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satoruhour · 1 year

Note

toji’s reaction to seeing you in short shorts/booty shorts around the house 🏃‍♀️

PAYBACK

a/n: sorry anon i didnt exactly like how this turned out but i still hope u enjoy !!!

wc: 2.1k

warnings: sorta crack-ish in the beginning, pleasure dom toji, soft dom toji, praise, toji is obsessed w/ you, kitchen sex, clothed sex, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, pussy slaps! (both w/ his hand and d!ck), fingering, clit stimulation, tit + ass fondling, unprotected sex, p → v penetration, creampie / breeding kink, brief aftercare, n*sfw under the cut

there were things that toji was good at holding back on, like telling you that you might’ve added a bit more garlic than butter for a garlic spread. he doesn’t tell you how your body heat warms him up fast and he desperately wants to pull away from you, but your slumbering state is so peaceful he would rather burn.

and then sometimes he wishes he would just bite the bullet (even if you were his baby), because you were currently getting back at him for giving you the silent treatment. if he could do it over a trivial thing, so could you. toji’s probably still mad about your guess in charades, where you couldn’t understand that he was telling you he was riding a tricycle and not a bicycle, that mere difference of wheels causing a major roadblock in your relationship.

it was by far the stupidest thing you’ve argued about (you assume he had a bad day, too), and you were willing to talk things out and tell him he could’ve just put up three fingers instead of pointing aggressively to an invisible tricycle, but he opts to glare at you and sigh instead. you can’t believe he’s getting this worked up over a game of charades too, so you tease him the only other way you know how to.

it hadn’t been that long since you talked, but you figured you’ll need to start on dinner soon, getting a sick idea in your head when you see the new booty shorts you had ordered laying on your bed. you definitely thought it would be better for another day, but life is short and toji is not, so you pull them on and they feel divine, remembering the content smile on your face when your boyfriend had offered to pay for them — a reward well received when you check out your ass in the full-length mirror and the way it shaped your lower half.

the evening carries on as usual, but you can feel his stare once you emerge from your room in one of his shirts and he thinks you aren’t wearing any pants until you’re pulling out saucepans and reaching for the spices in the top cupboard that his shirt rides up and he can see your plump fucking ass; he chokes on his water.

with your back turned, you stifle a little grin and continue with your chores as the shorts ride up with each walk from living room to kitchen, but it’s all under the guise of cleaning and setting the table, wiping aimlessly, too, at the coffee table in front of the TV where toji sat, even if you weren’t eating there. you feel eyes on you when you return to the kitchen and continue your torture, cooking up a storm and bending over while looking into the fridge, while pulling out the plates for dinner, while—

“those the shorts i bought you?” bingo. although you’re not quite ready to talk to him yet, you succumb with a curt nod. toji obviously isn’t satisfied with your answer, footsteps approaching to lean on the kitchen island as his eyes keep his gaze locked at your butt.

“gonna ignore me for the whole day, hm?” it seemed like toji had other plans, his larger hand trailing up your thighs to your ass before curling around your waist. he’s pressing his front against you, hips grinding slightly even though you know he wants to do anything but that. you’re not wearing underwear, either, so the sensation of his bulge against your cunt is a lovely feeling and it takes everything in you not to moan.

you have to bring yourself back to reality to turn off the stove that feels so far away, hands clutching onto the countertops as you chase the familiar drag of your sex against his but toji only tuts, landing a slap onto your ass. “dinner first, baby.”

bastard. you roll your eyes and groan, but you didn’t seem to catch his innuendo, so you’re yelping when he suddenly flips you around and tugs at your shorts, pulling it off of a leg so there’s space for him. while your hands are pushing at his shoulders, desperately wanting to uphold your pride of ignoring him, you know the cool air against your cunt and the sight of fushiguro toji on his knees is only making you wetter.

and toji just smirks, looking up at you like his revered deity and you jump again at his cold hands prying your thighs apart, bringing a leg to rest on his shoulder. toji looks in love with your pussy, seeing your hole clench around nothing as your eyes beg for him to do something, anything, but he only continues to tease, running his thumbs along your folds and just missing your clit.

“use your words, sweetheart.”

“need…” toji raises an eyebrow, cheek leaning casually against your thigh and he grins as he sees you fight your own pride like you don’t want his tongue and fingers on you. give it a little more and you’ll break, because through the silence of your shared home and your heavy breathing, the tension is so infuriating that you’re willing to push away that stupid game of charades to the back of your brain.

you hate how needy you sound, though. “i need your tongue… p-please, baby,” you plead and drag out the name, and in the stuffiness of the kitchen, you think toji, one of the strongest men you know, looks the fucking best when he’s smiling up at you with a wanton want behind his eyes. “wan’ you, toji, wan’ you to eat me out!”

“oh… of course, when you beg like that,” toji plants a kiss to your puffy clit and the simple gesture makes you whine, “how could i say no to my pretty baby?”

toji delves in like he’s never eaten before, licking a thick stripe up your pussy to collect your slick before lapping at your clit, garnering a loud moan that reverberates throughout the house. you wish you never called him out on his terrible acting skills from the start, one hand keeping your balance while the other tugs on his black hair. harder and harder.

toji groans at your impatience as he feels you spread your legs further, moans and whimpers filling his ears. one hand sneaks under his shirt and squeezes at your tits, the other hugging you closer to him, fondling your ass at the same time. your boyfriend takes in everything, from your pleasured expression to your contracting tummy and he can feel himself harden below him.

but you come first, you always come first and he makes it clear when he halts for a second and you whine at the lack of contact. “eyes here, baby.” toji calls out to you, slapping your cunt and you jolt at the feeling, although it’s not entirely unpleasant; your eyes flit down to him. the other grins again and slaps your pussy a few more times, the wetness of your sex making loud, obscene noises, “tell me how good i’m making you feel, yeah?”

you mewl as you nod as his fingers prod at your hole and you swear the sudden intrusion has your stomach turning. you’re clamping down on his fingers which sets a pace, buried right up to the ends of his fingers as his palm collects your slick. your lover continues to abuse your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking.

“o-ooh, shit! they’re so deep, tojiii!” the moans you let out were almost pornographic, breathless and needy with how good he was giving it to you, the familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up on you. his fingers keep a constant pace, stretching you out so well and the roughness of them feel so contrasting on your body, but you love it. “toji, i— fuck, i’m c-close!”

“taste so good, doll. c’mon, cum on my tongue.” the older man is ruined too, the heat of the kitchen getting to him with how the strands of his hair stick to his forehead, but more than that, he’s grinding into thin air, wanting any sort of relief for his hardening cock. “you taste like heaven, oh shit...”

“t-toji— i’m! oh, fuck, fuck fuck—!” it’s not long before you’re unravelling in his hold, legs trembling and incoherent babbles spilling from your lips as toji licks up your release leaving from your dripping, tight hole, sure to lap up every last drop. his emerald eyes hold yours as he cleans you up, body still twitching and shivering from the mind-blowing orgasm before he stands and removes his fingers, holding it to your lips.

“suck.” and you do, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around him like you would to his cock, free hand already making pulling down his sweatpants that has a little pre-cum leaking through it.

“up you go, darling,” toji mumbles, plopping you onto the counter with ease, and because he’s so tall, his pelvis perfectly lines up with yours. it’s probably also because you envisioned this happening, though, that you made sure to pick out a kitchen countertop with the proper height. he slaps the tip of his cock on your glistening pussy, an angry red from being neglected, groaning as your arousal provides lube with no problem.

“just so you know, i’m buying you more of those stupid shorts,” toji confesses before he pushes past your entrance, tip already stretching you so well that you laugh and moan at the same time, arms flying to encircle his neck to feel him closer. “f-fuck, baby… so tight, just for me…”

“’s all yours, toji,” you whimper softly, an unspoken look in your eyes that just says that i’m yours for you to use, “this pussy’s all y-yours— mmf—”

by then, he’s bottomed out, taking his time in filling you up inch by inch and your submission is reason enough for him to start rocking into you, hips faltering just a little by how warm and snug you felt that it has toji catching his breath. but he doesn’t hold back once you’re comfortable, bullying his cock into you at a faster pace into your pussy that sucks him in so well with each thrust.

“your tight, little pussy’s g’na make me cum faster than usual, pretty,” toji says with a breathless laugh, mouth tasting the sweat that lines your body as he kisses your neck.

“that’s— okay,” you choke out, pulling him away from the embrace and the sight that greets you takes your breath away. dark, lustful eyes trained on you and a stunning smile to match; you see your lover’s eyes soften ever so slightly when he hits that sweet spot in you, “i’ll take all— fuck- all of your cum, okay?”

and toji almost cums at that moment but he knows if he looks at you any longer and how your tongue lols out at how his cock fits so well in you, he just might; so he just settles for frantic nods, and nudges your head down to look at how his length moves in and out of you. your slick and his pre-cum is leaking all over the counter, squelching noises filling the kitchen. “look at how well you take me. good fuckin’ girl is what you are.”

you giggle at the praise because you know toji means every word, but your moans take over soon. there’s the twist of your core, that edging feeling that toji’s drawing out of you so well — it doesn’t help how he brings a hand to your clit, rubbing circles that you’re close, so close.

“toji, toji, toji—” chanting out his name is all you can do when you’re fucked silly, spilling over unexpectedly as you clamp down hard on his cock. toji groans when he feels you spasm over his length, hips not stopping even after you ride out your orgasm. you’re cumming so much that his stomach is wet, too, the pap! pap! pap! of his pelvis against your pussy sounding so filthy.

your babbles converge into three words, mumbling out i love yous to the older man and soon toji cums as well, swallowing your tearful confessions with a sloppy kiss and he’s releasing deep inside you. he can feel your mewls through the kiss, no doubt loving how his thick cum is spilling into you. his seed is hot, leaking from his tip in ropes and ropes until you’re filled to the brim and you sigh, content with how it feels in you.

your lazed hums make him chuckle, kissing you again and softer this time. “my baby, my sweet baby,” toji makes sure to wipe your eyes after, and mutters apologies against your forehead for the dinner turning cold, but when he sees you and your languid smile, he knows you don’t mind.

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

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queers-gambit · 10 months

Text

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year

Text

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 3: toys with xiao from genshin impact

warnings: usage of toys, dacryphillia, sensitive xiao, overstimulation, praise and degrading, multiple orgasm

notes: aiyaaaaa someone send me horni ideas to turn into my kinktober ones or ones that i could brainrot and eventually turn into a fic one

xiao has always put his duties as a yaksha beforehand everything else. even his own needs and desires that rarely tend to show in the form of a small, barely noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

however, that problem had became more frequent lately and it’s all because of you, his one hell of a tease lover.

xiao had never thought of himself to ever be able to become turned on or horny as you put it. or even count himself as one to frequently palm his hardened cock through his pants where a small wet patch was growing slowly but steadily as he remembers how you fucked him so good the night before. or just recalling the words you muttered to him were enough to make his small cock stand up again as if begging for you.

the yaksha had also never thought of himself as the person to fall in love with an absolute pervert.

“darling~ guess what i bought today from that store?!”

ah yes. speak of the devil and they shall appear. never would have xiao thought of calling his lover the devil yet here you were, proudly holding up a bag of another sexual toys you’ve wanted to try on your inexperienced lover. you weren’t that much experienced either but you just loved to see the cruel and calculated yaksha turn into a common brothel whore.

two bullet vibrators taped to his hardened nipples, already on and turned to the lowest degree and yet he can already feel his chest feeling heavy as if about to lactate. xiao never tried such sexual activities before, he’s not used to such feelings or desires!

clenching his teeth again, xiao comes over the wand vibrator held over the drooling slit of his cock again for the nth time that night. gods, he felt so overstimulated. there were tears running down his cheeks, legs struggling to stay open the more you coo soft words of comfort and degrading nicknames as your hand twirls the vibrator around his cockhead, stimulating him more and more.

“guuhnn—! [na-name]!! slow—! unngya♡︎! slower!” the little yaksha in your hold arms squeals loudly like a girl, voice coming out all high-pitched and embarrassed. he said he wants the vibrator’s setting to be on the lower, but any lower and it would just turn off. and when you do comply to his wishes and turn it off, the immortal would keen loudly and buck his hips in your grasp with a fussy whine.

how unpredictable and… you would daresay, annoying.

“xiao-xiao… you need to be a good slut for me and keep it together! you can take a few more rounds. you’ve done it before” he can briefly hear your words in his mush of a brain. struggling to comprehend your words but when he does, he ends up cumming all over the vibrator again with a loud shrill moan.

“o-oohmp! okay!! okay♡︎ okayhhh—! i’ll… i’ll be a good slu-ungh! ungh! gcckk♡︎♡︎!!” nodding eagerly with a dumb slurred speech, xiao agrees to keep up with your sexual torture for longer.

he can do it. xiao can be your good slut. yours and no one else’s. he’s done it before, he had taken your many hours of vibrator torture before, he can do it now too!

by now, the yaksha had forgotten about everything except the feeling of the vibrators buzzing away on his sensitive places. duties of cleansing the land, hunting down remnants of old gods, his usually stoic nature. all of it were thrown out the window the moment the two small vibrators were taped to his chest, buzzing away and stimulating him.

poor xiao, unable to think. just moaning and squealing in delight as he comes over and over again. so many times to the point that now he was starting to shoot blanks on your hand.

such a sweet thing. not knowing that your little perverted games are only beginning.

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loveindefinitely · 10 months

Text

༊*·˚ GOT LOVE-STRUCK — how the cod men react to you having a heavy period

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley, johnny 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick, john 'bravo six' price

warnings. fem!reader, sfw, periods, blood, cramping, minor miscommunication

simon 'ghost' riley

⤷ this man is defs educated. either because of previous partners or because of his mother discreetly teaching him how the cycle worked.

⤷ when he finds you curled into the fetal position in bed, glassy eyed and breathing heavily, he first thinks that you've hurt yourself and refused to go to sick bay

⤷ however, when you start getting defensive, it kinda hits him that it's your period, not a bullet. he slightly calms at that, but seeing you hurt makes him want to solve it with violence against who caused you pain, not comfort

⤷ would absolutely hold you against his chest, his hand rubbing at your lower stomach

⤷ he'd be kinda quiet cause he's upset that he can't just solve the problem like he could if it was something like a mission instead. lowkey mopey whenever you whimper or shiver a bit because of the pain

⤷ doesn't even FLINCH when you ask him to get you more products, some food, or a heatpack. just does as asked with a sharp nod and hasty movements

⤷ him not knowing how to delicately comfort you, so just hoping that his body heat and rubbing at your tender spots is enough for you :(

johnny 'soap' mactavish

⤷ freaks the FUCK out when he sees a bit of blood on your sheets. like, full on, you're on the verge of your death bed, he has to jot down your last words level.

⤷ you're in the kitchen, heating up your heatpack when he comes barreling down the stairs, wrapping you into his arms and checking all over your body

⤷ "oh my jesus, fuck, it's gonna be okay, jus' tell me--"

⤷ you have to awkwardly explain that you had woken up with an earlier period than normal, and that it was way worse than usual, meaning you needed a heatpack before changing the sheets

⤷ man proceeds to fuss even more, refusing to let you move from the couch as he changes the sheets, grabs all of your favourite pillows and blankets, and proceeds to make you your favourite breakfast so you can relax and watch your fav movie/show

⤷ acts like you're terminally ill or smth, because he is at your side, ready to do absolutely anything to ease your pains or worries

⤷ orders in your favourite fast food for dinner, spoons you, gives you sosososo many kisses and cuddles

⤷ he just wants the best for his baby, and he will provide like the man he needs to be to deserve you !!

kyle 'gaz' garrick

⤷ knows immediately. you're not sure how, but he just does, as soon as he walks through the door and sees you cuddled into the couch, face scrunched in pain.

⤷ asks if you need anything from the shops, before making you a drink and getting you the icecream he bought for you just a few days ago, knowing you were due soon

⤷ comes over to rest your head in his lap, giving you a head massage and playing with your hair, listening to whatever you say, or when you're silent, murmuring about his own day or musings to keep you relaxed

⤷ presses soft kisses to your forehead and your stomach, giving you practiced massages that he had watched many youtube tutorials to master

⤷ "shh, sweetheart, i got you."

⤷ knows your preference for tampons/pads/other without having to double-check, in the case that you run out

⤷ when you fall asleep in his lap, he picks you up and softly puts you to bed. whether he's tired or not, he just cuddles you to his chest, loving that HE gets to comfort you, that HE gets to make sure you're safe

⤷ super super sappy throughout it all :(

john 'bravo six' price

⤷ realises that you're in a lot of pain when he wakes up to you whining and curled into a ball

⤷ softly pulls your hair from your face, confused and worried that something had happened while he was asleep, even though he was so careful to keep you safe

⤷ then he remembers that last night you had been wearing your period-proof undergarments and that you probably got it this morning

⤷ when you wake up it's to a heatpack on your stomach and a hand playing with your hair soothingly

⤷ is a bit unsure about it all because he wasn't really educated on the cycle, but still tries his damn best to make you comfortable and happy

⤷ figures that he doesn't give a shit about your natural blood when he's had much worse, much filthier blood on his bare hands

⤷ treats you like you're delicate, and kinda orders you to take it easy

⤷ lets you take charge and request him for the things you need, because he's just unsure and new to it all, having a woman who's so aware of her needs and open to share them with him !

a/n. idk what this is, idk if it's any good, i've been in the city since 6am and it's now 7pm so i'm an exhausted mess. pls excuse this clusterfuck

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likejaeyun · 4 months

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“i miss u.” ft. skz

스트레이 키즈 OT8 fem reader wc 0.3k genre idol au, established relationship, bullet point fic cw/tw mention(s) of kissing not proofread ! ( emi's library ) ✩ - synopsis: things that bf!skz do in a long-distance relationship while on tour

bang chan

the kind of bf that comes up with loads of romantic ideas and write them down so he won’t forget about them

writes love songs about u when he misses you

sends a cover of the song with him singing and playing the piano

“im gonna kiss u so much when i get home”

lee minho

one word: CARINGGG

daily reminders to eat/sleep well

asks you to send pics of soonie doongie dori for him

“where are my four babies? i miss them so much (you’re one of them, that’s why its four)”

seo changbin

THE ultimate cutie bf

daily selcas with the usual cheek poke

texts you any opportunity he has because he just misses you that much

“the sky is here pretty but not as pretty as u, you know”

hwang hyunjin

misses you so much he becomes impossibly clingy and whiny

being the artist that he is he will personally sketch your portrait and keep it with him when he’s away from u

puts u as his both his homescreen and lockscreen

“send me a selfie please… just one…..”

han jisung

also becomes extremely clingy when he misses u but is embarrassed

brings that second bottle of your go-to perfume when he goes on tour

misses u so much he sprays your familiar scent on his clothing

“btw, pls don’t ask where your other bottle of perfume went…”

lee felix

the kind of bf that misses you vv much but not show it openly bc he’s the shy type

uses that extra bottle of your hairwash he bought without u knowing when he misses u a bit too much

like my boy does not care if his hair smells like u he just misses your scent

kim seungmin

would go out for a day at every city/stop on the tour just to see if there is stuff u like

also can’t choose between multiple items so he buys them all

wraps them all up and surprises u when he gets home

“if you’re going to complain about how much money i spend on you, i’ll gladly take these for myself!!”

yang jeongin

would actually think of you more than himself

therefore; daily bubble selcas

would act all nonchalant but actually misses u hella much inside

“you’re lucky i’m thoughtful”

a/n: skz version of “i miss u” !! here is the enhypen version - thanku all so much for support on my first work !! enjoyy

taglist: none atm ! fill out the form to be added

@bychaes. do not plagiarize in any way, shape, or form.

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justhereforthemeta · 1 year

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Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball.

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché.

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery.

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967:

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once.

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat.

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution.

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!?

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save.

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

#so honestly #I think the biggest mark against this conclusion is that Crowley sees his mirror Maggie taking a nap at the end of S2E6 #there is a strong chance of a depression nap before any further spying gets underway #but I am counting on Muriel to be a dorky ray of sunshine and snap him out of it with Clues #good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #crowley in a turtleneck #demon bookseller plantdad spy

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nvuy · 4 months

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I find it kinda funny the way you react differently with Boothill and Sunday in terms of writing but they both hold the same flavor of “I want him carnally.” Keep up the wonderful work

PLEASE they’re so different it’s hilarious. gross loser with a cowboy hat that’s terrible at hiding his feelings and another gross loser with angel wings who’s slightly better at hiding his feelings but only because that’s what expected of him.

i could actually yap about them for hours…

cyborg abomination, last washed (can he bathe?) 58269652 days ago, scuffed boots but keeps them spurs polished, definitely chews hay, swallows bullets and can catch a fired one between his teeth with zero effort because his teeth are fake, probably jumps in mud puddles if given the opportunity (not like a child, but more like if he’s walking he’ll stamp in it, because he can)

versus

last washed one hour ago and smells purely of dove soap and an orchard on a rainy day, actively watches for his appearance, obsessed with organisation and order, and also actively avoids mud puddles.

but at the same time by the gods if they both don’t fret over your appearance. sunday’s more formal in the matter; he likes to dress you up if given the opportunity. fancy dinners, and he’s already organised your outfit down to the core. he likes to see you presentable, but there’s also something so raw and gorgeous about how horrible you look when you wake up (he’s swooning despite his straight face. if you’re not already jealous of his flawless he looks in the morning, that is).

sunday also absolutely loves when you keep him company in the office, even if you’re a total distraction. it’s not even your fault either. you could be doing something else entirely in the corner on a couch and his eyes will wander. don’t sit in his lap because then he’ll be a lost cause entirely.

boothill will doll you up too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more of a “hey i bought you this and you’d probably look hot in it” and he’s always right. you’re more fretting over his appearance than anything—he doesn’t mind.

brush his hair all you want. if you wanna braid his hair, go for it. he’ll keep it like that for the rest of time if he could. his hair isn’t exactly real, nor does it grow, so it doesn’t really need to be washed, and the strands are effortlessly silky. he’ll let you do anything to him, it’s that bad. he’d probably let you push him off a cliff. and yes, you can use his little ports to charge your phone, even if he whines every time about it.

the white hair is natural, by the way. definitely had very very dark brown hair that his fathers loved to take care of, and then when he lost his daughter, it was a case of marie antoinette syndrome (whether it exists is debatable, but for my mind’s sake, yes).

#boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill hsr #sunday x you #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #✦ ( love mail. )#✦ ( anon. )#✦ ( rambles. )

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berrieluv · 1 year

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<3; aaron johnson x reader (i think i didn't use pronouns but it's mention that the reader has a vagina) summary: you know damn well, you horny friends. kiki says: this fits contains unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), cheating kink, the feel of guilt that it's never enough to make him stop, i think this smut it's very light, just trying to keep you fed while i work in the angst. also english isn't my first language so i apologize for the bad writing.

me and your husband.

For the public, having you involved in the movie Kraven with Aaron after Bullet Train was just a normal occurrence, two actors working together more than once, nothing that hasn't happen before and nothing that won't happen again.

For Aaron, it was just his masterplan working. He craved you near him, he needed you there. He couldn't function properly anymore without you, without your body and the way your legs wrap around his neck.

His blue eyes are long gone by now, so full with lust he can not think of anything else. He already made you cum three times before you had to take a shower and attend a date, and now here you are again, seizing the day like you started it, with his tongue inside your wet cunt.

He kisses your thigh softly, his hand behind your knee, his mouth marking every inch of your skin with kisses, smelling your dripping pussy and looking amused at the wet spot on the beige sheets.

"You bought them for me?" He moans, looking at your lingerie next to him, the one he just took off the moment you walked back from dinner, his face buried between your thighs, you didn't. You bought them because they were pretty and expensive, and you could afford them "You look so pretty" He says.

His wife is sleeping in the next room, if you get close enough to the wall you could hear her sleep, which was weird, an expensive five stars hotel with thin walls, you must think they would be soundproof for the price. Or maybe it was your guilt, your senses sharpened in shame, making sure you never forget he's a married man.

But maybe you weren't better than that, but why should you. He wanted you, he needed you and loved you even more than you found him attractive, which was to say much.

"Fuck..." You moan when Aaron's tongue was inside your pussy. His hand grabbing your underwear and placing it on your thigh again, grabbing your skin and the lingerie along, the other hand over your belly, keeping you grounded.

Aaron licks the sides of your pussy, his tongue gently going through your folds, he teases your sensitive parts, hitting the right places, he knows how to use his tongue, and it feels like it has been wasted all this time.

Your moans grew louder when two of his fingers are inside you without any previous notice, moving them in and out, his tongue sucking on your clit and you feel yourself getting lost in pleasure.

"Is this good?" He asks out of breath, a big smile plastered across his face, almost like he thought he didn't need anything else but the sweet scent of your dripping cunt.

Was it good? It was fantastic.

"Hold for me, princess?" He asks softly, your legs curled up while your hands keep them up grabbing behind your knees.

He touches your ass, his hand traveling all over every part of your body, his lips are all over your sweet wet cunt, eating like a starving man, making sure every single drop of your wetness goes into his mouth.

"I need you..." He moans against your folds "Fuck, I need you so much"

Aaron takes all of your release, drinking it all, when he looks up his chin is all wet and a spark of proudness in his eyes.

He doesn't even look this proud when he's on a press conference.

"Keep holding your legs" He orders, taking off his jeans and boxers "Good girl" He praises with a smile when he walks back to bed.

You remind silence most of the times, your words consumed by your moans and whimpers, you want him so badly.

"Please..." You finally find the way to speak, your breath heavy and your heart beating faster than it should when he starts thrusting into you. His right hand holding himself on the mattress to not lay all of his weight on you.

His left hand massaging your breasts, treating it like it was a stress ball.

"Shit, princess" He moans, his eyes closing even if he tries to fight it, he loves watching you. He loves the look in your eyes and how they roll, going all blank when he starts thrusting faster.

"Oh!" You moan, and he smirks like a bastard, enjoying knowing he's the one making you feel like this "Oh, God! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cry, almost chocking in your own pleasure.

"Sh, sh..." He coos "Baby, you're chocking, princess" He chuckles, enjoying your desperation "I'm not even near your throat"

He caresses your cheek with a soft smile, moving slowly down to your throat, applying just the right pressure to make you gasp for air, shutting your moans.

"Don't be so loud..." He demands, it was meant to be teasing, but his voice sounds dominant, his expression is serious and his eyes darkened with lust and need of control "You know Sam is in the next room"

Sam, he doesn't refer as my wife anymore. She stopped being my wife a few months ago, just a few weeks after you became my everything. The air he breathed, not only his wants but his needs.

You feel a warm sensation running through your insides, a loud groan when he lets it out, his cum painting your cunt and dripping down your skin.

"God, I love my little masterpiece" He chuckles, watching your thighs covered by his cunt. "You're tired?"

He asks softly and you nod, his phone starts ringing at the same time you hear his wife walking around their hotel room, you wonder if he hears her.

"Your phone..." You say with your eyes closed when he ignores it and walks to the bathroom.

"Can wait" He says without hesitation.

"What if it's your wife?" You know is her.

"She can wait" Aaron says, it's almost like he doesn't care and a part of you knows he doesn't. "I'll clean you up first, super star"

#aaron johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson fanfic #aaron johnson fanfic #aaron johnson fic #bullet train imagine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train smut #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven the hunter smut #kraven x reader

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keravnous · 2 years

Text

bathroom b!tch; tangerine/fem!reader (smut; 18+)

part two | part three | part four

playlist: train quickie with tangerine

Tangerine meets you in one of the bathrooms on the bullet train. He just wants to clean up after his tussle with Ladybug and get rid of the blood, but he could use you to blow off some steam as well. You know: he has to take it if he sees it.

word count: 5,9k

warnings: mirror sex, bathroom sex, semi public, fingering, oral (female receiving), blood (it's tangerine's), squirting, dry humping, rather rough sex, unprotected sex, light choking, confined spaces, dirty talk, name calling, kinda a quickie?, tangerine's a little rude but surprisingly gentle too idk he's just like that, he just needs to fuck the adrenaline outta himself, i have very strong feelings about this angry man

title is from the song of the same name, bathroom bitch by holychild

also thank you v for a) helping me out with Japanese and b) by telling me what being a passenger on a bullet train feels like

You knew it was a bad idea.

Starring at yourself in the impressively clean mirror of the small bathroom, you try your best to hold back any fresh tears.

You knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work. You fucking knew it and yet you accepted your fiancés pleas to Just try it. Maybe, it indeed would've worked out if he wasn't fucking his bloody secretary.

You regret leaving London. You miss your home.

You're not even that heartbroken, you just feel exhausted, like you wasted an awful lot of time.

You take a long, good look at yourself. Bloodshot eyes and a sad hue resting over your pupils, turning the colour dark and deep. The dress, that you bought for your anniversary brunch – a surprise, quite as much as the one he gave you, when you walked in on him, balls deep in his secretary – now looks oddly strange, out of place on you. You feel overdressed and ashamed, foolish.

But there’s something else, too: the loneliness that followed suite after your screaming, after fighting with him - after breaking up with him. It's been there since you boarded the train to Nagoya but now it rolls over you like a wave of-

Thump, thump.

"What the fuck", you mutter, taking a ragged breath, before yelling out, "Occupied!"

You just want to be left at fucking peace, not being watched by other passengers as you're bawling your eyes out. All you want is to get off that train and burn some of that fucker’s money on a spontaneous vacation. All you want is for the remaining days in Japan to be good ones.

Another sharp knock follows. This one rattles the door.

It takes a moment for you to scramble for the right words, the ones you have picked up when visiting your fiancé before. "Shiyouchu!"

Another knock. And another.

Motherfucker.

You clench your teeth - saying goodbye to the precious moments of crying in silence for the year you've lost to the most useless relationship of all fucking mankind - and wipe away the wetness below your eyes to open the door. "I said-"

Oh.

Oh shit.

There's a very handsome man waiting outside the door. He is towering over you, impatience plastered on his face and seeping through his every movement, with the way he's leaning against the door frame.

He's hot.

Also, he's dripping in blood.

His light blue shirt, once crisp and clean, is now disshelved and just as stained as his expensive looking dark-blue vest.

"Jesus, fuck, are you alright?", you blurt out.

The man's raising an eyebrow. "Could be asking you the same, love. Now, would you please get the fuck outta there."

He's moving towards you, closing in the last few inches separating the two of you. Your gaze is focused on the nasty cut on his arm.

"You're bleeding", you say dumbly.

His eyes shoot up at you and for a split-second you feel like you are face to face with a predator. The anxiety, that the blood and his rude behaviour sparked in your chest, sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and has the muscles your legs preparing for fight or flight. He blinks.

"I know", he says and his lips curl up to something, that you're convinced is supposed to be a smile, "Now, if ya'd be so kind?"

He gestures behind you, towards the empty bathroom.

"No?", you say, voice shooting up a little, which immediately has him cautiously throwing a glance down the hall to his right, "No, I won't! You need help, how the fuck -- what the fuck happened?"

"You're starting to really get on my fuckin’ tits, pretty thing. Would y'just let me the fuck inside?", he growls, tilting his head towards you. His tone has the hairs on your arms rising, as he is starring you into the ground.

You back up, colliding unpleasantly with the doorframe, that nearly drills itself into your left shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady", he's squeezing past you and then turns around again, giving you a quick one-over. You are unable to move, mesmerized by the way he's looking at you.

The corners of his mouth tilt up again and one of his hands, a little sticky and red with his own blood, comes up to his face, straightening his moustache, as his gaze runs over your body once more. You should leave, you should run - clearly, something is awfully and so not right but you just can't, being glued to the spot by his eyes.

It shouldn't make your loins grow hot, but you can't help it. You feel your belly tingle, shooting sparks down down down between your legs. He is very attractive and the aura of pure fucking danger that wafts around him doesn’t do what it normally should do – instead, it pulls you in. Oh, aren’t you just fucked.

"What were y'saying about help, again?", the man murmurs, gaze locking with yours.

"Uuuh", it's a very stupid sound you make and his eyes spark up at that, lips giving room to flash some teeth, "I-I just said you look like you might need some help?"

"Well, maybe I do."

He licks his lower lip and you blink, gaze following the movement.

This is very stupid. This is risky, dangerous, and most likely something you are going to regret.

It's not only the situation, it's him, too. He seems dangerous. It's not only the blood, mind you. It’s the way he moves, how his eyes dart through the room, over your body. It’s the aggression in his voice that he’s trying to hide, cover up but ultimately fails, something that seeps through every pore of him.

But he's also just ridiculously hot, walking with his crotch first, heavy northern British accent swirling the words around his tongue and, fuck, it's mostly the way he's looking at you.

And you're just so fucking full of anger and grief and your life feels strangely directed and determined by your shitty-ass fiancé and there's so much rage and sadness -

You take a step into the bathroom and the door slides shut behind you.

"Good", he hums, "Because you do look, like you could also use some help."

The door locks behind you and take another step forward, approaching him. "You have no fucking idea", revenge sex is a very stupid concept but now, it seems very tempting. It's exciting and makes you feel oddly alive.

"Did'ya get dumped?", and you don't know why you trust him with that information but you can hear yourself say: "Cheated on. Fiancé of twelve months." There is a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you in closer. You can smell him now, the blood on his skin and clothes, the heavy scent of his perfume – it’s warm and thick, vanilla and fruit, like an orange grove.

"Allow me the comment - that's one bloody stupid bastard."

You look up at him and blink. That man's insanely pretty and you swallow as he pulls you in even closer, your hand connecting with his chest. It is firm and warm and your fingers get a little sticky with the fresh blood on his shirt. They splay out, feeling the firm muscle flex beneath the expensive fabric.

"How much time d'we have, sugar?", he hums, runs his thumb across your lower lip.

"I have to get off in Nagoya."

"Gonna get you off alright now, sweetie", you roll your eyes at that and he chuckles, "Bit more than half'n hour I'd say. Think we can manage that?"

You nod while biting your lip, adrenaline thick and heavy in your veins, pumping your blood down south and making you wet wet wet, and he laughs at that, runs his tongue along his bright, bright teeth.

It's sheer excitement that has your belly tingle and you lock your eyes with his, the darkening blueish green pulling you in and then he leans down, locks his lips with yours.

They are soft and warm and his moustache tingles a little. You hum against his lips, one hand fisting his vest as the other sneaks up his muscular arm, runs over and through the blood, up up up next to the cut and comes a halt on his neck. The hand on your waist holds you close, fingers spread out delicately as he starts to feel you up.

His tongue darts out and licks over your lips and you gladly give him more room, parting your lips slightly. He's pushing in, licking into your mouth. You hum deep in your throat, pressing against him, tasting the cigarette smoke on his lips.

You can feel the bulge in his pants, his dick pressing hotly against your lower belly. It ignites your loins, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.

You moan into his mouth and he responds by pushing you back, heaving you up the small sink, deepening the kiss. Your back presses against the mirror as you clutch onto him, hand running up his neck and into his hair, slick with product and a little sticky with sweat. Your knees hit his hipbones and the man starts to roll his hips into yours, having his hard dick rubbing against your crotch and your eyelids flutter with the feeling. He's rock-hard and so so hot through his dress pants and you can't fucking wait to get to it.

He eventually breaks the kiss, breath ragged as his eyes roam over your face, hands feeling your thighs up. You decide that you need more of him and thus, your free hand roams over his chest, fingers making quick work of his vest. As soon as you pop the last button, he hastily tears it off of himself, throws it to the ground where it lands with a quiet thud.

"C'mon sweetheart, I know you clammin' to touch me", he says, voice deep and raspy and you do - like you're on fucking autopilot. Your hands dart out, roaming over his defined chest. He feels nice and firm and makes you want him more, want to feel all of him, all at once.

He hums quietly, as you open a few buttons of his shirt and run your hands over the sweaty, warm skin, through the dust of fine chest hair, making his chain rustle. He feels nice and it makes you want him.

The man looks up from your hands and you don't know what has come over you as your hand glides up further, cupping his neck, thumb on his jawline. "Fuck me", you breathe, "Fuck me 'til I can't walk."

He grins and leans in even closer, his clothed and hard dick pressing against your wet panties, as he's kissing a wet trail from your jaw to your ear. "Who would've thought - such a naugh'y lil'mouth on such a pretty woman."

You hook one leg around his waist, tugging lightly at the hair that's curling in his neck as he starts to suck on your neck. The slight pain ignites your lust, has arousal blooming and wetness pooling between your legs. You want to tell him to stop, before he marks you up for good as --

"Name's Tangerine", he suddenly rasps, as his tongue rubs over the spot he has been sucking on and you're pretty damn sure that he just gave you a hickey.

"Like the-"

"The fucking fruit, yeah. 'M gonna burst you more like something of a cherry, though", he rumbles, quietly laughing to himself with his fingers digging into your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses himself flush against you - all firm muscles, perfume, and hot skin - tongue licking over your throat like the hot blade of a knife, dancing over your jaw.

It's most likely not his real name and that should really, really alert you. But it doesn't - instead you surrender yourself to him, letting your head fall back and parting your legs, inviting him in.

And the man -Tangerine - follows suite and shoves your dress up up up, runs his hands over your now exposed thighs. You lean forward a little, until your lips brush over his. "Name's Y/N", you whisper and his eyes glint a little at that, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, you gon' be a fun one", he grins and you do too, before leaning in and kissing him again. He is less gentle now, keen on getting you hot, his kisses turn sloppy quickly, biting your lower lip and licking into your mouth until you lack air. The thumbs on your legs dive in deeper, until they connect with your crotch. And then, one of them gently runs over your soaked panties.

Tangerine breaks the kiss, wet lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, only to inhale sharply - keeps his cheeks puffed theatrically for a short moment, then exhales just as sharply, eyeing you up and down. "Jesus Christ, that pussy of yours s'fucking wet, innit?", he rumbles and two of his fingers run over the wet fabric once more, slowly starting to rub your clit.

You gasp, hips bucking a little and you watch the way his hand vanishes under the hem of your dress. "Fuck", you moan quietly as he quickly finds the spot that makes your thighs clench. He rubs you through your panties, soft lace turning wet wet wet and dampening his skin. Your mouth falls agape seeing his wrist twitching between your legs and the way he's looking down at it, a little mesmerized, makes your head swim. Then, he stops.

"Yeah, let's get those off", he mutters, more to himself than to you and then he's tugging at the straps of your panties, riiips the lace and tears them apart. "Oh-", you gasp unintelligently as he carelessly drops them to the ground and you really don't fucking mind at all.

It's the first time in a long time that you feel wanted, like someone's actually hungry, greedy for you. And it turns you on. A lot. It is like Tangerine has flipped a switch and you want him just as much as he seems to want you. And you want it now.

You blink at him through your lashes. "You gonna touch me now?"

"Easy, love", he chuckles, genuinely amused and then his fingers are slooowly creeping back over your legs, until his index finger finally touches your exposed cunt. The touch is cold, but not unpleasant and you suck in a sharp breath, one that hitches in your throat.

He watches you, as he runs it over your pussy, quickly joined by a second, digits running up and down, spreading your slick. You hum, pleasure building up in your abdomen and then, finally, his fingers return to your clit.

Slow, wide circles spread your lips apart, making you moan and throwing your head back in pleasure. His bracelet clinks as he quickly picks up a faster rhythm, keen on seeing you coming loose, circles growing smaller.

"Oh shit, yes that's fucking it", you can feel arousal building in your stomach, shooting through your body. Tangerine laughs under his breath and his lips are onto you again, licking and sucking over your straightened neck. You don't give a fuck anymore, the slight pain of him bruising your skin makes your hips buck and rolling against his digits.

"Such a good girl, ain't ya?, he groans against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine as you're moaning and gasping, nodding frantically.

Your body feels like it has been ignited, with the way his fingers rub your clit, teasing your pussy and then there's one finger circling your hole and fuck, you really fucking need it. You spread your legs farther and Tangerine puuushes in, sinks one rather cold finger in your hole, your hot hot skin meeting the cold gold of his ring.

Tangerine starts to fuck you slowly, finger pushing in and out of you, until you're loose enough to take a second one. His rings thrust against your hole every time he pushes them back inside and the sensation has you whining, his lips still glued to your neck, occasionally moving down down down to you cleavage, licking fat stripes over your warm, sweaty skin.

A flood of very good, very dangerous emotions has one of your hands abandoning the sink, instead running up his arm, splaying across his shoulder. You can feel the muscles working slightly beneath the light blue fabric, a little dampened by his sweat. "Fuck, you make me so hot, shit, that feels so good", you whimper quietly, gasping as his fingers push even deeper. It seems to kick Tangerine off, moustache grazing your skin as he’s picking up an even faster rhythm - rubbing, circling your clit faster, adding more pressure - obscene squelching sounds filling the air of the small bathroom. You moan as pleasure shoots up your spine, has you rocking on and against his fingers.

You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, hole fluttering against the cold, golden rings and then --

He breaks from your throat and whistles lowly as fresh wetness pools around his fingers, your squirt dampening his golden bracelet and the cuff of his shirt.

Tangerine pulls his fingers out of you slowly, slick with your juices and looks at them for a few seconds, the way your wetness is glistening on his skin in the dim lights. He brings them up up up, gaze connecting with yours and then -

They go past his lips, as his tongue darts out and licks them clean. You blink - once, twice. "Fuck", you breathe, and he chuckles.

"You taste like a fuckin' dream, love", his hands push your legs further apart and before you know it, he sinks down to his knees. You blink at him, as he lifts the hem of your dress up, "Might wanna hold that f'me", and you do, pulling the fabric as high up as you can, exposing yourself to him further.

Tangerine tsks as he takes the sight in and you can feel your cheeks growing hot, burning red, as his fingers dance over your pussy.

"Don't ya just have the prettiest cunt?", he hums, running his fingers through your folds, "'M gonna fuck ya so good."

"Jesus, Tangerine", you huff out, legs shaking a little as his thumb carefully rubs over your clit.

Tangerine looks up at you, smirking a little and then he's leaning in, hands coming to rest on your thighs, forcing your legs apart. He's not breaking eye contact, keeps your gazes chained together, as he dives in and licks a long, fat stripe from your hole upwards to your clit.

You fucking mewl, as his moustache rubs over your sensitive skin, tongue circling your clit for a short moment. His eyes gleam up at you, watching your reaction as his tongue swipes down, over your folds to your hole, teasing it. It has your legs kicking a little and you grab the sink with both your hands, as your thighs give a quick shake.

You can hear him chuckle deep in his throat and it makes you hot hot hot all over, with the way his tongue crawls back up, lips grazing your cunt and then he's onto your clit once more, gently lapping at it, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin.

A strangled noise escapes your throat as arousal rushes through your abdomen and up up up your whole body, has your chest heaving with a ragged breath and rolling your hips forward. It's so so good, but not enough - you just need more.

"Don't ya move, love", Tangerine rasps and one of his hands grabs your hips forcefully, dress sliding up to your navel as he's holding you in place. The other crawls up your lower leg and thigh, teasing your folds and then one finger presses against your hole, pushes in roughly.

You moan as he immediately starts to fuck you with it, pumping your wetness in and out of you with a rather merciless rhythm, keen on having you come for him, having you squirt once more.

His eyelids flutter, long and dark lashes against his pale skin as his tongue licks over your folds, tasting your wetness and taking your scent in. You're tasting so so sweet to him, like a fucking forbidden fruit that he's going to devour anyways, because he can and he will and because fuck the rules he had set himself for this job.

He closes his eyes as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you, while his tongue laps at your cunt, lips closing in around your folds, gently sucking. His fingers are fucking you fast now, pushing you further and further.

"Oh god", you gasp, one hand still holding your own weight, the other now fisting his hair, pulling it. It seems to spur him on, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, gently nibbling at the soft skin as his finger pumps into you. It's even better than before, with his beard scratching you and his tongue and lips gliding over your cunt as if it were a riddle he's going to solve without his hands. The heel of your shoe digs into his back - desperate for any leverage, to just feel him - as you are nearing your release.

"Shit, fuck fuck fuck", your voice sounds strange in your ears, high-pitched and far far away, between the squelching sounds that his rapidly moving fingers pull out of your pussy, "I'm gonna-"

He hums and then, after a short moment, pulls his digits out of you and grabs your hips hard, holding you in place, not stopping his tongue from rubbing over your cunt hard.

It tips you over the edge, has you breaking loose. You gasp loudly, throwing your head back against the mirror, incoherent rambling leaving your lips as you come - riding your orgasm out on his face as he licks you through your orgasm, your hips bucking wildly with it.

As your orgasm rolls over you, you already know that this isn't over. Usually, you would be spent for now, calm and a little tired but right now - you're not at all, lust still rolling over you, fresh wetness pooling between your legs again. "Mhm, shit", you breathe, feet kicking a little as Tangerine's tongue continues to flick over your clit. You are still wet, already desperate for more, more of him.

All you can think about is his hard dick, that you've felt earlier pressing against your crotch and pure want tingles in your stomach. Tangerine's lips close in around your throbbing clit, overstimulation making your head swim.

"Please, fuck, please", your hip bucks against his iron grip that holds you steadily against the sink. Tangerine looks up at you again and let’s go of your clit with an obscene pop. His moustache is dampened by your wetness as he grins up at you. "Please please", he mocks your high-pitched whines and then smirks, "Wan'it that bad, love?"

"Need you - ah, fuck - inside me. Oh, shit", you whine, as your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for more than his fingers. You are so turned on by this stranger, lust crashing over your body like waves - you can feel its tingle in your chest, your legs, feeling your pussy desperate for another touch.

Tangerine blinks for a moment and you're sure, that you saw his eye twitch and then he, very dramatically, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Shit, love, you make me feel all sorts o'things", he says quietly and then quickly gets up, wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

He leans in and his lips lock with yours again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, as he licks into your mouth, grinning against your lips, damp stache rubbing over your upper lip. He licks over it, groans deep in his throat, while his hands brush over your legs, before he commands, whispers against your lips: "Bend over the sink f'me.”

"What?", you blink, words not really reaching you through the lustful haze that has wrapped your brain in like cotton candy. All you can do is look at him, at this very handsome stranger with the very fake name and he has your head swimming, brain giving in and surrendering to lust once more.

You take the hand he offers you as he helps you down the sink, your legs a little wobbly. "Alright c'mon now, girl, don't keep me waitin'", Tangerine gives you a light pat on the cheek, rings barely connecting with your skin - a patronizing gesture that has your knees going ever weaker for a moment as you try to turn around, hands gripping the edges of the sink.

You watch him in the mirror, as he makes quick work of his belt and the fly of his trousers. As he pulls his dick out, your mouth waters. It's long and big and has just the right girth, a drop of precum glistening on its tip. You'd really like to suck that cock, like right motherfucking now.

Tangerine looks at you. "Got all hungry fo'it?", and you nod - breathing out Fuck yeah - arching your back for him, "Alright love, just a minute."

He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his dick, giving himself one, two strokes. You arch your back, keeping your eyes on him as he grabs your hips hard, lines himself up, head of his dick resting against your hole - all hot and hard - and then he finally, finally pushes himself in. The stretch is nice and has you squirming a little with the dull pain, excitement lighting your nerves up.

"Jesus Christ", his head falls forward a little, "You're so fuckin' tight."

He bottoms out, forcing himself in deep, holding still. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, but he doesn't move and you can see his chest heaving, hear him grunt. His hand roams over your bare ass, shoving the dress even higher, until your back is partly exposed and his hand creeps around your body, over your stomach and under the dress, slips beneath your bra and cups one of your tits.

Tangerine squeezes it, feels you up and then pulls his dick back out only to quickly push himself back in. The sound that leaves your throat is nothing but desperate and your hand grips the sink harder, knuckles slowly turning white. His jaw is going a little slack as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you slowly.

"Ah shit", he groans, a deep and coarse sound, that makes you shiver, "Doesn't that just feel lovely?"

He watches the way his dick pumps into your pussy, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly agape - until his gaze meets yours in the mirror once more and there it is - a shadow that dances over his eyes, turning the mesmerizing blue and green dark dark dark. One of his hands suddenly darts forward, rings glimmering in the dim light, only to roughly grab your chin, forcefully holding your head in place. It hurts a little, but the pain feels good, the way it stretches your back and intensifies the arch of it, forces you to look at him and yourself. Your mascara is pooling beneath your eyes, pupils blown wide and cheeks reddened.

"Would'ya just look at yourself", Tangerine groans, "Ya might be the hottest fucking thing I've seen in a long fuckin' time --" He groans again, thumb catching your lower lip and you moan as you watch his face coming a little loose with pleasure.

Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, thrusting into you and you push your hips back, meeting him - desperate for more more more. He grins at you in the mirror and his hand creeps a little lower, until it rest riiight below your jawline and then -

Then he squeezes.

It has you gasping, choking a little at the sudden loss of air and the feeling of your windpipe being closed. Your hip bucks against his and he licks his lips.

The lack of air has adrenaline rushing through your veins once more, as his dick pushes against your spongy hot walls and you feel your body surrendering to him fully, the small voice in the back of your head remembering you that You are at his mercy has you growing even wetter.

The hand lets go off your throat, now gently holding your head in place and you suck in a few deep breaths, gasping, greedily sucking in the air, as --

There must be a bump on the rails, as the wagon suddenly lifts a little and has you thrown forward towards the mirror, shoves his dick deeper into you. You moan, instinctively catching his eyes in the mirror.

His lips are slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The train speeds up just as he leans forward, throws his chest against your back. His body is so so hot against yours and your walls flutter around his dick, as his scent wraps you in once more.

Tangerine lowers his head, until his forehead rests on your shoulder, cock twitching inside of you. "Ya have no bloody idea what'cha doin' to me, Lady", he says, voice coarse and dark and your eyelids flutter, "'M gonna ruin ya."

He lifts his head a little and your gazes connect in the mirror once more. A shiver runs down your spine - he means it.

And you feel it, too, as he thrusts into you once, knocks the air out of your lungs with the sheer force of it. The tip of his dick hits the spot perfectly and you nearly cry out in pleasure, hands gripping the sink tightly. There are small lines forming around his eyes as he's grinning against your shoulder, pulls out a little only to force himself back in, even deeper this time. The hand that was toying with your tit leaves, crawls back down and his arm wraps itself around your waist, holds you close.

Your legs shake as Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, starts pounding in to you like a starved man, like an animal gone wild. It's in his eyes, hunger hunger hunger and you feel pleasure shooting through your body, pooling in your abdomen. You squirt against his dick, wetting the trimmed pubic hair as his balls slap against your wet skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, a strangled high pitched whiny moan escaping your lips, as he hits your walls again, tip of his dick brushing over your g-spot, having you seeing stars. Your eyelids flutter, gasps escaping your mouth with every one of his thrusts.

"Be fuckin' loud, you lil'slut, I don't care - one - bit", he says through gritted teeth, each word one thrust, "If they come knockin'. I’ll kill’em."

It shouldn’t – really, it shouldn’t – but it has your head swimming, rocking back against him, obscene sounds filling the small bathroom and you moan loudly. His jewellery rustles and clinks as he ruts into you, huffing against your shoulder. The force of his thrusts has your body moving back and forth like a ragdoll, hipbones bouncing against the sink, one of your hands coming loose and pressing flat against the mirror, desperate for any sort of leverage.

You can feel yourself clenching around him, white hot pleasure building on the edges of your brain, until there's nothing left but him him him.

"Fuck", you cry out, "I'm gonna fucking cum, shit shit shit", lips falling agape with pure pleasure. It’s too much and you can feel your muscles tensing.

The hand around your throat tightens a bit more and that’s all you need – has your eyes falling shut, your second orgasm rolling over you. It knocks the air straight out of your lungs, has you going limp, while the muscles in your thighs and abdomen clench, holding and squeezing his dick inside of you.

You can hear him moan deeply, sounding far far away and then his cum hits your walls, paints it as he buries himself deep deep inside of you. You gasp, desperate for air and he lets go off your throat.

You suck in a few breaths and feel him doing the same, chest heaving against your back. "Fuck", he says and slowly straightens back up, looking at you in the mirror.

"Y'good over there, love?"

"Uh-huh", you hum, unable to speak, and blink at him. His hair's a mess and his cheeks are a little reddened, glistening with sweat.

Tangerine fucking winks at you and then slooowly, very carefully pulls out of you. You inhale sharply as you feel some of his cum following suite, dripping down your legs. You want to straighten up, too, clean it up, but he's quicker, taking one of the disposable towels and gently sweeps along your cunt.

"'S good, I can do that too, y'know", you say and take it from him, cleaning yourself up. For a long moment, while you can hear him putting himself back in his pants, there's silence between the two of you. Only, as you carefully put your dress back in place, does he look at you again.

"Be careful tonight, sweetheart", he says nonchalantly while tugging his shirt back into his slacks. He says it like it's nothing but it has the hairs on your body standing up.

I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. You look on the slight stains that his blood left on your fingers, that soaked his shirt.

"Make you sure you get out of that train in Nagoya, y'hear me?", his gaze is soft as it lands upon you. Your brain goes numb with anxiety.

"Y-yeah, yeah sure. I'm meeting a friend there, wouldn't miss her for the world."

He smiles at that. A genuine, warm smile. It does something funny to your stomach. "Alright love, gotta dash", he's straightening his vest and giving himself a glance in the mirror, running his hands through his hair, "There's this chap I gotta get rid of. Gimme a call, when you're in London, would'ya?"

You just nod and take the slim, white card he hands you. The numbers on it are orange.

"Very fucking funny", you huff and he grins, leans down towards you, and places his lips on your cheek. The kiss is feather-light but it'll haunt you late at night in the weeks, months to come after the story of the crashed bullet train breaks the international news. But right now, it makes your chest tingle in all the right ways.

"Tis'a good girl, eh?", Tangerine whispers and then, throwing one last look at you, struts out of the door.

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