here.”

“And we will be the ones training them?” Asher asked, sounding insulted. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You rolled your teeth over your lower lip as you watched Keith’s reaction to Asher’s question. You have learned how Keith reacts in a certain way to certain people. You knew that because you have done one on one’s with him and have developed a better relationship with him than he and Asher could ever have. Keith’s eyes sparked in a way that he couldn’t believe he was hearing Asher’s tone of voice.

You didn’t blame him. 

Asher was being rude. 

“As a lead of this team, yes.” Keith answered. 

Oh, here we go.

“As a lead, it’s part of your job to train new hires and support them when they need help. As a lead, you're there for your team to ensure day-to-day priorities and provide proper instructions to certain tasks. It’s what a good leader does.” Keith continued, his voice growing serious. 

The corner of your lips lifted, holding in the smile that was slowly creeping up on your face. Asher was slowly sliding down his seat as Keith continued to explain that if you have any questions or concerns, you both could always talk to Max or talk to him privately. 

Asher anxiously scrambled out of his seat as soon as Keith dismissed the meeting. 

“Have a good day, sir.” You murmured as he gave you a curt nod and a warm smile. 

Keith never had a problem with you. 

Asher, however…

You watched as Asher exhaled a deep breath as if he had been holding it in the last thirty minutes or so. His cheeks were a shade of pink as you both walked down the office area and stopped in front of your office door. 

“I don’t know why you keep questioning Keith.” You murmured. 

Asher gave you a glare and rolled his eyes. “Because don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous that he is giving us more work?”

“You heard Keith. He already is going to hire more people.” You argued. “You know how he is. He probably already submitted that proposal a long time ago. I won’t be surprised if he already found people to hire.”

Asher scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “Why do you always defend him?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You have known Asher all through college, and you could sense the behavior he projected whenever he was upset. It honestly annoyed you, even now. The behavior he tends to portray was just inappropriate and irritating. 

You saw that flick of idea in his green eyes for a moment. You shook your head immediately before he even said the words. 

“Do you..” He looked around the office, making sure no one was around before whispering, “Do you have some crush on him?”

The disgusted feeling immediately washed over you, making your stomach turn at the gross accusation he just threw at you. 

Was he fucking serious?

Your brows raised in surprise before anger took over you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Asher rolled his eyes, “Oh, come on!”

“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? Jesus Christ! What the fuck is wrong with your brain?” 

Asher’s eyes immediately turned into guilt as he saw the anger that sparked in your eyes. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as he exhaled a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his eyes dropping down to his feet. “I’m just… I’m just upset.”

You shook your head in disbelief and turned around to open your office door, but Asher was quick to grab you by your wrist. 

“Wait.” He said. “I’m sorry, okay? D… Do you have plans for tonight? Do you want to get dinner?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his question and slipped your wrist away from his grip. You couldn’t even look at him right now. You didn't have the energy today to give him some patience and understanding.

“Yeah,” A hint of irritation through your voice. “Sara and I have Pasta Thursday tonight.”

“Right.” Asher nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rolling your eyes, you entered your office and gathered your things together. It was the end of the day, and you were thanking your little stars above that it was almost the weekend. You couldn't believe you had to deal with that bullshit. Asher was getting on your last nerve lately.

Pushing the thought away, you zipped up your bag and yawned softly, shaking your head to wake yourself up. It was already 3:30pm, and you still have to hit traffic going home. 

Walking out of the double doors of Genome Dynamics, the Los Angeles heat greeted you. It was starting to cool down from the afternoon air, but it was still hot. It was mid-October, and you were ready for the weather to start getting cold. You walked down the parking lot and threw your bag on the backseat before sliding yourself in the driver’s seat. 

Maybe a little coffee would help you a little bit. 

Your favorite coffee shop was just five blocks down, and you decided to make a little pit stop before going straight home. 

Entering the shop, the delicious smell of coffee immediately greeted you. It sent warm shivers down your body. You loved the smell of coffee, and you loved the atmosphere this coffee shop always had. The shop wasn’t too crowded. There were only a couple of people waiting in line and a couple people sitting around the tables, their eyes focused on their laptop or book. 

You ordered your favorite mocha blended coffee and waited on the other end of the counter for the barista to make your drink. As you waited, you felt your phone vibrate in your hand and Sara’s name appeared on your screen. 

Sara: Got the goodies! On the way home now!

You couldn’t help but smile and text her back. 

You: Great! I’m fucking starving! It’s been a long day.

Sara: Same. Got some tiramisu for dessert too! 🤭

You: Great. I’ll see you soon.

You gazed up from your phone when you heard the barista call your name. You saw the girl set the delicious blended coffee on the counter. Instantly, you mentally cursed yourself when you saw the whipped cream on top. You totally forgot to tell her that you didn’t want any whipped cream, but it was too late. It wasn’t that big of a deal, so you just let it go. You grabbed the coffee carefully and made your way towards the other counter to grab yourself a lid and straw.

Although, you didn’t make it all the way because as this day already been unlucky, you weren’t paying attention and immediately hit something hard the moment you turned around. For a moment, you thought you were that tired that you hit the wall that was behind you but when you slowly looked up, you were greeted by a man. Not just any man. 

You knew this man. 

His curly brown hair was a little longer than you usually would see him in. It was pushed back from his forehead. His beard was trimmed nicely. He was wearing a white button up with a navy blue striped vest along with navy blue trousers that matched with his vest. His white button up and navy blue vest was now soaked in whipped cream and blended coffee. 

Motherfucker.

A small gasp slipped through your lips before stalking towards the counter and grabbing some napkins. 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!” 

You wiped the bundle of napkins on his shirt, and jesus, you couldn’t help but think how he felt almost like a rock. There was nothing in his body but just muscles. He didn’t say anything as you continued to wipe off the coffee from his clothes.

“Of course, my clumsy self would do this.” You murmured, wondering if you were talking to him or to yourself.

Maybe both. 

“My brain is fried, and I can’t think anymore for today. I’m so sorry for this. I swear, I didn’t see you there. I was way too distracted over some stupid pasta waiting for me at home—”

You heard a low chuckle that vibrated through his chest where your hand was. Your eyes slowly gazed up at him. His one brow raised, one corner of his lips was lifted, while his blue eyes were staring right into yours. 

Fucking Aaron Taylor-Johnson. 

“Do you always ramble on like this, darling?” His British accent slipped through his voice, and you wondered if this was some sort of stupid prank. 

“I… uh…” You stuttered, taking a step back. “Been a long day.”

Dimples indented his cheeks as he smiled at you. He looked down at the mess you made on his shirt, and you knew that it probably cost hundreds of dollars for just that one shirt alone. 

“It’s alright.” He said, reaching for more napkins and dabbing it on his shirt. “Accidents happen.”

“I ruined it.” You said. “I can pay for it. I don’t know. It’s probably going to cost a whole paycheck. I can barely afford my own clothes, but I don’t mind. I don’t know, maybe I can pay you monthly or something or get you something cheaper, but I’m not even sure if you would want that. I mean how would I pay you monthly? I’m a stranger. You probably don't even want to see me again—”

You were rambling again, and you were out of breath when he chuckled at you once again. 

“It’s not my personal clothes.” He cut you off. “It’s my costume for the movie I’m filming.”

Your eyes widened from his small commentary, and it didn’t make the situation better. Some Director or someone from the costume department would probably sue you now for ruining a movie costume. 

Fuck. 

Aaron laughed softly when he saw the panic that washed over your face. You didn’t understand how he was this calm, and how he was okay with all of this. 

“It’s alright.” He reassured you. “Although, I’m not sure how the costume department will react to the artwork you made on their costume.”

There was a hint of tease in his voice, but you didn’t find it funny. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour, and he was over here teasing you? 

Teasing you! 

“I’m kidding.” He laughed. “They have some detergent to get this out. I always make a mess on set with my costumes whenever I eat. It’s not a problem.”

The reassurance in his voice finally made your shoulders relaxed, and he probably saw it too because his grin widened. Your conversation was interrupted when the barista called his name and set his drink on the counter. 

“I’m sorry again.” You murmured.

“It’s okay. I’m Aaron, by the way.” He held out his hand.

As if you didn’t know him. 

You introduced yourself and shook his hand, giving him a small smile. 

“Nice to meet you.” He said. “I’ll see you around… hopefully.”

He squeezed your hand softly before walking around you to grab his coffee. You took a deep breath and threw the half empty coffee cup that was still in your hand and sped walk towards the front doors of the shop. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You didn’t even dare to look back at the coffee shop as you walked straight towards your car. You drove off almost immediately and found yourself on the freeway in just five minutes. You mentally cursed yourself for always embarrassing yourself in front of someone that was famous or important. It was like your brain always knew how to short circuit in situations like these. 

Arriving at your apartment building, you tapped your foot impatiently inside the elevator. When the two doors slid open, you walked down the hall and inserted your key on the keyhole to unlock it. You were greeted immediately by the smell of your favorite pasta and garlic bread but somehow, you lost your appetite now. 

“Hey.” Sara smiled, setting the plates on the dining table. “You’re a little later than usual. Busy day?” 

Sara’s your roommate and best friend. You also met her in your first year of college. She was your very first friend on campus, and the two of you were always two peas in a pod. Even now.

“Uh no.” You set your bag down on the floor behind the sofa and walked towards the dining table. “I stopped by at The Insomniacs.”

“A coffee?” Sara raised her brow. “This late? You’re not going to sleep tonight.”

“It’s fine.” You shrugged, feeling more exhausted than ever now. “Coffee doesn’t affect me like that anymore. I'll still be sleeping like a baby tonight.”

You pulled out the chair and sat across from Sara, your eyes studying the pasta and garlic bread that was sitting on the table. You have been thinking about this pasta all day but looking at it made your stomach turn. 

“Besides,” You added. “I didn’t even drink coffee.”

“What do you mean?” Sara handed you the plate of garlic bread. 

You grabbed a few pieces for yourself and set them on your plate. “It ended up on someone’s shirt.”

“What?” Sara’s eyes widened. 

You explained everything that happened from being too exhausted from a long day of work to deciding you were going to grab some coffee. Then, you told her how you grabbed the coffee from the counter and the moment you turned around, you bumped into someone.

“Not just someone.” You said. “Guess who?”

“Your ex?”

You made a disgusted face. “No! Someone famous.”

“I don’t know. Leonardo DiCaprio or something?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, it was freaking Aaron Taylor-Johnson!”

“Shut up!” Sara’s eyes widened as she grinned excitedly. “ATJ?! You spilled your coffee all over ATJ?!”

You threw your head back and groaned in frustration before leaning forward against the table and buried your face in your hands. You shook your head as the scenarios replayed in your mind. 

“I’m such an idiot.” You mumbled through your hands before looking up. “It was embarrassing, Sara! The worst part? He laughed about it.”

Sara chuckled, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m sure he found it cute. Besides, he probably won’t even remember you. He has thousands of fans. You’ll slip away from his mind in like a day.”

“Thanks.” You said sarcastically, eating your pasta. 

“You know what I mean.” Sara smiled. “It’s so funny how you always run into celebrities.”

You looked up from your pasta with wide eyes. “What do you mean by always?”

“Did you forget that you ran into Jennifer Aniston in a bathroom once?” Sara scoffed. 

Oh, yeah. Sara would never let that one go. 

It wasn’t your fault. Your childhood friend, Hannah, had dragged you down to an after party event. It just happened that Sara’s—and yours— favorite actress was in that event. You also embarrassed yourself in front of her by stuttering and rambling on about how much you loved her movies and her. Jen was sweet enough to take a picture with you and a video for Sara. 

At the end of the night, you wanted to slap yourself for acting so stupid.

“Well, maybe if you get out of Pasadena, you’d see more celebrities.” You teased her. 

Sara’s job was located in Pasadena. She worked for NASA and even if you didn’t actually understand what she did over there, you knew Sara loved her job. Meanwhile, your job was located in Burbank. A lot closer to Glendale, where you both lived. Also, a city swarming with celebrities sometimes since the Warner Brothers studios was located in Burbank. 

“No, thanks.” Sara replied. “I actually love my job.”

“Yeah?” You leaned back against your chair. “How’s space going? Is there some comet about to hit us or what?”

Sara almost choked on her wine. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the napkin before tilting her head at you. 

“What happened at work?” She asked. 

Sara knew you only would ask that question when you weren’t having a good day. 

You rolled your eyes. “Asher being Asher.”

“That’s nothing new.” Sara argued. “What did the idiot do now?”

You sighed and reached for your glass of wine. As much as you loved the pasta, you couldn’t eat any more of it. 

“Keith pulled us into his office, letting us know about more production coming and that he was planning to hire more people.” You sipped your wine for a moment. “Well, you know how you don’t ever argue with Keith? Well, Asher did. He threw all these questions, which Keith shut down instantly. Asher was all aggravated after the meeting.”

Sara chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Asher.”

“Then, I told him to quit acting like that and he accused me of having a crush on my boss! Like what the fuck? That’s fucking disgusting!”

Sara laughed. “Oh god. You know he’s acting like that because he likes you, right? He has liked you since we were in CalTech.” 

“And since CalTech, I have told him I’m not interested.” You scoffed. “He needs to move on.”

Sara chuckled softly and sipped her wine, while comfortable silence surrounded the dining room for a moment. You and your friends, including Sara and Asher, met in CalTech. The first year, Asher wasn’t shy about his feelings towards you, but you never liked him like that. Despite the fact that you were still friends until now, that was all that was ever going to be. He was also a complete opposite of you, and you never liked his behavior whenever he got upset.

Later on that night, you and Sara shared the tiramisu, while Sara told you about her day. Then, you helped her with the dishes and eventually retired into your own rooms. As you laid on your bed that night, you stared at the ceiling and let out a deep breath. 

Your body and mind was exhausted.

Just one more day, and it's the weekend. 

__________________________________________________________

AN: Anyone who wants to be tagged, please let me know :)

[j23r23]

Getaway Heart

Tangerine x Reader - angst & fluff

Warnings: blood & vomit

You’ve been a getaway driver since you got your license at 18, maneuvering through the streets with audacity and precision that caught the eye of all the right, and wrong, people. For the past ten years, you worked alone in the shadows, carving out a reputation as the go-to driver for high-stake jobs.

On a rainy evening, the twins handler, a no-nonsense woman with a penchant for dark sunglasses and cryptic instructions, invited you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Madrid. The place smelled of oil and rubber. There she introduced you to the two men known only by their code names: Tangerine and Lemon. They were looking for a reliable driver, and their handler thought you fit the bill. You knew the Fruits were renowned in the industry for being very good at what they do but were slightly unhinged.

Tangerine was the first to step forward. He was tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to dissect you with a single glance. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that contrasted starkly with the grime of the warehouse, he exuded an air of sophistication and control. His voice was smooth, almost velvety, “So, you’re the driver everyone’s talking about,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lemon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Shorter and more muscular, he had a rugged look about him, with bleached hair and an unpredictable glare. His attire was casual— black jeans and a denim jacket—giving off a more approachable vibe. In his hand, he toyed with a small sticker book, flicking it absentmindedly as he watched you.

The initial meeting didn’t go smoothly. Tangerine’s aloof demeanor and Lemon’s staring put you on edge. Tangerine scrutinized your every word and movement, as if searching for a weakness, while Lemon tested your patience with his relentless talk about trains.

“Look, love” Tangerine finally said, crossing his arms, “we don’t have time for screw-ups. We need someone who can handle the heat and think on their feet. Can you do that?”

You met his gaze, your jaw set in determination. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that hesitation can get you killed. I can handle the heat. Question is, can you keep up? Oh, and the names Orange, love.”

There was a moment of silence before Lemon burst into laughter. “I like this one,” he said, clapping Tangerine on the shoulder. “Got some fire in her.”

Tangerine’s lips curled into a faint smile, the first sign of approval. “Alright Orange,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The memory made you grin.

Right after meeting the twins you had your first job together and it was utter chaos—shit hit the fan, sirens blaring, guns a blazing and the scent of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. You were behind the wheel, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you navigated the streets of Madrid with precision.

"Tangerine, we've got company!" Lemon's tone was annoyed.

Tangerine, cool and collected, leaned out of the window, firing off shots with deadly accuracy. "I can see that, Lemon! Im not blind!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, as the banter between the twins was getting on your nerves. "Would you two save the chatter for later? I'm trying to concentrate here!"

Lemon laughed. "Relax, Orange, we've got this under control."

You just sighed in annoyance and literally put your foot down, pushing the pedal to the metal.

Tangerine, sitting in the seat behind you, clung to the door handle, as hes being pushed back by the force of the speeding car. "Bloody hell, Orange? " he shouted, his voice a mix of panic and irritation.

Lemon, in the backseat, looked even worse. His face was pale, and he was gripping the headrest in front of him for dear life. "For the love of all that's holy, slow down!”

You smirked, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. "Relax, boys. Let me do my job and i let you do yours" you said, narrowly missing a pedestrian who decided now was the perfect time to jaywalk.

"Relax? Relax?!" Tangerine's voice went up an octave. "We’ve got the entire Mafia of Madrid after us, how in hell am i supposed to work when you’re driving like a maniac!"

You took a sharp turn, the tires screeching in protest. The car tilted dangerously, but you managed to keep it from flipping. Lemon made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl. "If we die, I’m haunting your ass!"

"Hold on to something!" you yelled, spotting a narrow alleyway ahead. Without hesitation, you swerved into it, the car barely fitting between the buildings. The side mirrors scraped against the brick walls, sending sparks flying.

Tangerine’s knuckles were white from gripping the door handle. "Jesus Christ, woman!"

You chuckled, adrenaline pumping through your veins. "I got hired for my driving skills, remember?"

Lemon let out a strangled laugh. "Skills? More like suicidal tendencies!"

As you burst out of the alley and back onto a busy street, a car tried to cut you off. With a quick flick of the wheel, you sideswiped it, sending it crashing into a parked truck. "One down, a few dozen to go," you quipped, glancing at your handiwork in the mirror.

"Just keep us in one piece!" Tangerine barked, looking both impressed and terrified.

You sped towards an upcoming construction site, an idea forming in your mind. "Hold tight," you warned, accelerating even more.

"Oh hell no!" Lemon groaned, clearly dreading your next move.

You aimed for a ramp leading up to a half-built overpass. As the car launched into the air, all three of you screamed—though in your case, it was more of a whoop of excitement. The car soared over the gap, landing with a bone-jarring thud on the other side. The cars that are chasing you weren’t so lucky; the first few smashed into the gap, creating a massive pileup.

Tangerine looked at you with wide eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Lemon, still clutching the headrest, nodded fervently. "Completely off your rocker."

You gave them a cheeky grin. "But i got rid of them, no?"

As the car sped away from the chaos behind, Tangerines eyes still held a hint of disbelief. "You’re a bloody lunatic!"

Lemon slumped back in his seat, finally letting go of the headrest. "Next time, I’m driving."

You laughed, the thrill of the chase still coursing through you. "Sure."

After a few more sharp turns you finally pull into a secluded garage. You killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the chaos.

"You two okay back there?" you had asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Lemon had groaned, his face pale as a sheet. "I think I'm gonna be sick, now that we stopped," he had mumbled, clutching his stomach.

Tangerine had shot him a glare before leaning out of the window, retching onto the pavement. "Yeah, and somehow we made it out alive!” he had grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You turn in your seat looking at the boys smiling. Tangerine shook his head, laughing despite himself. “But remind me never to question your driving skills again.”

“Deal” you replied with a grin.

After that night, the three of you went through countless jobs together, facing danger with unwavering trust in one another. As time passed, your feelings toward Tangerine began to change. Working alongside him, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the way your heart fluttered whenever he flashed a rare smile or the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The more jobs you pulled, the deeper your affection for him grew, and the harder it became to suppress your emotions.

And now, something feels off. As you sit in the driver's seat of your idling car, the engine's purr does little to calm your anxious nerves. The night is heavy with tension, the rearview mirror becoming your only solace. You glance back repeatedly, your mind racing through every possible outcome of tonight's job.

Tonight's mission was supposed to be a straightforward smash and grab. The target: a high-end jewelry store fronting as a money laundering operation for one of the city's major crime syndicates in London. Intelligence indicated minimal security—just a couple of guards, easily neutralized. Tangerine and Lemon were tasked with infiltrating, grabbing the goods, and getting out before anyone noticed. Simple, clean, efficient.

You were parked in the back alley of the building, engine running, ready for the signal. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. Something gnawed at your gut, a premonition that things weren't going according to plan. You'd run through every escape route, every contingency, but no amount of planning could shake the unease that had settled over you.

The longer you waited, the more your thoughts drifted back to Tangerine. His smile, his confidence, the way he always seemed to know what to say to calm you down. You remember the first time he took a bullet for you. He had laughed it off, calling you a softie for worrying. That was Tangerine—fearless, almost reckless, but with a heart that beat fiercely for those he cared about.

You trusted them both with your life, but tonight, that trust felt more like a lifeline, taut and fraying with each passing second.

The rearview mirror offers no new insights, just the darkened street and the distant sounds of the city. You grip the steering wheel tighter. You can almost hear Tangerine’s voice, telling you to stay calm, to trust the plan. But the plan is starting to feel like a distant memory, overshadowed by a growing fear that this time, things won’t go as smoothly as they always have.

And then, like a thunderclap, the back door of the building bursts open.

Suddenly, Lemon charges through the back door of the building, supporting a hunched over Tangerine. It's clear that this simple job has gone terribly wrong. As they stagger closer, you see the blood—Tangerine is losing a lot of it. You reverse the car and drive towards them. Lemon yanks open the back door, practically shoving Tangerine inside before he climbs in himself.

"Go, go, go!" Lemon shouts, urgency in his voice.

You change immediately into first and slam the gas pedal to the floor, the tires screeching as the car lurches forward. The doors are barely closed, but you don’t have time to worry about that. In the rearview mirror, you see Lemon struggling to put pressure on one of Tangerines wounds, while the latter squirms in pain.

"What the fuck happened?" you demand, weaving through traffic with precision.

"Tangerine underestimated the Job, didn't wear his west and got shot," Lemon replies, his voice strained. Tangerine just groans, clearly in too much pain to speak.

"You didn't wear your fucking west?" you scoff, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. "You always chastise us when we're not wearing one, what the fuck were you thinking!"

"Yeah, well," Tangerine mutters in pain, "we all make mistakes."

You maneuver through the city's maze-like streets, dodging late-night traffic and running red lights. The city's neon lights cast eerie reflections inside the car, illuminating the tense scene. The smell of blood fills the air, and you can hear Tangerine's labored breathing from the back seat.

"You better not die on me, Tangerine," you say, your voice tight with a mixture of fear and anger. "I’m not dealing with your expensive funeral."

Tangerine tries to laugh, but it turns into a pained groan. "Always… so considerate," he manages to say between gasps.

"Save your strength, mate," Lemon says, pressing another wad of cloth against Tangerine's bleeding abdomen. "We need you to stay awake."

The car roars down a narrow alleyway, the tires barely gripping the slick pavement as you take a sharp turn. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Every second counts, and the safehouse feels a million miles away.

"I swear, if we make it out of this alive, you're going to owe me one pristine car cleaning," you assert firmly, your voice tinged with worry.

"Deal," Tangerine replies, his eyes closing. Lemon looks at you through the rearview mirror "Just get us there in one piece."

You weave through the final stretch of city streets, your knuckles white on the steering wheel. The safehouse looms ahead, a nondescript building that has become your haven in times of crisis. You screech to a halt after driving into the garage, the car barely stopping before you pull the handbrake.

"Help me get him inside," Lemon says, rushing out and opening the back door. Together, you and Lemon half-carry, half-drag Tangerine towards the entrance, his blood leaving a grim trail behind you.

"Hang on, Tan," you whisper, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "We're almost there."

Inside the safehouse, the familiar surroundings offer little comfort. You clear the kitchen table with a sweep of your arm, sending everything crashing to the floor.

"Lay him down here," you instruct. "I need to see how bad it is."

Tangerine's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a weak smile. "You always did know how to make things dramatic, love" he jokes, his voice barely a whisper.

"Shut up," you say, your throat tight. "Just let me fix you up."

As you rip open his shirt, revealing the extent of his injuries, the reality of the situation hits you like a punch to the gut. Four bullet wounds, two in his left shoulder one in his right arm and the worst is stuck in the right side of his abdomen.

This isn't just another job gone wrong. This is a fight for survival. And in this moment, all you can think about is keeping Tangerine alive.

"You ruined my Burberry suit," Tangerine complains weakly, attempting a half-hearted smirk.

"I said, shut up," you snap, your voice tight with worry. Your hands move quickly, working to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to focus, ignoring the emotional storm brewing inside you.

Lemon stands by, trying to keep pressure on the wounds. He looks at you, concern etched on his face. "You alright?" he asks, noticing your tears.

You nod, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders. Each bullet you extract from Tangerine's flesh elicits an excruciating scream from him that reverberates through the room and it slices through you like a knife. But you steel yourself against the anguish, focusing solely on the task at hand. With each bullet removed, Tangerine's body relaxes a fraction, but his agony remains palpable.

Exhaustion settles over him like a heavy shroud, and he slumps back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You work quickly, stitching him up as best you can with trembling hands, the urgency of the situation lending you a sense of clarity.

Once Tangerine is bandaged and relatively stable, you turn your attention to the smaller cuts and abrasions littering his body. With gentle care, you clean away the blood, your movements deliberate and precise as you tend to his wounds.

When you finally finish, you look to Lemon, concern etched into your features. "You got any injuries?" you ask, your voice laced with worry.

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he grabs a blanket and pillow, arranging them to make Tangerine's makeshift bed on the kitchen table a little more comfortable.

You look at your blood covered hands and your mind starts to race,

The reality of the situation sinking in. Despite your years of experience you can't shake the feeling of helplessness that washes over you. You've faced danger countless times before, but this time feels different.

As you turn to wash the blood away in the sink, Lemon appears at your side. His eyes hold a depth of understanding that cuts through the turmoil in your soul.

"Not exactly the night we planned, huh?" Lemon tries to joke, but his voice wavers.

"Yeah…" you reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"You love him, don't you?" Lemon's voice breaks the silence, gentle but insistent.

You pause, the question hanging in the air. Tears spill over, and you nod, holding in a sob. "Yes," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I do."

Wordlessly, he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His touch is grounding.

With a steadying breath, you push aside the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You look back at your shaking hands seeing the sink run red as you rinse the rest of Tans blood away, the water swirling slowly like the tension in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Lemon's eyes soften with understanding. "Does he know?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, tears now flowing freely. "No," you manage to choke out.

Lemon gives you a sad smile and pats your back. "It's gonna be okay. He's tough. He'll pull through. He's Tangerine, after all."

You look over at Tangerine, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, breaks something inside you. You sink to your knees beside the table, clutching his hand in yours, your tears falling onto his bloodstained shirt.

"I should have told him, “ You whisper, your voice breaking. "I should have told him every day."

Lemon kneels beside you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He knows," he says softly. "Somehow, he knows. And he’s fighting.”

The room is silent except for the faint, labored breathing of Tangerine. You press your forehead to Tangerine's hand, your sobs shaking your entire body.

"Please, don't leave me," you whisper, your voice raw with pain. "I can't do this without you."

"He's going to make it," Lemon murmurs, more to himself than to you. "He has to."

You cling to those words, praying that they're true. Because the thought of a world without Tangerine is too much to bear.

When the morning sun shines through the kitchen window, you stir, the warm light nudging you awake. You jolt up, immediately checking on Tangerine and finding him still breathing, albeit slowly. His chest rises and falls steadily, and a wave of relief washes over you.

Your body aches from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but you ignore it, stretching briefly before moving around the kitchen to make some coffee, the familiar routine grounding you.

Suddenly, you hear a faint sound. Turning around, you see Tangerine, though barely conscious, calling out for you, reaching out weakly.

"Hey, " he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You rush to his side, your heart heavy yet light with relief. “don't go too far" he whispers, his hand finding yours.

"Lemon!" you call out, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "Lemon, get in here!"

Lemon appears in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. "What's going on? Is he—?"

"He's awake," you say, unable to contain the sob that escapes your lips. "He's going to be okay."

Lemon's face softens with a mixture of relief and joy. He steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I told you he's tough," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Tan doesn't go down that easily."

You nod, unable to speak, the relief washing over you in waves. You stay by Tangerines side, his hand still clasped in yours, feeling the weight of the nights fear and uncertainty lift just a little.

Lemon places a gentle hand on your back, his voice soft but firm. "You need to rest. Take a shower, change into some fresh clothes. I'll keep an eye on him."

You hesitate, glancing back at Tangerine "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice wavering with concern.

"I'm sure," Lemon reassures you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Lem." you shake your head at his compliment and make your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading over you feels like a much-needed cleanse, washing away the grime and the fear of the night. You change into fresh clothes, feeling a bit more human, and take a moment to steady yourself before heading back to the kitchen.

When you return, you see Lemon leaning close to Tangerine, their voices low as Tangerine attempts to sit up, wincing with every movement. Lemon supports him, and you quickly move to their side, slipping an arm around Tangerine to help. Together, you guide him into one of the bedrooms, easing him onto the bed so he can rest more comfortably.

"Thanks," Tangerine murmurs, his face still pale but his eyes more focused.

"You need to rest," you say, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "We'll be right outside." As you and Lemon turn to leave, Tangerine's voice stops you.

"Wait." His hand reaches out, grabbing yours weakly. You look at Lemon, who gives you a knowing nod.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he says softly. "Call if you need anything." You nod at Lemon before turning back to Tangerine.

"You scared the living daylight out of me last night," you admit, your voice trembling slightly as you sit on the edge of the bed, Tangerine's hand still clasped in yours.

"I didn't mean to," he replies, a weak smile playing on his lips. "But I guess I did give that Burberry suit a run for its money."

You manage a small laugh, tears of relief filling your eyes. "I guess I owe you a new shirt," you say, your voice breaking with emotion as you remember ripping it off him to stop the bleeding.

"And i owe you a pristine car cleaning," he replies, squeezing your hand tightly, his smile widening.

Your laughter fades and you sit in silence for a moment, gathering your courage. You know that now is the time to speak your heart. “Tan I—” you begin, but Tangerine interrupts, his expression soft.

"Thank you." He looks down for a second, watching his hand play with yours. “Sorry, you were saying,” he looks back up into your eyes.

You blink in confusion, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, erm… you don’t have to thank me. It’s... it’s part of the job." you mumble.

Tangerine’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it?"

You swallow hard, the truth pressing against your lips. "Yes," you whisper, barely able to hold back the tears. "It’s more. So much more."

He nods, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Lemon might have hinted at it before, but I’ve suspected for a while."

A mixture of relief and embaressement washes over you. "Lemon and his big mouth," you mutter, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

Tangerine chuckles, but winces in pain. You scold him lightly. "Don’t laugh, you idiot. You need to rest."

He grins despite the pain, bringing his hand to your cheek. "Will you stay?"

You lean into his hand, feeling his touch. "I'll stay." you whisper, tears falling freely now.

Tangerine’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek. "I’ve been feeling the same way you know. For a while actually."

Your heart races, and you struggle to find your voice. "What?" Tangerine’s eyes flick between your eyes and your lips before he closes the gap, kissing you softly. The kiss is tender, filled with all the unspoken emotions you’ve both been holding back.

Its a clusterfuck, but someone might like it...

[albertdabuttler]

Masked Adversary | D.L.

Pt. II

MASTERLIST

this fics masterlist

fandom: Kick-Ass

pairings: Dave Lizewski/Kick-Ass x F!Reader

WARNINGS: language! patching up an open wound, mentions of blood, wound descriptions, fluff OOOO, also angst because he knows you don’t like HIM, kinda proofread but idk..

summary: You and Dave have lost a childhood friendship. The circumstances have made you grow to despise one another, until Kick-Ass has no one else to turn to but you, causing him to develop a small crush. The only problem being that you don't know it's him.

WC: 3.1K

gif not mine!!!

A/N: Low key insane this is the first fic I write that isn’t smut ☠️ also sorry for posting this a day late mb…

———————

“Dammit,” You spoke as you quickly lifted your water bottle up from your desk. It had spilled all over your research papers and ruined some of the fresh ink.

“Fuck.”

You had already spent a little over an hour trying to get your information together and you needed a break. Grabbing your headphones, you made your way to the little sofa you had sitting by your window and took out a comic.

It was rare, but it didn’t take long for you to get bored, you had read this specific issue many times. The music made it that much more boring and you were getting restless. Cracking your window open just a bit, you heard the soft chirps of the birds and crickets outside, feeling some of the cool breeze enter into your room. The sun was set and there was still some twilight left over the New York skyline. You lived a few blocks from Dave, getting a decent view of the city although it was blocked by a tree near your window.

Soon after you had opened your window, you felt yourself getting drowsy, that breeze and the sounds of the night settling in almost made you doze off.

The state you were in wasn’t fully conscious, but you weren’t quite asleep either. You heard a faint sound outside your window, like some big bird just fell onto your roof. You tried to ignore it and relax, but soon you began hearing faint taps at your window.

How odd.

Your eyes slowly opened, allowing your pupils to adjust to the soft fluorescent light.

“Please,” You heard someone whisper, in that moment your eyes shot open and you jumped out of your chair, turning to your window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You almost yelled, keeping it quiet enough not to alarm your parents. Kick-Ass.

“You said I could—“ he groaned quietly, wincing.

“You said I could stop by if I needed something,” he sighed.

“What?” You questioned, confused at first until you noticed one of his gloves covered in blood, clutching his side.

“Please, you said…” He paused to take a breath, “Your mom’s a nurse, right? I—I can’t go to the cops or the hospital.”

“Well—I mean yeah, she’s a nurse, but… If she helps you she’s gonna end up telling someone.”

He only stood there and waited.

“I can patch you up myself,” You swiftly moved forward to open the window, allowing the boy into your room.

“Agh, fuck—” He groaned, you helped him walk over to your bed.

“Hold on,”

Setting a towel on your bed, you motioned for him to sit down, grabbing his batons from his back and setting them to the side. You ran to your closet to grab a cloth or anything similar.

“Here, put this on there with pressure, okay? I’ll be right back.” You gave him an old shirt and left your room to find a med kit your mom had somewhere downstairs.

He noticed the shirt you gave him and smiled softly. It was an old shirt you had matched with him, well, Dave, in middle school. It was really oversized when you got it, so it still fit. He was surprised you hadn’t thrown it away. It was a Robin shirt, himself owning the Batman one. He remembered how much you loved Robin.

Kick-Ass sighed as he waited for you, holding the shirt to his wound with as much pressure as he could to stop the bleeding.

“Okay,” you spoke out of breath, closing your door and locking it.

“Um…” You looked at him awkwardly, and he waited for you to continue. Clearly in pain.

“I’m gonna need you to take your suit off.” You informed, it was only necessary.

“Okay…” he hesitated, “I can’t really take the suit off...by myself,” he breathed. You could tell that speaking was quite the chore.

You moved towards him, helping him take his gloves off one at a time as either of his hands held the cloth to his wound. Sitting behind him, you unzipped his suit, pushing it off each one of his shoulders.

Woah.

His back was very well defined and it took everything in you not to graze your fingers along his muscles. He felt this, trying to hold in a smile.

“You’re gonna have to let go for a second, okay?” You warned him. Kick-Ass let go of the cloth on his cut, clenching his teeth as you pulled his suit down to his hips. The blood caused it to stick to the wound, it seemed to burn as you peeled it off.

“Shit,” He sighed in pain, taking a deep breath as you soaked a small towel in a little bowl of soap water. He frowned as you brought it up to the gash on his side.

“This is really gonna sting, so you should use something to bite on.” You handed him the cleaner glove and as soon as he bit down onto it, you began dabbing the cloth onto his injury.

He let out a significantly loud groan through the glove and tears welled up in his eyes, his breathing quickened due to the sharp, stinging pain of the soap seeping into his wound. He was seeing stars.

“Okay, we’re done.” You spoke, turning back to the med kit to take out a gauze pad. “This cut is too big to heal on its own, I’m gonna have to stitch it up…” You looked at him to make sure he was okay with it. He only nodded. You continued to dab at his skin to remove all the blood around the slash to see it clearly. It was a cut right above the chiseled area of his iliac furrow, a few inches to the left of an already healed scar that seemed to appear like another stab wound.

“You okay?” You asked him, just to make sure. He nodded once more, removing the glove from his mouth and smiling weakly as you grabbed a needle and suture. You noticed he had a pretty nasty cut on his lip, and his eye was starting to bruise.

“This one’s gonna hurt even more, right?” He joked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Are you ready?”

Kick-Ass clenched his jaw, locking eyes with you for a moment, “Yeah,” he grunted, keeping his eyes glued to yours.

You pierced through his skin and his back straightened. Choking out an agony-filled moan, he threw his head back, his hand flying to cover his mouth. Your eyes widened looking up at him.

“If my parents hear you, it’s over.” You whispered and he nodded, chewing on his lip.

Continuing the process of piecing him together, he kept whining about how much it stung even with his fucked up nerve endings.

“Of course it’s gonna hurt, dipshit! How the fuck did this happen to you anyway?” You questioned.

“Oh y’know, some muggers with a knife. Guess they were serious about taking that lady’s bag.” He chuckled.

As you drove the needle through him one last time, he inhaled a sharp breath, gripping into your sheets for his life.

It was quiet for the moment in which you cleaned up, putting everything away and leaving out some bandages to put on him.

You could feel his gaze on you, but goodness, were you scared to look him in the eyes. You knew that if you looked, you’d wanna lean in and kiss him.

“Thank you,” He said, watching you intently as you got up to take the med kit back.

“No problem, Kick-Ass,” you smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Your smile was super pretty and holy hell was this mask giving him confidence.

“I’m gonna go put this back, the bathroom’s right outside my door to the left, incase you wanna wash your face or something.” You made your way to your door and left it slightly ajar, so that no one would hear it open while you were downstairs.

Kick-Ass slowly limped into your bathroom, finally taking off his mask after closing the door. His face was covered in blood, so much more happened than some muggers with a knife. Frank D’Amico’s men had tried beating him senseless, but he oh so fortunately got away due to a patrol car nearing the area. Yes, he had made sure no one followed him to your home. He wouldn’t know what to do if he was the reason some fucked up kingpin tried to hurt you.

He washed his face as best he could without getting any blood anywhere, his left eye beginning to grow a soft red color.

You knocked softly on the door, “Hey, just come back to my room when you’re done. My parents are watching TV so you should be good.”

“Thanks.” He answered, staring at the door.

Guilt began to overcome him. He was lying to you, not only in keeping his identity from you, but in making up some bullshit about getting jumped by some "muggers."

He wanted to tell you it was him, but he found the thought embarrassing, maybe you would call him pathetic for this whole Kick-Ass thing, even the thought of coming to you when he had no one else was enough to make him cringe. He would rather get stitched up without anesthesia again than have you react badly and get angry at him for lying to you.

Sitting at your desk waiting for him, you finally heard the bathroom light shut off, the door just then clicking open. He limped into your room and you quickly ran to help him sit on the edge of your bed.

You grabbed the gauze, pausing and taking a look at him for a second. Goodness gracious, he was an Adonis of a man. He had really well toned arms, his abdominal muscles very defined as well. He was quite the specimen. And his eyes. The way he looked up at you, like some lost puppy, it made you melt.

“Um, just lift your arms up a bit,” You cleared your throat, embarrassed of the way you were thinking in such a moment.

He lifted his arms and you put the gauze over his now closed wound, grabbing a roll of bandages to wrap around his waist.

“Hold this here,” you told him as you knelt in front of him. Pulling the white fabric around his side, you had to move closer to him in order to reach for it with your other hand behind his back.

You tried focusing on what you were doing, but he kept staring holes into your head. His hand twitched, wanting to brush a stray hair from your face to see it clearly but he held back.

After wrapping the bandage around his waist a few times, you used some medical tape to keep it in place.

“Alright, I’m almost done.” you spoke, finishing up.

Kick-Ass spoke your name with a light tone. This startled you and you looked up at him to see what he was going to say. He only looked at you, glancing at your lips before looking away and it caused your heart to beat a million miles a minute.

“Thank you...” He finally moved his eyes to meet yours, a look of guilt upon whatever you could see of his face.

“I’m really sorry…” He frowned, looking at the ground next to you.

“It’s not your fault, Kick-Ass,” you reassured him without even knowing what he was talking about.

He shook his head as if he was about to speak but the two of you could only watch each other those following moments, your faces moving closer together like magnets. You didn't know why it felt so right in the moment, but you quickly leaned up and kissed him.

He slightly jumped but immediately kissed back. His lips were so plush and smooth, they felt like clouds. And he kissed you like no other boy had ever kissed you before. He kissed you with emotion, he didn’t just kiss you for the sake of kissing. Even if he wasn't the best at it.

The fabric of his mask brushed against your chin as he tilted his head to the side, moving himself closer to you. You felt like he was going to pull away because you were already starting to feel the need to breathe, but he kept kissing you.

Resting your hand on his chest, you felt his heart beating rapidly under your palm. You stood up, causing him to have to lean upwards in order to keep his lips attached to yours, but the movement caused him pain, making him release a grunt and quickly pull away.

“Sorry,” you apologized, referring to the kiss and the wound. He stared at you in utter surprise.

From now on, Dave knew he would look at you in a different light. Why’d you even kiss him? And what gave him such a desperate urge to keep his own lips connected to yours?

He chewed on his bottom lip, "It's okay..." He replied softly.

“I shouldn't have done that, right...? I—It won't happen again—“ You rambled, suddenly cutting yourself off and picking up the empty packaging of the bandages to throw them away and keep yourself busy.

Kick-Ass watched you pick things up with his jaw hanging, still trying to process the kiss and why he... Enjoyed it?

“You can do it again, if you want.” He mentally screamed at himself, why the fuck would he say that!?

You whipped your head around and stared at him from across the room, your face heating up like the Titanic's boiler room.

"I haven’t kissed anyone since like… sixth grade, so…" He chuckled.

Hiding a smile, "Yeah…that was kind of obvious." you spoke, scrunching your nose.

"Sorry." He looked away while giggling at how pathetic it was.

“It’s okay…” you smiled.

You sat next to him. "Everyone needs practice…” You said suggestively.

Turning to look at him, you saw that he was already gaping at you.

"Yeah..." He kept his eyes on yours this time. The reason he was so afraid to do so before was because he felt vulnerable, like you’d know it was him just by his eyes or something.

“So…” you began, “can I kiss you..?”

“Yes—“ he replied a little too quick for his own comfort. “I mean…Yeah.”

You placed your hand on the side of his neck and moved your head closer to his. You noticed him watching your mouth as it neared his, the palm of his hand coming to press against your lower back as you finally connected your lips.

He kissed you softly, innocently, almost like he was afraid you’d pull away if he kissed you any differently.

Moving one of your hands to rest on the back of his neck, you slipped your fingers under his mask, feeling a bit of his soft curls.

You just wanted to kiss him, missing the feeling of someone's mouth on your own. He felt the same, he didn’t feel judged on the fact he was kind of a shitty kisser.

The two of you sat there for a minute, his calloused hands moving from your waist to the sides of your face, the tips of his fingers playing with the shorter hairs on the nape of your neck.

“I hope you don’t hate me,” he breathed, mumbling against your mouth.

“Mm-“ You made a sound of confusion.

You began to realize why he had said it as he brought his hand up to the hem of his mask and began tugging it upward. Quickly pulling away, you reached for his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t do that…” You watched him, slightly alarmed.

His heart dropped, “Why not…?” he spoke, uneasy.

He couldn’t lie to you. Yeah sometimes he hated your guts and wanted you to just shut the fuck up, but today was a completely different story. He changed in the way he saw you. With everything that had just happened in the past ten minutes, he couldn’t lie to you.

“What if I tell someone? How can you trust me if you barely even know me…?”

But he did know you. He knew you enough to trust you, and that there was no way in hell you would ever tell anyone a secret entrusted to you. But he didn’t want to argue with you. Not as Kick-Ass.

“Fine. Sorry...” He apologized.

"You should probably get home... It's kind of late." You suggested looking at your hands as you fidgeted.

“Yeah,” He stood up, grunting as he pulled his arms through his suit to put it back on. “Could you…” He was nodding at you, referring to the back of his suit where the zipper was.

You pulled the slider along the teeth of the zipper, enclosing him completely in his suit.

He turned around to face you “Thanks…” He watched you for a moment. “For patching me up… And stuff…”

You chuckled, “No problem.”

He smiled awkwardly. “I’ll see you tomor—or uhh, whenever I need you again—or whenever you need me,” He stammered, realizing what position he’d almost put himself in. “I’ll just see you.” He chuckled, swallowing hard as he grabbed his gloves and batons and turned to your window.

“Will you be okay to get home?” You watched as he limped by your window. “I could walk with you… Until we get to your neighborhood or whatever.”

“Uh—No, it's like a 10 minute walk. I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” He smiled softly, beginning to climb through your window as he held his side.

You thought about that. There were no other neighborhoods within ten minutes of walking, so he had to live here. That means he had to go to your school. And that means you have to know him if he said he was your age. Holy shit.

“Kick-Ass?” You rested your palms on your windowsill as he crouched down to look at you from your roof.

“Do you go to Fillmore?”

He paused, staring at you like he’d just been caught.

You felt your hands getting clammy.

After a few more moments of silence, you spoke again.

“Do I know you…?”

He stayed silent. All you could do was take it as a yes.

“Weren’t you just getting mad at me for wanting to take my mask off?” He shot back.

“Fuck, you’re right. I’m sorry.” You looked down. “I’ll… I’ll see you around.” You pursed your lips.

He smiled back softly and made his way off your roof and out of your view.

You sat back down to finish your homework, somehow taking three times as long because the only thing on your mind was those beautiful blue eyes of his. And who else in your school had them.

———————

Thank you for reading!! x

[lost-pen-name]

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: You were about to leave Tom’s suite when a heavy rainstorm started. Not wanting to risk trying to drive in such poor conditions, you grabbed your stuff from your car, returned back to his door, and asked if you could stay the night. He, begrudgingly, obliged and allowed you to stay in the guest bedroom.

Genre: Fluff, cuddling, comfort

Word count: 2176

Warnings: none

{ you came? you called. }

You were sitting alone in bed, trembling like a leaf, when the power went out in Tom Ryder’s house.

The light flickered for a moment before going out completely, along with the rest of all things electrical. The house was unsettlingly quiet and felt off without the hum of the fridge or air conditioner.

Lightning crackled outside. You pushed yourself a bit out of bed, debating on the idea to go look for Tom, just so you wouldn’t have to be alone. But that would mean leaving the safety of your room.

“Tom?” you called out instead. You looked back at the large window across the bedroom. Even with the curtains drawn, light flashed across the room sporadically.

Farther across the house, you swore you could hear someone moving around. Your heart pounded and you waited, holding your breath, hoping it was Tom coming to check on you. You just needed to know another human existed right now.

There was a THUD and a curse that came after. It sounded like it came from farther down the hall.

A second later you heard an “Oi, what happened?” That familiar voice came from your doorway and you breathed a sigh of relief.

You breathed a sigh of relief and swiped at an unshed tear. You prayed your voice won’t have too much desperation in it. “You came.”

“What? Of course I did. A woman screams my name out in the middle of the freaking night, I’d be crazy not to come.” He sounds agitated and tired but you don’t care, you’re just clinging to the fact that there’s someone here now. “Why’d you call for me? I hope you know I almost died on the way over here. The power’s out, I can’t see a bloody thing.”

Lightning lit up the room and you caught a glance at Tom Ryder standing in the doorway, wearing only a pair of loose fitting sweatpants. A series of thunderclaps shot an arrow of anxiety through the bubble of thought of how gorgeous he looked even at 1am.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. “I... I didn’t want to be alone. Not with this storm raging outside.” You gestured towards the window just as thunder booms again.

You heard him sigh. “What am I supposed to do, crawl into bed with you?”

The idea of having someone close to you overpowers all the reason in your brain screaming at you that this wasn’t good for your business relationship. The fear of being alone in this storm trumped all rational thoughts.

“Could you? Even just for a bit?” you said.

There’s a moment of silence before you hear his footsteps and he’s at the side of your bed. You look up at him and gulp. Maybe this was a dumb thing to ask.

“Fine. But give me some blanket.” Without another word, he’s on the bed, crawling into the covers. His bare feet touched yours for a brief moment before you quickly moved your body far away that side of the bed.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. You watched him as he shifted around, getting the pillow right for him, the blanket pulled a bit over to his side before he relaxed and breathed heavily.

You can feel your heart hitting against your chest painfully and you don’t know if that’s now entirely because of the storm or if it had anything to do with sharing a bed with Tom.

He breaks the silence. “I called Gail, asked her what the whole situation is about the power and all that.” You see him wave his hands around as he talks. “She said it’ll take a few hours, maybe even ‘til morning before we get any power back. So, we’re in it for the long run.”

That was longer than you had hoped but you guessed you should’ve expected it to take that long. “Okay,” is all you can manage to get out through your tight throat.

You both grow quiet again. The awkwardness of this all keeps hitting you so you break the silence. You twisted your head to look at him. “Sorry, I know this is kind of weird.”

“Yeah, well,” he said dryly, “it’s mainly weird because I didn’t need to know how many stuffies my employee has. How old are you again?”

You’re dumbfounded. He’s choosing now to judge you? And for what, bringing in the small stuffie collection you had in your car? That was so like him. It was oddly both reassuring to have the normalcy and frustrating. “You’re such a jerk, Tom Ryder,” you said.

Quiet. Then an indignant harrumph. The blankets shifted and you felt the mattress dip as he pushed himself off. “Well, fine, if that’s how you’re going to treat me.”

You rolled over to his side of the bed, trying to ignore how nice and warm it was. “Wait!” You grabbed his hand before he went too far. “Tom, wait, please don’t go.”

He peered over his shoulder at you. “Make me.”

Your heart sank a bit. There he goes again, always with the attitude. “Well, you’re kinda proving my point here,” you whispered under your breath.

“What was that?” He turned fully around and squinted down at you.

Goodness gracious, he kinda does look glorious standing there, his bare chest making it hard to formulate sentences, his usual strategically tousled hair ruffled and unkempt. And he doesn’t seem to notice you’re still gripping onto his hand, not that you mind. It’s hot and rougher than you expected from a privileged celebrity.

Thunder claps interrupt your ogling and a nervous ripple hits you. The anxiety might’ve left for a bit but the thought of Tom leaving you alone again with the storm sends all of the worry back into you.

“I didn’t actually mean that, you know that. I was joking around,” you said. Your free hand clutches at the covers.

“I come in here and, and, what? I’m being incredibly nice to you and you insult me as a joke?” His tone carried a bit of a whine to it.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You inhale and exhale with a quiet and quick, “pleasedon’tgo.”

His frown softened and he glanced down at our hands entwined. Lightning danced across the room for a moment, lighting up the room enough for you to spy the smallest smile from him.

You gaped at him. What did you say that earned you a gentle smile from THE Tom Ryder?

Before you can think about it too much, he sighed and leaned down to get back into bed. “Hey, scoot over.”

You let go of his hand and moved back over to your side of the bed.

He fell into the covers and put his arms behind his head, cushioning his head on them. He sighed again. “You absolutely should be grateful, you know.”

“I am,” you whispered.

Thunder booms, closer than any of the other times and you winced. Your breathing is becoming too fast, too irregular.

Tom turned on his side, angling his body to face you. “You’re really scared of storms then?” His usual condescending tone is gone. It’s replaced with something softer.

You nodded, even though he probably can’t see it in the dark, and pulled the covers up to your chin. “Ever since I was a little kid.”

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “Do you know why?”

“No. I just get anxious whenever there’s a storm. I can never go to sleep when there’s one happening.” You closed your eyes and put a hand on your chest, trying, willing yourself to just breathe normally.

A huge series of thunder crashes outside and the house shudders, breaking off any thoughts you had. Your body reacted in an almost fight or flight instinct. Without even stopping to think, you slid further into bed and towards Tom, pressing your body against his, your face and his pecs aligned. Your hand wrapped around his arm and you squeezed your eyes closed, praying that the noise will come an end. It sounds like the grand finale of the thunderstorm, like the storm is proud of this last act and wants to show to the world just as loud and powerful it can be. The heat coming from Tom’s body and the solidness of him is the only thing tethering you and keeping you from going too far over the edge.

Finally, it’s quiet. You panted and opened your eyes. His flesh is the only thing in your vision. Your eyes focused on a freckle on his chest and there’s a small part of you that has the urge to kiss it. A blush creeped up with your neck. You realized your nails are digging into his arm and you snatched your hands away.

You can not believe you just freaked out and clung to your boss. In bed. This had to be against so many employer-employee work ethics. If this doesn’t get you fired, you don’t know what will.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up and starting to push yourself back away from him.

His hand shot out and stopped in your tracks. “No,” he said thickly.

Just... “no?” You have no clue what that meant. He’s probably angry at you now or thinks you’re even more childish, reacting like a baby koala clinging to her mother just because of some storm. With a sinking feeling, you overcome your fear of whatever you might see on his face when you look at him and glanced over at him.

Even in the dark, you can tell his expression is the most serious you’ve ever seen in the months you’ve worked under him.

That was not what you were expecting.

“What did you do about these storms when I wasn’t here?” His voice is low, almost stern.

You pushed your hair back awkwardly. “I don’t know, wait it out? Hide under my covers? When my sister stays at my place sometimes, she’ll calm me down.”

“And how does she do that?”

You swallowed hard. What is he thinking? What is he planning to do with this information? “She holds me until it’s long over.”

Tom’s hand tightened a bit at that. You looked down at it on your arm, you had almost forgotten it was there.

“Well.” He sniffed loudly. “Come here then.” He let go of you and opened his arms, like he’s welcoming you to a hug. The most muscle toned and chiseled hug ever.

Your heart pounded. “You really don’t have to do that, you’ve done more than enough. And the storm sounds like it’s almost over.”

“If your sister does it until the storm is completely over, then I’m going to do it better and do it all night.” He waved a hand in exasperation. “I’ll feel like a heroic knight saving a princess. So stop being stubborn and come here.”

His words are said so easily but the weight of them hits you like a brick. Sure, he always likes being better than everyone and doesn’t like being beaten at anything.

But this was excessive, even for him.

And somehow, in a weird way, it was sweet.

Not knowing what else to do but listen to him, you awkwardly scoot closer to him. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you in, forcing your body to be pressed against his and closing whatever distance you had. Now your head is next to his pecs again, his strong arms around you, cocooning you in. His skin is warm and you can faintly hear his heartbeat. It’s a steady pulse, its gentle rhythm is calming to you. You can feel his chest as he inhales and exhales and you start to match his breathing.

The world has calmed. You feel calm. And safe, surprisingly. Safe and secure with the world’s hottest superstar but to you, a flawed man you’re slowly beginning to realize you enjoy spending time with. Maybe you’re starting to like him, not just tolerate him.

“Thank you, Tom,” you said quietly as you stared up at the ceiling.

He shifted slightly and you feel his sigh ruffle your hair. “Mhmm.” It’s just a sound but it sounded like an audible shrug, like he didn’t think you meant it.

You smiled softly and closed your eyes. “No, really. This is helping. So thank you.”

His chin nestled in your hair as he got comfortable. “Whatever, I’m glad to help.”

Did he sound embarrassed? You grinned bigger. “You’re the best boss ever. You’re like... my hero, my knight in shining sweatpants.”

He groaned. “Now you’re laying it a touch too thick. Be quiet now, I’m trying to sleep.”

You covered your mouth with your hand and laughed quietly. “Okay, okay, goodnight, Tom.”

He murmured a goodnight and pulled you in further, his legs wrapped around yours, practically hugging you like you’re a body pillow. It’s nice. Really really nice.

You smiled again and leaned into the hug.

Okay, maybe you do kinda like him.

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

[𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 - 𝟸𝚔 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗! ]

I've gotten a little unexpected free time. Most of you that follow me (and paid attention) know I was working full time, I didn't have much time for myself let alone to work on my fics. I still have everything in my drafts, I don't plan on abandoning those if I can help it. But, I'd like to get back into the swing of things. I want to find some inspiration for writing fics again. I have a list of SMUT prompts below and am willing to take on a few extra requests to refresh my mind.

While I mostly currently write for the characters of ATJ, I am not opposed to writing about others. You can always find out who I will write for and who I won't with a simple ask or dm. Underage people are asked to not interact with my blog. You will be blocked. I do write and am willing to write, kink-heavy and darkfic themes. You can find my ATJ masterlist here.

↳ The credit for the prompt list goes to @delusionisaplace 

"I want to hear you beg."

"Arch your back for me."

"You look better with my hands around your neck."

"Swallow it. All of it."

"God, you feel so fucking good."

"Suck on it."

"You're so fucking hot."

"Open your legs for me, baby. I wanna see you."

"Don't hold back."

“Ah, fuck.”

"That noise...keep making it."

"Wrap your legs around my waist."

"Let's make this quick."

"Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me."

"You're mine."

"Such a good little slut, aren't you?"

“Faster—ah shit—harder…”

"I wanna go again."

“I want you. I need you.”

“Huh…uh…keep going.”

“Wait—uh—do…do that again.”

"Mark me. Mark me so everyone knows who I belong to."

"Don't be gentle with me—I like it when you're rough."

"One more time! Please!"

"Fuck—uh! I love it when you touch me like that."

[astermath]

take a break.

pairing: dave lizewski x fem!reader

summary: dave has been overdoing the kickass activities, and you’re worried every other night could be his last. he tries to comfort you and tell you he’ll be okay. you’re not sure you believe him.

word count: 1.1K

tags: established relationship, mentions of injuries, dave being a sweetheart and loving his gf more than anything ofc, college au, regular font below!

“You’re such an idiot, Dave.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You sigh deeply. This is the third time in two weeks he’s come to your dorm window, badly hurt, asking for help.

And of course you help him. He’s your boyfriend, yes, but sometimes you get so upset at him always getting hurt that you want him to just learn a lesson already.

But he never does. So you keep helping him.

You love him. Like a painful amount, almost. You’d been together since high school, back when you found out about his vigilante persona. Now you’re in college together, and though you support his activities and what he stands for, you’re scared it could all go very south very quickly. It seems like any time he goes out to fight these days could be his last.

He winces when you clean the cut on his cheek with some antiseptic. Normally, you’d apologise, saying you just want to help. But you’re quiet. You feel troubled, and Dave can tell.

He feels more conflicted than ever. He’s feeling like he has to choose; between his principles, what he stands for, and the love of his life, his favourite girl. And that’s just something he can’t do.

Because he know he’ll choose you. And he’ll spend the rest of his life feeling regretful over the people he didn’t save.

“You’re mad, right?”

“No shit.”

“Right.” He pauses for a second. “Sorry.”

“Just—“ you hold out your hands and sigh deeply. “Stop apologising.”

“But,” he sits up straighter suddenly, “alright.” He bites back the urge to say sorry again.

Now you feel bad for being mad. Because you decided to keep being his girlfriend, even though you knew about his endeavours. You knew of the risks, of everything he stood for, and you accepted it. Because you love him. So, so much. You even took on being his personal nurse, treating his injuries whenever he needed it. But lately it’s been too much for your poor heart to handle.

It’s one thing to know your boyfriend is out there fighting dangerous criminals at night.

It’s another to see him in the aftermath of it, on the brink of consciousness at your window.

“You know I wouldn’t ask you to stop.” Your words make him look back up, searching for your eyes even though you’re avoiding his gaze. His heart aches for it, the way you look at him. But he can tell by how shaky your voice is that you’re already on the brink of crying.

“I know.” He responds. He’s quiet, he doesn’t want to make you feel like you have to say anything.

“It’s just— Dave, this is… This is a lot. You’ve been overdoing it.” You finally look up, and though he’s happy to see your pretty face, his heart breaks at the sight of your teary eyes. Of course he’s seen you cry before, hell, pretty much every time you watch a movie together you cry. But now it’s because of him. And he doesn’t know what to do this time.

“It’s just— crime’s been ramping up lately, baby. And someone has to do something about it.” He knows what you’re about to say. That it’s not his responsibility, at least not alone. That he shouldn’t feel like it’s his sole duty to keep people safe. And you know that he knows you’re going to say that. So you keep quiet.

“But why does it have to be you?” Your voice sounds shaky, like it’s going to break if you talk too loud.

“Because, if not me, then who else? I mean seriously, I can’t just have you out there in a world this dangerous. What if something happens to you?”

“How do you think I feel? What if something happens to you, Dave? Then what? What if I lose the person closest to me because he’s too stubborn to take a break?”

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. Because he knows you’re right. You’ve been in the right from the start, his sense of purpose is just too connected to his persona. To Kickass.

“I’m sorry,” he reaches out for your hands, and you don’t pull away this time. They’re rough, calloused, but you’ve grown so accustomed to them. They’re warm, big, familiar. They’re Dave.

To his surprise, you lean into him, your head resting against his chest. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you, his hand running up and down your spine in an attempt to soothe you. You’re tired too. Not only are you basically his personal nurse, but you’re also a full time college student. Dave is too. And he’d be failing if it wasn’t for you taking extra notes for him.

“I don’t know how much more Kickass my heart can take right now…”

“I get that. Ill, uhm… I’ll take a break. I promise.”

“Are you sure?” You look up at him. You’re giving him those puppy eyes that he can’t resist, whether you’re trying to or not. Maybe he’s just that weak for you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll take you out on a date soon. A real date, like in those movies you like to watch.”

“Will you get me flowers too?”

“Don’t spoil your own surprise now.”

You giggle, and the sound of it nearly makes him forget about all his injuries.

The two of you sit quietly for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s embrace. Now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve been together like this. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, it gives you time to breathe, to think. To let everything sink in.

“You know I’d never ask you to quit being Kickass, but… One day, you’re gonna have to put it to rest baby.”

“I know.” he sighs. “I’m getting more used to being Dave though. Or— liking being Dave.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’ve been making that a lot easier.”

“Yeah. I mean Kickass is cool and all, really cool, but I prefer Dave.” You peck his lips, trying to pull away right after, but he doesn’t let you. He captures your lips once more, melting into the kiss and cradling your face gently.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” You smile against his lips.

“For liking Dave. He appreciates it.”

“Yeah, well… Tell him I don’t just like him, I love him.”

“He loves you too.” His face is graced by a love drunk smile. How can someone just be so lovely?

“And Kickass is alright too I guess.”

To that, he laughs, though it hurts his ribs a bit. He definitely bruised them, for sure.

Or maybe it’s the overwhelming love swelling in his chest.

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[etherealily]

ᵛⁱᶜᵉˢ ~ ᵃˡᵉˣᵉⁱ ᵛʳᵒⁿˢᵏʸ

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader.

My other Vronsky fics. If you have the time.

Warnings : Perversion (?) Ogling. ⚠ mentions of DV + Abuse. Please, DISCRETION.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: See him as he sees you.

•─────⋅☽⋅─────• •─────⋅ ✩ ⋅─────• •─────⋅☾ ⋅─────•

"It is a common fantasy these days, you know? I am lying in bed, and I turn to my side and I simply want to... how do I explain this? I want to...", you struggled, eyes dancing frantically around the dimly lit fireglow-filled room for the words.

"Go ahead. You may say whatever your heart desires."

"I want to see my nails elongate into claws and satisfyingly sink into his chest, so that I may... god, so that I may reach into the depths and rip out his black little heart.", you finally spat out, breathless from the struggle and the finality of your words. Your hand rested over your heart, imitating your description.

Alexei nearly pounced right there. He nearly reached over and yanked your palm off your left breast so that his may take its place. But he did not.

"And do what with it?", he inquired, as though he were asking your plans for the summer. As though he was not burning inside, engulfed utterly by tongues of depraved lust.

"Crush it."

He had to inconspicuously set his pillow onto his lap and cross one knee over another at that one.

"Would that make you feel better?"

You nodded. "Heaps."

"Good that you have not done that as of yet. I doubt you'd feel 'heaps' better in prison."

He couldn't help it. He was sick. A degenerate. He knew that. But you were so... you were... you- god, see, you've now got him struggling.

You were laid down across from him, your legs up on the wall and your head on the divan, arm cushioning it. A perfect 'L' shape. Perhaps to taunt him. Remind him 'L' stood for Lust. Loyalty, something he did not seem to possess.

Hair hung off the edge of the divan, enticing and inviting. Synonyms? Yes. Those two were synonyms of each other. They were also synonyms for you, yourself. You were those things, through and through. Driving him up the fucking wall, you were.

It certainly didn't help that you absentmindedly played around with your feet, them moving to a rhythm your mind had privately conjured up, against the wall that they were so elegantly propped up against, your legs opening, closing, spreading, closing — god, depravity was the sweetest torture.

Was he a bad human being for readily supplying (and just plying) you with alcohol so that you would associate him with freedom of thoughts? Perhaps. But he liked listening to you, watching you, being as good a source of comfort as one such as him could possibly be.

God, yes, he felt like an alienist, listening to your problems.

But you giggled when you were drunk, opened up your beautiful soul to him. And, yes- fine, he might get a bit of a peek down your top out of it, sure.

"You know what I've always wondered?"

Why stars flicker at times? What it would feel like to have wings? How steam engines work? It was always a different thing with you, always leaving him enraptured. "What's that, dear?"

"Is he not your best friend? Did you not save his life in the army? Why do you open your doors for me? Let me in? Let me talk ill of him but then still keep mum about it in his presence?"

Because I love you and it is tearing my soul into more pieces than there are flickering stars in the night sky.

"I just think you need a reprieve. A source of comfort."

He leaned over, his lips lilting into a soft smile. "More?"

You nodded offhandedly, eyes closing as you listened to the tinkly sounds of cascading liquid. "I worry for you. You know I do."

Once more, you nodded. "I do. And I am grateful for it."

"No need. I am simply doing my duty as your friend."

The word scorched his tongue.

However, the vodka scorched yours, and him being able to watch such a beautiful scene made the rest of the world bearable.

"Is he not also your friend?"

"It is an odd predicament I find myself in, yes. But I think it is wrong, what he does to you."

"You think being disloyal to me is wrong?"

Raise of an arched brow. "You do not?"

"I think it is evil. 'Wrong' is an understatement."

"Apologies.", he murmured, adjusting the top buttons of his coat, eyes fastened desperately to the firelight. "Evil."

"It makes me laugh, sometimes. You apologise for everything, he apologises for nothing. What he lacks in kindness, you make up for. But what you lack in responsibility, he makes up for."

He snorted, taking a burning sip, fireballs sliding down his throat. "I am irresponsible, now, am I?"

"Say what you will about him, but he will never let me down in public."

"No, he only does that privately. In your own home. In your own bedchambers."

You gazed at him for a moment, before shifting slightly. "Turn around."

He turned away from you, allowing you to bring your legs down and back to appealing gravity, adjusting your clothes, before you cleared your throat — an indicator that he may look once more. As though he'd not pictured everything and had such a vivid mental image that it was almost tangible, true fact that that was how you looked underneath your layers.

"And you, Alexei?", you drawled, reaching forward to pick up the glass he'd so reverently refilled for you before leaning back, tilting your head. "How is it you are not married and beating up your wife or being unfaithful to her?"

"I've been too young for marriage so far. My mother, however, has started the search, this season."

"I am younger than you, Alexei, and I have been married for two years."

"It is different for women, you know that."

"Yes, why is that?"

"You do not want me to get into that. Not truly."

"I suppose not."

He sighed. You looked so utterly gone, and it wasn't the liquor. No, you were so good at handling your alcohol that you nearly - key word - nearly rivalled him. You looked spent. Tired. As though you'd lived ten decades though you'd just completed two.

"May I?", he asked, standing up and gesturing to the seat next to you after you reverted back to your wall-assaulting position after downing the glass.

You shrugged, looking at him upside-down as he sat. "It is your home."

He slumped down gracefully onto the seat, looking down at your flipped face. He smiled. "He is an imbecile."

"You're preaching to the choir there."

His fingers were oars on a smooth lake, the way they combed through your hair that dangled off the edge of his divan. His rings concealed and revealed, concealed and revealed as his hands moved, and he observed it all, almost mesmerized. Your hair. You.

You huffed, glaring at your hands. "The nails have not elongated into claws as of yet."

His laugh reverberated through the room, as loud as possible without alarming the servants, who might pry and then talk of another estate's Lady in his chambers at this odd hour of the night.

Gently, he took your hand in his, and brought it to his lips, a soft brush of them against each 'non-elongated' nail. "It will take time.", he murmured, the statement punctuated with a firm kiss to the back of your hand.

The issue was that you were used to his kisses.

Alexei's always that way, at least that was the common belief - an endearing, affectionate drunk.

Not a man who can handle his liquor far better than others and simply chooses to shower certain friends' wives with affection. No, of course not.

"I do not have time."

"I will buy you some."

"To kill him?"

"Kill him?"

"Did you not say you wished to, as well?"

"I said he will die and repent for what he did to you. I never said I wished to be the cause of his death."

At times, actually, he regretted saving your husband's life. Absolutely regretted it. And then he went and sat in the pews at church to repent for those thoughts. At home, they resurfaced. He stopped going.

Coveting another man's wife was a mortal sin.

Another man's wife being this alluring was a mortal boon.

You see his dilemma?

And hence, he gently placed your hand back down onto your stomach, leaning back once more, stroking at his mustache, then his jawline, then finally, restlessly scraping his nails against the armchair's armrest.

"Do you think they are right?", you asked.

"Pardon?"

"The preachers and all. That we are all born sinners?"

"Perhaps."

"Then what is the point of attempting not to sin, if our mere existence is sin, anyway?"

"The point is that you go to church and keep them all employed. That's true with nearly every religion on the planet."

Silence.

"You should preach."

"Should I, now? I'm afraid you'd be the only attendee."

"'Least you'd have one. Your sermons will most likely involve copious amounts of the sacramental wine."

He nodded. "Cannot argue with that."

A beat. This would be the end of him, if you were offended.

"Would you show them to me? The bruises?"

You shifted to look up at him upside-down, before shaking your head, playing with the obnoxiously lovely ring on your left hand. "They are not in places I can reveal to you."

He nearly screamed.

"I see."

"Oh, no, no, nowhere scandalous. Just...", you muttered, gesturing at the space a thumb's breadth away from the underside of your chest - your rib, essentially - and the curve of your spine as you arched it to demonstrate. Not to blaspheme, but Jesus.

"Do they still smart?"

"Slightly."

"He does love you, you know? He just... he is just a different person after that day on the front lines. You had the misfortune of marrying him two weeks after it." He said it more for himself than you, and he knew for a fact that he didn't believe it himself. So why would you?

"He told you that, did he?"

"I can see it."

"I cannot, and I live with him."

He inhaled deeply, his hand coming back to stroke your hair - and, slyly, your cheek, too - as he bit the inside of his lip till it probably split open in two. "You come here and you don't even cry. The first time you had come, I thought that would happen. That you would cry. You just drink and act as though you are telling me of a story you have written."

"Yes, it does seem that way, does it not?"

"Do you know what it is? That numbness you are feeling?"

"Do you?"

"I think I might have an inkling. I think you are numb because you are looking for a way out." Enter Vronsky.

"Like murder."

He smiled fondly, shaking his head. "You would not murder him."

"You know me too well. I wish I could."

"Yes, I know you wish you could. But you won't. Your way out is not murder."

"What is it?"

"Finding refuge."

"Refuge? Go home to my parents' estate?"

"In the arms of another."

"Infidelity for men is brushed under the carpet. Infidelity for women is equivalent to me staring down the barrel of a gun."

See, this was true. But he was an opportunist, a sick, sick, opportunist, who maybe, also, perhaps was not, seeing as he adored you, to an extent you wouldn't be able to conceive of. Perhaps this was him truly offering you a way out, not offering himself a way in.

Perhaps.

"That is true, yes, but you must understand that being deprived of love, it is... well, honestly, it is not particularly—"

"It is late. The maidservants will be up in a few hours, I must make it back to my estate."

"I apologise.", he muttered, standing up as you did, too. "Did I offend?"

"Not at all."

"I feel as though I have."

"You feel too much, Alexei."

It was almost as though you knew.

•─────⋅☽⋅─────• •─────⋅ ✩ ⋅─────• •─────⋅☾ ⋅─────•

The following month went by with no visits from you, simply the occasional meeting of eyes across a ballroom, or the subtle raising of a glass in greeting. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then, the month after that. No more visits. He'd resorted to being in a perpetually inebriated stupor at that point.

The third month, however, when he had started giving up hope. That was when he heard the familiar knock on his door. You'd snuck in again.

"Come in.", he called, because he could not trust himself to say your name.

"I brought my own this time. Congratulations."

"On what, exactly?", he laughed, accepting your brandy.

"Your engagement."

"Oh. That. It isn't a real engagement, so I would not particularly drink to it."

You tilted your head, nodding gratefully as he gestured for you to sit.

"It is to encourage the families who are holding out on the alliance deals to buck up and make a better offer.", he clarified, uncorking it with a familiar, satisfying pop that had you both giggling toothily.

You gasped softly, in amusement. "If you are as good a husband as you are a businessman, your wife will be most fortunate."

"That she will be.", he grinned, the room silent as he filled two cups.

"None for me, thanks." Oh, no. That was all he had to offer you.

"You are not...?", he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at your stomach. He would retch and moan and break down if that were the case, as it most definitely would not be his. He'd barely even seen your knees, let alone anything else.

"With child? Please. No. I think I am letting the world pass me by, by drinking."

"How's that?", he asked, letting out a subtle breath of relief as he finally stretched his legs out onto the seat of the divan next to you, tilting his glass in your direction.

"Days blur together. I am barely conscious when they don't. I have a very limited amount of time on Earth- oh, don't look at me like that, Alexei, simply because I've chosen not to be slave to my vices."

He couldn't hide the fit of laughter after you'd noticed its blossoming. "I'm sorry, my Lady, I really am, but it's simply— oh, you've delighted me today, and things rarely do. I must congratulate you.", he snickered, holding out his hand - that you kicked away.

"Oh, don't be like that, come on.", he chuckled.

"You laugh now, Alexei, but soon enough, you'll be drunk and sixty, wondering where it all went wrong."

"I know very well where it all went wrong, but I will not tell you unless you drink with me, but since you are on a spiritual path of redemption...", he drew out, teasingly.

"I do not care enough to drink just to hear your silly life story, Alexei.", you retorted, laughing under your breath.

"Is that right?", he mused, fist under his chin as he gazed at you.

"Quite so."

He bit his lip, his eyes narrowing subtly at you before he shrugged, his grin never quite fading. "Suit yourself. So. How is life over these past three months of you avoiding me as though I suffer from the Black Death?"

"Oh, hush, you could not have missed me that much. I have been contemplating. Quite a bit."

"On ways to murder your beloved? Do tell."

"No, on ways to work on my marriage. If I am to live with this man for the rest of my days—"

"Not if you murder him.", he interjected, ducking as you tossed one of his own pillows at him.

"May I finish? Or will you continue using words from my past drunk state against me?"

"You may continue, my dearest, darling-est — that is not a word, is it a word?"

"What I was saying is that I think I must make this work. I wish to be happy, Alexei, you understand?"

"And you think he can do that? With what? A few words of sense thrown into his head, going in one ear and out the other?", he scoffed, downing his glass. "Delusion becomes you, my dear Lady."

"Why must you be so pessimistic, Vronsky? Does it amuse you?"

His fingers rapped on his armchair, and he fought the urge to sink his nails into it. The servants complained of a feral animal getting into the house far too often for him to afford another 'attack' that was truly just his own nails taking out his emotions on his chair. The emotions that came whenever he thought of you. "Follow me."

"Where?"

"My bedchambers. I have to show you something."

"Are these not your bedchambers?"

"No. These are my faux-chambers, I would say. I do not like allowing too many people into the most private aspects of my life. I let them imagine they have come this far. But my real chambers...", he began, grinning slyly as he leaned over to pull back a tapestry. "Are here. My Lady." He extended his hand for you to take.

You followed him, allowing him to lead you in front of him. Your eyes shimmered with blues and golds and the occassional silver. "So this is Alexei Vronsky's reality."

"It is. Does it please you?", he asked, as softly as one could muster in the tipsy state he seemed to perpetually be in lately. His chin treaded the dangerous line between resting on your shoulder and hovering above it as he tilted it to watch your eyes reflect the surroundings - what he went to sleep looking at every night.

"All your prized possessions are here, then?"

"Right here. In this room. Each and every one."

He was lucky that you had no pre-existing doubts about his intentions, or you would have picked up on that far too quickly.

"What is this?"

"An heirloom. Careful with that one, I broke it as a child and my mother constantly threatened to disown me during the one week we were scrambling to find a melder for it.", he informed, watching you gently place the chalice back at the top of his bookshelf.

"I do not want to face the wrath of your mother."

"Neither do I."

"And this? An heirloom?"

"Ah, uh, no, I bought that after a visit to Paris, where it was first exhibited.", he told you, biting the inside of his cheek. How is it you were drawn precisely to the objects in his room that he most often stood in front of, in the exact order as he himself did?

"What is it called? I have never seen it before."

"I do not know what it is called.", he admitted. "I like to call it a snow-globe."

"A snow-globe?"

"It looks like a snowstorm, does it not?"

"No."

"Well, that is because you are not indulging it in its true purpose. Give it a shake.'

"It is glass."

"Give it a shake. I promise, it will not break."

He watched your normally pensively somber eyes light up in childlike delight. "Oh, it does look like a snowstorm! Yes, snow-globe is apt, I think. You ought to get that patented."

"Snow-globe? I doubt it will catch on."

"You will regret it. I warn you.", you grinned, gently placing it back down with the proper etiquette that one must maintain when handling glass.

"I just might. And you get to come to my home — when I am sixty and in a drunken stupor — to gloat."

"I can and will."

"And I will be glad that you have come to visit."

You smiled at that, though he wasn't sure if that was out of pity or lack of something to say, and he was too excited by your movement to the grandfather clock by the window (his usual next stop if he were touring around his room) to care.

"Why are all these private?", you asked, your finger gliding over the edge of the clock. "I would think you'd want to have them in your faux-chambers. Impress your faux-friends."

"Why would I want that? I only have faux-chambers because I do not respect them enough to know the real me."

"And you respect me?"

Despite the disrespectful thoughts I have about you? "Absolutely."

"I'm honoured, Count Vronsky, I am."

You stopped talking, then, and his head snapped up, his eyes ripped away from the empty glass he was gripping. You'd found it.

"If you tell me you painted this—"

He moved closer, his chin this time fully on your shoulder as he gazed at the painting with you, his palms seamlessly finding their way to your shoulders. "I did. My first and only painting. Do you like it?"

"Hands that have created such art must not be forced to paint with only red forever." This again. If he didn't know better, he'd say you were worried for his safety upon his return to his post in the military.

"What else would you have me do? Hm?", he murmured, gripping tighter onto your shoulders to stop his lips from placing themselves onto your cheek. "I am an army officer, my Lady. Unlike your husband, however, I do not bring my work home. So I can create things like this."

"Things like this? Listen, I know the artist, and he would not like you calling it that."

He laughed softly. "The artist, I think, would say you are patronising his art too much."

"The artist is an idiot. It is... I can almost taste the wine in that glass, and I can almost feel the silk of that gown. I think, in fact, I own a gown similar to that. And the flickering stars in her hair, the contrast of those to that gown, it is almost... it is right there, tangible, even."

"You would purchase this?"

"I would purchase it a hundred times over. In installments at full price for each square inch of it."

"Draining your husband's fortune is also a slower, satisfying form of murder."

You laughed softly, and he rubbed his thumbs over your shoulders. "Tell you what. In a week, it is your birthday. I shall send this to you."

Turning your head half-way, you parted your lips. "Oh, no, I couldn't—"

"You said it yourself, the gown looks similar to yours. It may as well be a painting of you. The flickering stars — haven't you also asked me why stars flicker? And you did, at one point, drink wine, did you not? Before you were enlightened to how any wine that was not converted by our Saviour from water is a vice?"

'It may as well be a painting of you.' Speculating over his own painting being of the subject of his daydreams in conversation with the subject of his daydreams was the most audacious thing he had ever done. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't fighting a smirk.

"This is beautiful, Vronsky, it belongs with the rest of your beautiful things."

"I agree that it is beautiful. So it belongs with you. The most beautiful thing."

Perhaps the brandy was far too strong.

"You are bold, Vronsky."

"Bold?", he snorted. "I'm not bold. Bold would be if I—", he scoffed, cutting himself off before finally bringing his lips to your collarbone. "This is bold."

"Alexei—!"

"This, my dear, is bold.", he murmured, his hands descending from your shoulders to your waist, tugging you closer against him. "You realize impropriety is me doing this when you are even the slightest bit inebriated, however, here you stand, three months sober, not a drop of liquor in that fascinating blood of yours. I am nothing if not a gentleman."

"A gentleman.", you scoffed.

Swiftly, he turned you around, jaw clenched in seriousness as he held your face to ensure you were looking at nothing but him. "Yes. A gentleman. I have been your source of respite from the coldness your husband presents you with every day, have I not? Why can your respite not bring you warmth, to counter the harsh bite of cold?"

"I cannot stoop down to his level, Vronsky, I simply cannot."

"So he must have all the fun. The comfort. The mirth. You do not deserve an ounce, is that what you are meaning to say? I do not agree. In fact, I vehemently, aggressively disagree.", he declared, your hair being pushed behind your diamond-clad ear by his adept fingers, before a kiss was placed on your forehead by his even-more adept lips.

"Yield, darling, please. Yield, and I will give you everything you deserve and more."

Your breaths mingled, and he was certain he had you.

"Yes?", he asked, his voice quieter than a pebble thrown into a snowstorm. "Say yes."

"Alexei, I cannot."

"It is one syllable."

"I cannot, in good faith."

"Right, because he has been both good and faithful?", he scoffed, biting the inside of his cheek in hopes that he could bleed the pain away.

"Alexei, I—"

"I have been there for you, through it all. I saved his life, and, if you wish me to be truthful and candid with you, I wish I had not. For, perhaps, in the wake of his demise, you would have been mine. Or at least not have to endure a marriage that is killing you on the inside."

"I am grateful for you, Alexei, but it is not something women may do and simply... live with."

His patience slipped from his hold, right then, and he crashed his lips against yours, desperation and pain and love amalgamating right there between the two of you, stars colliding.

And you did not pull away. And that is when he knew.

•─────⋅☽⋅─────• •─────⋅ ✩ ⋅─────• •─────⋅☾ ⋅─────•

His fingers softly traced his name onto your back, in sloping, carefree cursive. And you moved closer.

Hair shared by the Lady in his portrait and the Lady in his bed flowed through the fingers in his other hand, and he rested his chin on your head, your face in his bare chest.

Sighing as his eyes caught onto the glistening diamond ring that did not rest callously on the floor or on his bedside, but on your finger, as it had always been, he shifted, oblivious to the prospect of that possibly waking you.

"It is earlier than you think.", he assured, reluctantly allowing you to untangle from him and sit up, his sheets covering you - held up by one of your delicate hands - making you a vision in his eyes. "They will not be looking for you."

"They are always looking for me."

"As am I. Would you return to me, please? I was quite enjoying that position. I could see all of you, in your glorious entirety."

"You flatter me too much.", you groaned, running a hand through your hair, subconsciously (to his joy) following the same path he had moments ago, before flopping back down, his arm acting as your pillow.

"I think I flatter you an adequate, acceptable amount. The painting may have been a bit much. However, no regrets."

"So that was my gown."

"With the flickering stars you like pondering about."

"You notice far too much."

"You are far too noticeable."

"Do not back-talk me."

"Do not talk at all, then.", he murmured, eyes not leaving yours as he kissed up your wrist.

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring at the door as though your husband would somehow come calling and then be led not to the drawing room, but to his chambers and then identify the tapestry to be a marker of a secret entrance, then storm in, furious. It was truly amusing, how your mind worked. He'd gladly spend the rest of his existence working it out.

"Stay. Please. Or do you mean to tell me I will never have you again?"

You sighed, turning from him to face his wonderfully elegant ceiling, and he continued kissing up your arm, now. "You are my morning daydreams, you haunt my afternoon fantasies and you are the backbone of my nightmares, and yet, I love you. I love you so much, it consumes me."

"Alexei, please, just stay in the moment."

"Ah, but I cannot, can I? For this moment is fleeting. And so was the previous, and the one before that, and every moment since I first laid eyes on you.", he murmured, his kisses at your shoulder now, and far more languid than before. "Love is an ocean, you realise, my Lady, it engulfs me, drowns me, not a single cell in my body isn't drenched in you."

"Your words are beautiful but—"

"Are they not enough? Would you like ten more portraits? A hundred more?"

"Alexei, listen. I am so grateful for you."

"Do not- I am not your friend, you know this.", he muttered, his eyes closed and head shaking as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, I know.", you assured, nodding against his forehead.

"Stay here.", he whispered, kissing your cheek before this time hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "For a while longer."

"I will."

That would have to do, for now.

"I could protect you, you know?"

"From what? My own husband? Come off it, Alexei."

"You do not think I can? I am his best friend, I could—"

"It is not about your ability to, it is about the ethics of it. What's transpired between us is unethical."

"Yes, but...", he sighed, eyes closed as he pressed kiss after kiss to your palm. "I love you. Could you at least pretend that you reciprocate?"

How could he expect that of you? It was dangerous. Misguided.

"Please? How could it not be clear that my love is pure? I am not an opportunist, if that—"

"I never called you one. You are the purest soul I know."

Alright, even he would not go that far, but he would not be quick to correct you.

"Listen, I am so, truly grateful for you, you have helped me... immensely."

"I do not want to help you. I want to save you." A kiss to your jaw. "I want to protect you." A kiss down your neck. "I want to shield you." A kiss to your abdomen. "I want you."

"Hey, Alexei.", you muttered, gently tugging him back up. "I know, I know."

"Do you? For you seem intent on rejecting the offer of more."

"More? Alexei, this is immeasurably unsustainable. You know this."

"Ethics, you said.", he murmured, his hand absentmindedly dancing up your spine once more, before he sharply jerked you under him, the corners of his lips tilting up at your surprised laugh. "What shall I do with you, hm? My unethical beauty."

"What shall you do with me?", you asked, frowning.

"Well, I cannot, in good faith, as an army officer, allow you to exist in your siren-like, beguiling state.", he mused, shaking his head. "No, that simply will not do. You are a national threat, my love."

You smiled and he preened.

"Do you remember the first time we met?", he asked, after a resigned sigh he let out as he rolled onto his back, bringing you on top of him. "We had just returned from the military. Everyone from our regiment poured out of the train and my eyes caught sight of you amidst the chaos, a vision, an angel crafted to be the subject of my sole devotion, and I was deluded enough to, for a fleeting moment, believe you were there for me. Me. I scoff now, but it was so tangible, that thought. But, of course, you did not know me, and I had only heard of you in passing, from your husband. So I watched you run into his arms, I watched him kiss your cheek and your nose and your lips. And then he introduced you to me and I could do nothing but reign in my giddiness when you said my name, shook my hand and smiled at me."

"That is... that is beautiful, Alexei."

"But once again, it is not enough."

"What would you have me do, Alexei? Hm? Truly? Run away with you? With what faith? In our money? Finite. In our..."

"Love. You can say it, it will not burn you.", he soothed, his lips on your temple as though they belonged there.

"Either way, I cannot simply run away."

"I'm asking you to run to me every time that poor, sorry excuse of a husband of yours puts his hands on you or another woman. Will you?"

"I-", you sighed. How were you supposed to promise that?

"I will catch your eye in the next ballroom, the next garden party, anywhere. And if you look away, I will know."

"Know what?"

"That the word you are so terrified to utter from those angelic lips is sitting on your tongue."

•─────⋅☽⋅─────• •─────⋅ ✩ ⋅─────• •─────⋅☾ ⋅─────•

A napkin? A napkin.

A napkin around your champagne glass for spillages, you see.

However, you have never been given one of those. Of course, anyone could be clumsy on their worst days - at times, on their best days - but no one else had been given one.

It was only after you'd finished your glass of champagne that you actually took a moment and opened up the napkin.

'Library is two doors to your left after you reach the main hallway. V.'

You didn't frown. You weren't stupid.

Folding the napkin up, you snuck away as elegantly as you could without garnering suspicion, shaking your head as you did. You were about to strangle that Vronsky, absolutely—

You'd have screamed at the abrupt dragging of your arm had you not seen the flash of his vividly dazzling eyes paired with the shimmering gold of his hair before he'd clamped his hand over your mouth.

"You stick out at this tedious lullaby of a party like a dazzling symphony, my dear.", he breathed out by your ear, before he shut the door to the library.

"You are playing a dangerous game. Dangerous. Signing your initials?"

"'V' hardly tells anyone anything, and you look far too radiant for me not to take this opportunity— well, look at that. Perhaps I am an opportunist.", he remarked, before his hand picked gently at the pearls resting on your neck. "You know I told him to buy you these. He was ready to come back home from his duty with no present for his new bride, and I told him that was not right."

"You did not even know me."

"But I already cared far more for you than him, even without any knowledge on the beauty that is— these earrings were my gift, were they not?", he inquired, flicking your diamond earring and watching it swing subtly.

"I do not know, they were a wedding gift, that is all I know."

"I snuck it in there.", he shrugged, grinning in a manner that was equal parts coy and cheeky. "They look magnificent."

He was extremely good at pretending. He knew that. He could greet your husband with the sweetest show of camaraderie on the planet, the firmest, friendliest handshake, and then later that same night, that same hand would snake down his sheets in recollection of you, by your husband's side.

Now, you were also good at pretending. Pretending that you were not both contemplating suicide and murder. Not tonight, however. And (un)fortunately for you, he picked up on it.

"You are not alright."

"No, I am not."

"Has something happened?", he muttered, eyes fixed on you as his hand reached back to gently ensure that the door was shut, before crossing his arms.

You shook your head, looking down at the floor.

"Yes? What is it?" He's not deluded. He didn't think for a second some sort of romantic confession would slip out of those honeyed lips of yours. However, he was sure that whatever was going to happen next would change his world.

"I cannot... standing next to him is a difficult feat for me, I... I feel as though I cannot breathe. I know every woman in the ballroom that he has laid his hands on. I know every single word, I know-", you struggled, and he sat by you on the desk, arms over your shoulder as he buried you into his chest. He was to comfort you, not indulge his mind in its torrid and tawdry fantasies, but you were there, and he could do so much more than kiss your fingers and your hands.

He could save you.

"Look at me, my dear."

You shook your head, and he sighed, gently gripping your jaw as one would hold a newborn baby bird, before directing it to look into his impaling, intense eyes, full of the most genuine fake concern one could possess.

"I am going to kiss you now. I am going to kiss you now. And you are going to kiss me back, my dear, you hear me?"

You shook your head, but his thumb curved over your cupid's bow as he tilted his head. "Do you hear me?", he asked, stern and mildly terrifying. "Nod if you do."

You nodded.

"Good. Good.", he murmured, his nose battling against yours in a completely one-sided fight. "You should've married me.", he whispered, his tongue tracing the seam between your lips but not urging you to open up. "You should've chosen me."

"It wasn't a choice. I never knew you. You never even offere--"

"I mean subconsciously, and you know it. Subconsciously."

His fingers crept from your jaw down to your neck, his name traced along your collarbone, rubbing softly above your decolletage. "No. This is wrong.", he muttered, inhaling deeply. "No. You will kiss me. Of your own accord. I will not take advantage.", he declared, defiantly.

Silence brewed, broken momentarily by the tapping of his foot and the slight tinkles of you playing with your rings.

"Will you not?"

"I do not regret that night, Alexei. Far from it. But I cannot repeat it. There is far more than momentary joy at stake."

"I am an army officer. If you think I do not have the dexterity to keep this a secret, you are sorely mistaken.", he all but whispered, lifting your palms to either side of his face. "Simply kiss me. And you will see."

Gingerly, you moved your fingers to his jawline, and he allowed himself to be pulled closer, feigning annoyance when your eyes flicked to the door every once in a while. "Are you preparing to run?"

"I am preparing to do the single most foolish thing of my entire existence."

"I would think that would be marrying him."

"You would think that."

He scoffed. You were an endearing little enigma, that was for sure.

His lips reintroduced themselves to your neck, your throat, your chest, your abdomen, until he was on his knees before you in the middle of a library.

"Alexei, stand up."

"I do not think I can.", he mumbled, his temple resting on your knees as he clung to you in stubborn, barely contained wrath. "I cannot go back out into that depraved mundanity and watch his arm tighten around your waist as though he has any claim over you."

"He is my husband."

"By law! By name!" He stood up quite quickly at that, standing between your legs as he held your face in his rage-filled, trembling hands. "Not by action! Not by love. I love you, I love you! I love you!", he cried, firmly pressing your foreheads together as he attempted to remove all the strands of your hair from between you two. "And you love me. I understand why you won't say it, but you are saying it, in every way but vocally. The hesitance, the concern. Your eyes — god, your eyes, my love, they flicker like your stars everywhere else, but with me, they are firm, the light of a candle or the light of the sun on a hot summer's day."

You stared at each other, for a while, allowing Vronsky to catch his breath and you to catch your thoughts from going away from you.

"You do not believe that if we were to run away, I have the skills to provide for us?"

A smirk.

You groaned, rubbing your temple as you laughed under your breath. "Not this again."

"No, I'm an army officer, for one, and I am classified as an able-bodied-young-man, which, correct me if I'm wrong, is quite useful when looking for odd jobs in small towns."

"I am not running away with you."

He tilted his head, nodding as he stroked the spine of a nearby book with a single finger, rubbing the dust off with his thumb, before placing it back down. "I know.", he grinned, before kissing your nose, of all places. "However, now you will spend the rest of the night wondering what odd jobs you will be able to take up in this little nomad fantasy life of ours."

Oh, this absolute bloody—

"Have a good evening, my Lady. I will be right there, across the room, watching only you, if you need me. I think you could quite excel at milking goats or cows—", he managed to call, guffawing through the corridors as the book next to you was hurled in his direction, only managing to thwack onto the door — that he closed in record speed.

Scoffing, you replaced the book before you crept out the library door.

Your thoughts (and eyes), naturally, kept wandering back to him, across the ballroom.

'Seamstress?', he mouthed, raising a brow in mock curiosity.

It was annoying, how well he knew you.

Note to self : do not fall in love with a best friend who knows exactly which buttons to push, and who knows exactly when you will enjoy those buttons being pushed.

With Alexei, it seemed he crafted those moments, effortlessly.

Seamstress. Hm.

It managed to fulfill Alexei's sole objective of getting your mind off the reality of the arm around your waist, leaving indents, and on to something absolutely fantastically unrealistic.

Which, at the end of the day, had always been his aim.

Save you. Protect you. Shield you. You.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Do you think Dave's glasses would fog up when he goes down on Reader because he forgot to take them off because he was so needy?This would be College Dave, of course.

his glasses would 100% fog up! here is a little something for you 😌 college!dave lizewski x fem!reader

mature content warning

~ * ~

Your legs are resting on Dave's shoulders. They're crossed behind his nape as your hands fist in his hair. You pull at his brown curls, moaning uncontrollably. Shit, you're so lost in pleasure you can barely think.

He's been going down on you for almost an hour now, his tongue slipping in and out, sucking and teasing your slick folds like you're his last meal. You arch your back from the messy sheets, groaning his name for the thousandth time as he sucks on your clit.

"Dave," you whine, your voice rushed and strained. "David," you try and warn him, your thighs tightening around his head but he only pulls you closer, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he does so. You gasp, feeling your third orgasm of the evening quickly approaching.

"Fuckin' need you," Dave mumbles into your pussy, his mouth movements becoming even more needy as he speaks. "Mmh. Can I make you come, baby?" He asks for permission even when he is technically the one in charge.

His attentions returns to your clit with precision and you groan, coming again as he laps up your juices happily. Dave is in heaven. He licks his lips, shifting so he can lift himself up a little and look at you.

Your vision is blurry and your chest is heaving from your high. Your eyes stay lidded when you look at him, your cheeks burning.

He looks so needy.

Dave's hair is a mess from your fingers in his curls, his lips are slick with spit and cum and his glasses, which he hadn't taken off, slip down his nose only slightly, the lenses fogged up.

"Can you even see me?" you whisper with a weak smile, catching your breath.

Dave returns your smile with a lopsided one and shakes his head. "Don't need to," he decides confidently and lowers his head again, his warm breath already exciting your poor pussy. "Only need to taste you," he says with a groan and begins to gently hump the mattress to satisfy his own need as he presses sloppy kisses on your slit again.

You moan when he starts eating you out all over again.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏

🍓the strawberry shack masterlist🍓

summary - tangerine treats himself at the strawberry shack.

warning - smut, oral, gloryhole, swearing.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Tangerine had just finished a job and he felt good. He felt like he was walking on cloud 9 and he felt like he deserved a treat. A cigarette dangled loosely between his lips as he headed to the one place that he knew would give him just that. Tangerine smirked up at the glowing pink sign that read ‘The Strawberry Shack’. If he could, he’d spend all of his pay here, which wouldn’t be a stretch from what he seems to spend now. 

He took one last puff of his cigarette before flicking it onto the sidewalk and walked in, a giant grin on his face as he slapped down a wad of cash on the receptionist's desk. “Hello, Darlin’. Is my favourite girl in?” 

The woman hums, grabbing the money. “Of course she is, you can go right through. She’ll be happy to hear from you again, you’re one of her favourite customers.” She gives him a wink as she finishes her sentence.

Tangerine smirks, walking straight through the door and towards you. It wasn’t hard to find you, you had the prettiest set up out of all the women here. He stops in front of your hole, already unzipping his pants and tugging his hard cock out. “How’s my favourite cockslut doing?” 

You moan, leaning against the wall, already ready to take his cock in your mouth. “I’ve been good, Sir. I missed your cock though.” 

Tangerine grunts, sliding his cock through the hole and immediately into your mouth. “That’s a good girl. This is why you’re my favourite.” You hum around his cock, taking him deeper as your tongue swirls around it. Tangerine moans, resting his hand on the wall while the other reaches down and fondles his balls. 

Your head bobs back and forth, taking him deeper and lubricating his cock with your spit as you continue. You pull back, keeping his tip in your mouth as you pay special attention to it, you let out a small moan, enjoying how his cock twitches from the vibrations. You begin to suck and lick his tip, swiping your tongue against his slit before taking him all the way in again. 

“Fuck! Oh my fucking god! You always give me the best head, Love.” His hips thrust forward, enjoying the slurping sounds coming from your mouth as you suck him harder. He grunts, feeling his orgasm already approaching. “Fuck, Love. I’m going to cum.” 

You hum, bobbing your head faster as you suck him harder, wanting to taste him. 

Tangerine throws his head back as his hips stutter, his cock twitching like crazy as cum pours out of his tip, filling your mouth with thick loads. When he finishes, he groans and pulls his cock out of the hole, tucking it back into his pants. “Thank you, Love. You’re a fuckin’ dream.” 

You swallow his cum and then smile to yourself at his words. “Hopefully you won’t keep me waiting so long next time, Sir.” 

“Course not. Next time I’m planning on filling you up until you’re full and dripping, so be ready.” He bids his goodbyes and walks out of the building, the grin never leaving his face as he heads home.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[padsmoony04]

I'm UNWELL

Aaron Taylor Jonhson for the new Giorgio Armani fragrance 2024

[sweetprfct]

Please Please Please

Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected coffee accident turned your life upside down into a world full of glamour and flashing cameras everywhere you turned. You thought with Aaron by your side, it was going to be easy to navigate, but it turns out life in front of the flashing cameras isn't so effortless after all.

Author's Note: LOL! I've been meaning to upload this since Wednesday but I keep forgetting. Anyway, here's chapter three. wink wink ;) Enjoy!

Wordcount: 4.9K

Disclaimer: 18+, smut

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - chapter nine - chapter ten - chapter eleven - chapter twelve - epilogue

“Love was never a game to us. Here’s an end to living in corners existing day to day on–” 

You gasped for air as you fluttered your eyes open. The Los Angeles sun greeted you through your window. You looked up at your ceiling, catching your breath, while Aaron’s voice still echoed in your mind. Beads of sweat covered your forehead. 

Fucking Sara. 

Turning your head to your bedside table, you saw that it was almost noon. After your dinner last night with your friends, you and Sara decided to open up a bottle of champagne and watched some movies. You both already had a couple of drinks from the restaurant so by the time the champagne hit you both, you were already making bad decisions.

“Let’s see this new boyfriend of yours, shall we?” Sara teased, grabbing the remote. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You gritted your teeth.

She browsed through the movies and put on Anna Karenina. You fell asleep more than halfway through and not because you were bored. It was an interesting movie, but you were too tired and the amount of alcohol you have consumed didn’t help either. 

Although, it seemed like that didn’t stop Aaron’s character from slipping in your dreams.

Grabbing your phone from your bedside table, you saw a notification from Hannah. She texted you the address and time of the event and mentioned that she had dropped off your dress to Sara this morning. You let out a sigh as you ignored the text and opened Instagram. You mindlessly scrolled through your explore page and immediately paused when you saw a picture of Aaron. 

For a moment, you stared at it. You wondered if the mention of his name from last night’s dinner got your phone suggesting these posts now. You hovered your thumb over the picture for a second before actually tapping on it. It was a red carpet event and the photo was taken professionally. His hair was shorter than what he has now. His beard was nicely trimmed, and he was wearing a maroon colored suit. 

He looked… good. 

Hot.

Your mind replayed the events of yesterday from the coffee shop. His voice echoed in your mind again.

“Is this going to be our meeting place?”

Maybe you need to start looking for a new coffee shop to go to. 

You shook the thoughts out of your mind and exited the app. You couldn’t help but blame whatever system Apple did with their phones because ever since the mention of his name from last night’s dinner, he started appearing in your explore page. 

Your feet touched the cool wooden floors and led you out of your bedroom. You could hear some soft clattering from the kitchen and as you passed through the living room, you saw a black garment bag hanging on the back of the sofa. 

It must be the dress Hannah dropped off. 

“Good morning.” You murmured, opening one of the cabinets and grabbing yourself a mug. 

“Good morning. Hannah dropped off the dress this morning.” Sara said, taking a sip of her tea.

Your eyes shifted towards the garment bag that was on the sofa before paying attention to the coffee that you started brewing. In all honesty, you were dreading going to this party. You told yourself that you were going to show up for Hannah for just about an hour and then leave. 

It was a Saturday. You wanted to relax on your sofa and read a book instead.

“It’s tonight, right?” Sara asked when you didn’t say anything. 

“Yeah.” You sighed, pouring the hot coffee on your mug and stirred it with the creamer. 

“You look excited.” Sara chuckled at your bored expression. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad.”

You glanced up at her through your mug as you sipped your coffee. “Oh yeah? Do you want to come with me then?”

“Oh, no thanks.” Sara immediately said, holding up her hands. “I actually… um… I have plans tonight.”

“Oh?” A playful smile tugged on your lips as you leaned your hip against the kitchen counter. “Do tell.”

Sara rolled her eyes, and you could see that she was holding in her smile. She took a sip of her tea, her cheeks turning into a shade of pink. 

“Well, since you will probably come home late tonight…” Sara murmured. “I was going to ask if I can bring someone in here. We’re planning to have dinner and a movie.”

You were smiling so much, your cheeks were hurting. It has been a long time since Sara was interested in someone, and you were excited for her because with the way she was reacting right now, it seemed like this person was different. She never reacted like this before with her exes when they first started talking. 

“That’s fine by me.” You smirked. “Who is this person?”

You rested your elbows on the counter and rested your chin on your knuckles as you wiggled your eyebrows at her. You didn’t recognize who this Sara was in front of you, but she looked so adorable blushing like this. 

“It’s not something serious.” Sara explained. “Eli and I started talking lately, and we have been…well… flirting? But I don’t know yet. He’s one of the engineers in NASA.”

Sara shrugged, her face red as a tomato now. She took another sip of her tea. You watched her fingers tremble around her cup, while she continued to hide her face behind it. 

“Okay.” You grinned widely. “Well, I hope you and Eli have a great night. If you do decide to do something though, please don’t do it in the living room.” 

Your voice was in a teasing tone as you ducked your head from the incoming piece of toast that Sara chucked at you. 

“It’s not going to end that way!” She exclaimed. 

You laughed at her as she turned bright red and flipped her brunette hair over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen with her cup of tea. You continued to laugh softly as you drank your coffee.

“Wear something green!” You called out from the kitchen. “It makes your eyes pop!”

You hear the slam of her bedroom door from down the hall as you chuckled softly. Speaking of something to wear, your eyes shifted back to the sofa. Your smile slowly disappeared, your lips twisting to the side. Knowing Hannah, she probably had given you a dress that would look very provocative and would make you uncomfortable the whole night.

Setting your mug down on the counter, you walked towards the sofa and unzipped the garment bag. There, you saw a long black dress. It was simple. There was a plunging V neck and thin straps. You picked up the dress and stood in front of your long length mirror and saw the high slit. 

It didn’t look too bad. 

Honestly, you expected worse from Hannah. 

________

You sat in front of your vanity later that night, doing your makeup and curling your long hair into waves. You sat there for a moment and stared at yourself, letting out a deep breath. You mentally told yourself to just have fun and to stop dreading this party so much. You knew you felt like an outsider in these parties, but you have to keep your confidence intact. You need to at least try and have fun. 

Deciding that you were going to be different tonight, you chose a dark red lipstick and slipped off from your robe to put on the dress that was hanging in your closet. You stood in front of your mirror and couldn’t help but think that the slit of the dress made your legs look nice and long. Even the plunging V-neck was making the girls look good. 

Adding a simple necklace, you grabbed your clutch and car keys and  walked out of your bedroom. You sent Sara a text that the place was all hers before leaving the apartment building.

Arriving at the hotel that Hannah texted you the address to, the front of the building was filled with black cars. Drivers dropping off celebrities and influencers. Some were driving their own car and handing their keys to the valet. You found Hannah waiting for you just by the front doors. As soon as you handed your keys to the valet staff, you saw her long blonde hair in waves. She was wearing a sparkly baby blue long dress that perfectly fit with her curves. 

Hannah always looked stunning. Her makeup team always made sure she was perfect in every event and sometimes, you felt a little jealous with how perfect she always looked. Even when you two were just casually hanging out and grabbing dinner, she always looked beautiful.

Almost unreal. 

“Hi!” Hannah greeted you with a smile as soon as she saw you. 

She pulled you into a hug before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. She studied the dress that she gave you and shook her head, delight and approval sparking in her eyes.

“I knew that dress was going to be amazing on you.” Hannah said, locking her arms with yours. 

“You look stunning too, Hannah.” You smiled.

She led you inside the building, down the hall, and into one of the big ballrooms. The music was blasting and a crowd of people with different statuses in Hollywood were talking amongst each other. On the back corner, there was a backdrop with the movie’s title plastered on it. Influencers were taking photos and videos in front of it. 

Studying the room, you started to immediately fall out of place. 

“So, why did you invite me?” You asked Hannah as she led you towards the open bar. “I thought you’d bring your new boyfriend as your date.” 

Hannah ordered you an espresso martini—your favorite— and a mojito for her. 

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and handed you the drink. “That asshole is long gone.”

You took a long sip of your drink, letting the alcohol burn your throat and sending heat down your whole body.

“What happened? I thought you guys just started dating?”

“He was using me for fame.” Hannah scoffed. 

“Oh,” You bit your lower lip. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”

She waved her hand in front of her face and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He was an asshole anyway.”

“Yeah, but still–” 

“Anyway, what’s going on with you?” She cut you off, setting a hand on her hip.

You shrugged and drank your espresso martini. “Nothing new. Just working, you know?”

“You’re still working in that lab?” She scrunched her face. “Sweetie, you’re too pretty for that.”

“I like it.” You shrugged, finishing the rest of your drink and ordering another one.

Hannah shook her head and started talking about the movie. She was telling you about the struggles she faced on set with her co-stars, and in a few minutes, you had finished another drink. The more people entered the ballroom, the more uncomfortable you were, so you kept ordering more drinks to ease the feeling.

Hannah’s sentence was cut off when her attention was caught by a few people that were standing in the middle of the room. You didn’t even have the chance to see who it was before she grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the middle of the room. You looked around the room, apologizing to the other guests as you both made your way through the crowd. Your drink was still in your hand, and your fingers gripped on the glass tighter as you tried not to spill anything.

“Hannah.” You murmured, trying not to trip in your heels.

“Hi!” Hannah greeted the two older men and an older woman. 

They gave her a kiss on the cheek before Hannah pulled you close to her side and introduced you to them. You gave them an awkward, shy smile and shook their hands.

“They are the producers of the last movie I did.” Hannah told you.

“Are you an actress too, sweetheart?” The older woman, Elsie, asked.

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “I’m just accompanying Hannah for tonight. She’s the actress.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” One of the men, John, said, his eyes studying you intently. “With that pretty face, you would look good on camera.”

The corner of your lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile as you slipped your arm away from Hannah. The two men were disgustingly checking you out, and you didn’t want to be part of this conversation anymore.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all.” You said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the ladies room.”

You squeezed Hannah’s arm before you made your way through the crowd. Your feet were hurting from your heels, and you felt nothing but disgust from the way the two men were looking at you. If they were looking at you like that, you wonder if they did the same with Hannah when they first met her. A dark, deep pit formed in your stomach as you let your painful feet lead you out of the ballroom. 

Maybe you shouldn't have left Hannah alone with them.

The moment you exited the double doors, it felt like you could breathe again. You set your hand over your stomach, feeling the rise and fall of it. You walked down the hall and found the women’s lounge and immediately slipped yourself inside. The lounge was empty, and it had a little sofa in the corner. The music from the party had muffled through the doors, and it was just you and the silence of the room. You sat on the sofa and unbuckled the strap of your heels, letting your feet finally breathe. 

“Thank god.” You whispered, leaning back against the sofa. 

You laid your head against the back of it and closed your eyes. Your breathing had finally settled back to normal as you let the silence of the lounge enveloped you. After a few minutes, you heard the door open and your eyes immediately snapped open. You heard three girls giggling and stopped in front of you as you straightened your position from the sofa.

You swallowed the embarrassment that was washing over you as they stared at your bare feet. They didn’t say anything as they walked towards the bathroom stalls, but you could see the judgement in their eyes. They whispered something to each other that you could barely hear, but you didn’t have to hear what they were talking about because you knew it was about you. 

Slipping on your high heels, you quickly buckled the straps of your shoes and walked out of the lounge as fast as you could. Your heart was beating a thousand miles per hour when you felt one of your straps loosened from your feet. 

“Fuck.” You sighed and stopped in the middle of the hall. 

You leaned against the wall and went down on your knee to fix it, but the stupid thing wouldn’t buckle right. 

“This is why I don’t wear these.” You whispered to yourself, shaking your head. 

“Here, let me help, love.” 

His fingers gently took away the strap from you. You slowly gazed up and saw Aaron on his one knee in front of you. Suddenly, everything started spinning. Was it the alcohol? You weren’t even tipsy or drunk. It made you a bit braver, but your mind was still intact.

What the hell was he doing here?

You didn’t know if that was even a valid question because of course, he would be here. 

He was an actor! 

“Lift up for me, darling. I can’t see it with your dress in the way.” He said, his blue eyes catching yours. 

You slid your hand against the wall and stood back up, feeling his fingers gently grazed over the skin of your ankle. You held your breath, trying to balance yourself against the wall as he fixed the straps of your heels. You couldn’t even look down and watch him. Instead, you kept your eyes straight down the empty hall. 

What if someone catches you both here and thinks differently about it? There were photographers everywhere at this party.

“There,” He said, his hand wrapping around your ankle and squeezing it lightly. 

You stifled the gasp that was escaping from you. Your legs felt like jelly all of a sudden as he stood up back up and smiled at you. 

“Hi.” He said. 

“H…Hi.” Your voice trembled.

Now that you were looking at him better, he was in a black and white suit. He had a bowtie, and he had a haircut. He didn’t have long curly hair anymore. It was shorter, but his curls were still showing. A strand of it falling lightly on his forehead. 

Fuck this man. 

He looked even hotter now. 

“So,” A smirk was already tugging on his lips as he fixed his cufflinks. “Is it my turn to call you a stalker now that you’re in my world?”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t even want to be at this party.”

“No?” A line appeared between his brows, while he tilted his head slightly at you.

God, he was so hot tonight. 

What in the actual fuck? 

Was it the alcohol that was making you feel like this?

“All glamour and dressed up and making nice conversations with the big directors and producers?” Aaron said, sarcasm in his voice. “That doesn’t sound so appealing to you?”

You hummed softly, squinting your eyes at him. “Now that you said it that way, maybe I made a mistake.”

Aaron let out a soft laugh, looking down at his feet and slipping his left hand on his front pocket. A strand of curl fell on his forehead and somehow, all you wanted to do was touch it and rake your fingers through his hair. 

Oh. my. God.

You need to go the fuck home. Now.

“Were you in this movie?” Aaron asked, lifting his face to look at you again. “Because that’ll be a real asshole for me to not notice you on set.”

“No, my friend Hannah is in the movie. I’m just accompanying her.” 

“Hannah Adler?” 

You nodded your head as Aaron said. “Oh, I didn’t know you knew Hannah. She played my girlfriend in the movie.”

“Oh.” You played with your fingers.

Technically, you didn’t google the movie. You didn’t know who the cast were or what the movie was about. You just never had the time and besides, you were literally just hoping to come with Hannah for an hour and go home to your normal, boring life. You didn’t need to know anything about this world, and you didn’t plan to ever know anything about it. 

You could live without that idea.

However, Aaron mentioning the fact that Hannah played his girlfriend in the movie got your stomach twisting in knots. You didn’t understand why you were feeling like this. 

Aaron looked over his shoulder to where the party was before looking back at you. An idea glinting in his ocean blue eyes.

“Do you want to get out of here for a moment?” He asked.

Your lips twisted to the side, thinking about his offer. Your eyes shifted behind Aaron and towards the ballroom. 

Did you really want to deal with another perverted older man who thinks they have the power because they were rich? 

“Sure.” You replied.

Aaron smiled and led you down the hall, the opposite direction of the ballroom. As you both walked next to each other, the music from the party started to fade away, and he turned towards one of the rooms that had a plaque that said, “The View Lounge.” 

Opening the door, you were greeted by a dimly lit room. It was empty with tables and chairs all around the room. There were floor to ceiling windows and a door that led outside the balcony. 

Aaron looked over his shoulder, smiling at you as he opened the door to the balcony. The cool mid-October air greeted you as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment. 

You needed this. 

It felt lighter rather than the stuffy ballroom you were just in earlier. You opened your eyes and saw the view of the LA skyline. You could hear the cars passing by the streets underneath you. Life was happening all around, and the whole city was glittering in front of you. 

It was so beautiful.

Aaron’s warm presence immediately snapped you out of your little daydream, and you turned to glance up at him with a smile.

“So, I know you’re not in this movie, but are you an actor too?” Aaron asked.

“No,” Your fingers softly grazed the metal railing. “I’m just a Chemist. I’ve known Hannah since we were children, so she drags me to these events.”

“Oh. I assumed you were since you were in that coffee shop across from Warner Brothers and now, you’re here.”

“Oh, yeah.” You chuckled softly. “My job is a few blocks away from it, that’s why. It’s my favorite coffee shop.”

Aaron nodded his head, while you focused your attention back to the view. There was a silence for a moment, the only sounds were the cars passing by, the city noise, and the soft breeze in the air. For a second, you looked at Aaron through the corner of your eye. The alcohol running through your veins was making you feel a little more confident and brave tonight. 

And maybe you should be a different girl tonight.

You inhaled a deep breath and turned to face him, leaning your elbow against the railing. 

“This is the third time we saw each other in three days.” You pointed out.

Aaron smiled and turned his body to face you. He took a step forward and said, “I’m starting to believe there’s a reason for it.” 

His voice was low and husky, it sent electricity down your body. You stifled your sigh as you looked into his blue eyes. You could feel the heat between the two of you, and you could see that he was feeling it too. 

It made your confidence increase. 

“Any idea what it could be?” Your voice was almost a whisper.

You swallowed the sudden unfamiliar emotions that were washing over you as he blew out a long breath and took another step forward. He stood tall in front of you. Your body twisted so that your back was leaning against the railing. Both of his hands held onto the railing, trapping you between his arms. 

The air immediately left your lungs as he stared into your eyes, “No, but I know I can’t get you out of my head ever since I first met you.”

“Oh.” You murmured, your teeth biting down your lower lip. 

A small chuckle escaped his lips and a smirk pulled into his expression. “Oh? That’s it?”

You gasped softly when you felt his fingers slowly danced across your jawline. His jaw clenched as he studied your face under the moonlight. You saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he let his thumb brush your cheek softly. His warmth radiated around you and even if your dress only had thin straps, the air suddenly felt hot. 

“I don’t want to lie to you, but I can’t stop thinking about you too.” You whispered. 

You licked your lips, and his thumb suddenly found your lower lip, brushing it softly. 

“I thought maybe I’m losing my mind.” You added, your brain starting to short circuit from his touch.

All these words you were saying… The alcohol definitely had some help with it. 

One corner of his lips lifted, cupping your cheek with his one hand. The cool metal of the railing was pressed against your back, only inches of space between the two of you. His face was hovering over yours and the thought of anyone barging in this room suddenly enveloped your thoughts. 

You felt Aaron’s hand sliding on your waist, gripping it tightly. Suddenly, his soft touches made those thoughts disappear. It was almost like it was just you and him in this world. 

“Maybe I am too then.” He murmured, his blue eyes darkening.

His lips hovered over yours. They were inches apart, and it was making you slowly lose your mind. A jar of butterflies opened up in the pit of your stomach as you closed your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, voice gentle and soft. 

It only took a second for you to nod your head, giving him permission before he crashed his lips against yours. He tasted sweet and like peppermint with the mix of alcohol that he has been drinking tonight. His kiss was hungry but soft at the same time. It was the kind of heated kiss that felt like you both have been waiting for this for a long time. 

As you slipped your arms around his neck, he let his left hand run down your bare back. His right hand slipped on your hip, gripping it tightly as you continued to move your lips against his and pulled him closer to you. He let his tongue licked your lower lip before you opened your mouth, granting him access. You let out a soft moan as your tongues danced together. 

“Fuck.” A low groan vibrated in his throat as he pulled away, kissing the line of your jaw. 

You let out a breathless gasp when he slid his right hand that was gripping your hip down to the slit of your dress. He drew circles on the flushed skin of your thighs and let his lips kiss down your neck. You threw your head back to give him more access. 

“Aaron.” You whispered, feeling a sudden ache for him between your legs. 

He looked up and stared into your eyes. You saw how dark his blue eyes were, his chest rising and falling. His hands didn’t let go of you as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“What are you doing to me?” He asked breathlessly.

“I should be asking you that.” You whispered.

Aaron crushed his lips against yours again as you let your fingers rake through his hair, tugging on it lightly. He growled in your ear as he kissed down your neck, his hand slipping through the slit of your dress. He let his index finger caressed the fabric of your underwear and when he felt the fabric soaking from your wetness, he let out a hiss as he kissed the skin between your breasts.

You moaned softly, letting your head fall back and pulling him close to you. Letting his other free hand roam your sides, he kissed you again. You were flying high as he let his tongue slip inside your mouth again. He pushed aside your underwear and caressed his finger on your slit. 

“You’re so wet for me, darling.” He whispered, pulling away from your lips and staring into your eyes. 

“How can I not be?” You whispered.

He smirked, his eyes not leaving yours. Wrapping your hand on his wrist, you guided him slowly. You kissed the line of his jaw, making you moan his name again when he started rubbing your swollen clit. He let his finger move in circles before inserting it inside of you. Immediately, you could feel your walls tightening around his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. 

“Fuck.” He growled, inserting his middle finger and pumped it faster inside of you. 

Your legs were starting to feel weak as you buried your face on his neck and gripped his shoulders. All you could hear were your moans and Aaron growling your name in your ear the more you tightened around his fingers. He pushed the edge of his palm against your clit as he continued to pump his fingers until you could feel your pleasure pooling at the edge of your spine.

“Shit.” You cursed in his ear. “I’m so close.”

“C’mon, love. Come for me.” 

Aaron pulled back to watch your expression as you threw your head back, your wavy hair falling behind you and your eyes closing as you felt him hitting you on the right spot. Your mouth fell open as you squeezed your eyes shut, finally feeling the pleasure washed over you. Aaron decreased the thrust of his fingers inside of you, continuing his palm to rub your clit slowly in circles until you rode out your waves. 

When you came back down, you were breathless and sweaty. You opened your eyes and saw Aaron smiling at you as he pulled out his fingers and returned your underwear back to its place. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, cupping your cheek and kissing your sweaty temple. 

He wrapped his arms around you as you let your body melt in his arms. Your whole body felt boneless as you gasped for air. You felt his hard cock rubbing against your thigh, and you knew it must be painful for him right now. You slowly slipped your hand, feeling the outline of it through his pants when he put his hand over yours.

“Hey,” He whispered, shaking his head. “No.”

“Let me help.” You gazed up to him through your lashes.

He shook his head and smiled, “Not tonight. Tonight, it’s about you.”

He leaned and kissed you softly, brushing the strands of your hair away from your face. Your surroundings suddenly resurfaced back as Aaron continued to hold you in his arms.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You said, pressing your face on his chest. 

“I never…” You shook your head, smiling. “I have never done it in public before.”

Aaron smirked, setting his chin on top of your head and letting his warmth engulf you. 

“Trust me, love. There’ll be more.” 

__________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@acourtofpenandpaper, @metal-redcherries, @n0rdicmaiden, @galadoesart, @dare-writes

[j23r23]

Double booking

Tangerine x fem Reader - angsty? & fluff

warning: blood, mention of dying, death, suffocation

Great.

Married for a week and already shot by your brother-in-law.

No, it's not what you think.

Blood oozed out between your fingers, staining your wedding ring.You press harder against the gunshot wound on your left glute, a hiss escaping your lips. You are leaning against the cold brick wall of an office building in the middle of the night, hearing Tangerine and Lemon arguing just a few feet away.

"You absolute muppet, Lemon! You just shot my wife!" Tangerine's voice is a mix of fury and panic, his thick accent making him sound even more exasperated.

"How was I supposed to know that it was your wife?!" Lemon snaps back, his annoyance barely hiding the guilt in his eyes. "It should just be you, me and the target in this bloody building! For fucks sake, she shouldn't even be here! Why are you even here in the first place?" Lemon turns to you now, all flabbergasted.

"Lemon, i am as confused as you are." you began, your voice steady yet tinged with a hint of exasperation. "But I'm guessing it's highly probable that there was a mix-up, due to the recent change in my records all three of us got a call for tonight. I guess, when I took on Tangerine's last name, it likely triggered a glitch in the system, resulting in this fucked up double booking."

Tangerine's voice cracked with annoyance as he spun around to face Lemon again to continue their argument. "You still shot my wife in the ass!" he exclaimed, his tone sharp.

Lemon' rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean to, it was a fucking accident!" he said irked. "All I saw was a figure in the shadows, thinking it was the twat we need to kill tonight. Not my fault the database did a double booking because you two share a last name now!"

Tangerine's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, his frustration boiling over. "Lemon, if she dies, I'm going to kill you myself," he threatened, his voice low and seething with barely contained anger.

You snicker at Tangerine "I'm not dying, love... just, severely inconvenienced." You manage a weak chuckle, wincing at the pain and trying to calm your husband, who was not amused with the situation. "You know darling, I always said changing my last name to yours would come back and bite me in the ass. Just didn't think it would be quite so literal." You glare at Lemon.

Tangerine kneels beside you bringing his hand to your cheeck, his anger momentarily replaced by concern. "Sweetheart, we need to get you patched up."

"Not yet" You grit out, trying to focus on the mission. "We need to take out the target first. Can't have him spilling company secrets from our employer while I'm busy bleeding all over the floor."

Lemon glances around, clearly frustrated. "This is ridiculous! You are clearly not in any condition to continue. You should get that bullet out asap."

"And she's also a professional," You cut in sharply, mustering as much authority as you can. "Which means she knows the job comes first. Now quit arguing and get moving. I've got enough adrenaline to keep me going for a bit."

Tangerine looks torn, his jaw clenched pressing his forehead to yours for a moment. "You sure about this, love?"

"Yes" You whispered, managing a weak smile. "Now go. I'll be fine. Just... hurry back."

He hesitated, looking at Lemon he stands up. "Lemon, you stay with her. I'll handle the whistleblower."

"Like hell I will!" Lemon protested. "You stay, I'll go. Shes your wife, not mine!"

"Both of you go!" You snapped, mustering as much authority as you could. "Like i said, I can handle myself for a few minutes. Besides," You add with a wry smile, "I'm not going anywhere until I get a proper honeymoon. Now, finish the job so we can go home and you can patch me up, alright?"

Lemon rolls his eyes, pulling out his gun and checking the clip. "Fine, but if you die becaues it got infected, I'm blaming you for it."

You roll your eyes. "And ill haunt your ass. Now, go be the charming psychotic duo I love, and kill that son of a bitch."

They exchanged a look, then nodded reluctantly. Tangerine kissed Your forehead quickly. "Be right back, love."

As they headed further into the building, their bickering voices fading, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes.

But a sudden commotion snapped you out of your brief reverie. You pressed yourself into the shadows under a desk, listening intently. Someone else was on the same floor. You could hear panting and a string of whispered profanities. The sounds drew closer. It wasn't Tangerine or Lemon for sure—so it had to be the target.

You shifted around to get a better view of your surroundings, muscles tensed and ready. The moment the target sprinted past, you extended your leg, tripping them. They went sprawling across the floor. Without wasting a second, you pounced, locking them into a chokehold. Their arms and legs flailing as you tightened your grip around the neck.

Just then, Tangerine and Lemon came rushing back, their footsteps pounding against the floor. They skidded to a stop when they saw you.

Tangerine smirked. "Need a hand, love?"

You tightened your grip. "One moment, please," you said calmly, watching as the target's struggles weakened, his face turning purple and snapping for air.

Lemon chuckled. "And here I thought I actually have to do some work."

As the target's body stopped moving, you release your hold and pushed him off of you "All done." you say, brushing some strands of hair out of your face and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your butt.

"Nice work." Lemon comments, holstering his weapon.

"Thas my wife." Tangerine adds proudly, a grin spreading across his face. "Now come on, poppet. We can't have you bleeding all over the place longer."

You roll your eyes, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Good idea, love."

Tangerine scoops you up gently, careful not to jostle your wound. "Let's get you patched up, and then we'll be on our Honeymoon, yeah?"

Lemon leads the way out, keeping a lookout for any more trouble. "I'll tell you what," he says over his shoulder, "next time, I'm double-checking the mission report. No more mix-ups. Can't stand your lovey dovey shit."

You chuckle, resting your head against Tangerine's shoulder. "You do that Lem. And maybe try not to shot me the next time?"

And thus, another day in the life of a newlywed assassin comes to an end.