#the mustache handler

[jennhoney]

[trenchcoatimpala]

Okay haha face reveal 🙃 (I’m holding the sign) because I couldn’t let this op go unposted here. So, seriously, if you see me around tomorrow. Say. Hi. @jcampky is the one squishing Jensen protectively 🥰 please don’t repost just reblog it’s not that hard

[pricegouge]

the welly boot incident, a silly little meet cute inspired entirely by this post here cause i'm an absolute slut for the swamp thing look.

pricegaz x fem!reader one shot. A little bit of subspace as a treat but nothing explicit. Still mdni please

"Brassard, what the hell am I looking at?"

It's been a shit job from the start. Bad contractor, bad intel, bad campaign all around. John supposes he can only be happy that for once in his life, the quality of intel seems to be off in the 'right' direction - which is to say he'd rather be posted up in a field for hours with too much manpower than not enough. He's got Gaz on his right, deadly still and silent despite being hours past projected time of contact with no sign of the target. Price is spotting, growing more irritable by the minute. There's supposed to be a watch up on the south ridge to announce any incoming traffic - op related or otherwise - but the sudden arrival of one garishly dressed civilian meandering through the meadow toting a Hubble sized macro lens seems to suggest that while eight hours of fruitless vigilance may not test the most seasoned of soldiers, it is enough to beat the handlers hired to assist them. 

The silence on the comms grows long enough to get even Gaz squirming, a subtle rotation of his boot the first move he's made in hours. In his ghillie, the movement is swallowed by the shifting of grass in the wind.

"Brassard?" Price growls, inspecting this newcomer through his scope for potential threats. She certainly looks unassuming enough, as he's never known any faction of armed services to issue woven fuschia caps, long purple cardigans, or yellow welly boots. Still, confirmation on anything useful like 'where the fuck she came from,' 'was she driving a civilian car?', or 'should we take the fucking shot?' would be ideal.

"Cap?" Garrick's voice is low, smothered, cheek sealed against his rifle even after all these hours. Still lethal and ready to trust his captain's call.

John waits another beat, hoping for some forthcoming intel. Doesn't get any. "No."

"She's gonna blow our spot."

'Against who?' John wants to ask, but the question of where their overwatch disappeared to is a toss up, and while every hard-won instinct in his body tells him this whole mission is a bust and the man likely fell asleep, the paranoid option must always outweigh the most likely if one wants to see the next sunrise, and it's entirely possible the man was eliminated. 

"Well, shooting her won't make her any less hi-vis," Price sighs. Abandoning his lens, John raises his head enough to take in the whole scope of the meadow. They're posted on a small hill, sights trained down into the shallow basin where a derelict road ambles parallel a small brook, currently overflowing with springtime runoff. It's beautiful, really, dotted here and there with early blooms which nod in the gentle breeze. With the low ridge to the south simultaneously blocking most of the sun's glare and offering a great position for extra coverage, the area had presented itself first and foremost to him as a sniper's delight; but faced now with an artsy-type civilian wandering around and looking for all intents and purposes to be in her natural element, he supposes his assessment probably laid outside the norm.

"We could use her like dazzle camo," Gaz suggests instead and John's mustache twitches with a suppressed snort. It's almost tempting, except if the target does ever drive through, John doesn't trust him to simply be confused and gape at the spectacle uselessly.

John drums his fingers off the dirt irritably, returns to his scope to see if he can pick out where their backup is situated. "Shit," he hisses, taking in Brassard's limp form up on the ridge.

"Dead?" Gaz asks, voice returning to the low hum that tells Price he's slipping back into professionalism.

"Looks like," John confirms, disassembling his tripod. 

"We retreating?"

"'Course not. We're containing the civilian." Beginning to crawl forward, John spots Gaz break his scope seal for the first time since establishing it out of the corner of his eye. 

"How?"

"Physically."

***

You never even see them coming. One minute you're humming to yourself as you stage a close up of a bee and the next you're squawking and thrashing while being pulled to the ground by your ankle. Before you can even make sense of what's happened, a man settles his considerable weight onto you and clamps a hand over your mouth. "Easy," he murmurs into your ear as a mass of twigs and grease paint pulls up next to him. "Not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

You only realize how hard you're shaking when the man next to you starts setting up a tripod and the kind of gun you've only ever seen in movies and your teeth rattle behind the calloused grip that covers them.

There's a hand on your head, palm flat and heavy as it pulls your hat off. The weight above you shifts, hips digging briefly into your ass as he moves to pocket your cap. It's slow, movements steady and calculated as the voice that continues in your ear. "I'm Captain John Price. This is my sergeant, Kyle Garrick, and unfortunately you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."

Next to you, the man with the gun - Kyle - spares a small, commiserating smile. It does not calm you.

"If I take my hand off your mouth, you gonna stay quiet?"

You're nodding before you can even think it through, surprising yourself when your new found freedom only draws rapid pants from you instead of screams for help. 

"There's a good girl," John rumbles, lips still pressed close to your ear. His voice is low like oncoming thunder, and despite yourself, the next shudder that racks your body isn't entirely fear based. He's got a mustache of some sort, bristles soft where they press against the shell of your ear. You were set up for failure, really.

"Can you get off me?" You mean it to sound pricklier, blame it on all the hyperventilating when your voice comes out breathy.

John huffs, breath warm as it fans down your neck. He's wearing some sort of armored vest from the feel of it, but you can still feel the abs of his lower belly jump with his laughter. "What's your name, darlin'?" You don't answer him at first, still weighing whether or not you believe him. "How 'bout 'flower', hm? Look like one out here in all these colors."

"A buttercup, in those wellies," Kyle agrees and you side eye him, for the first time noticing how upsettingly handsome he is under all that grease paint. Full, pretty lips and the kind of big soft cow eyes that always turn you to putty. If you find out the man on top of you is also handsome, you're toast.

"Right, those bloody boots." John's weight shifts off you a bit and you try to scramble forward. You make it maybe an inch before he plants a wide palm on your back and pushes you back to the ground. "Hold still, flower," he rumbles and you're helpless but to comply as he kicks at your boots with his own. You ask why he's stripping you but he ignores the question, reaching back to snatch up your discarded shoes instead. "Clear?" he asks, and Kyle takes a minute to swing his scope around.

"Far as I can tell."

And then John tosses your boots into the nearby brook with an unceremonious plop.

"Hey!" you gripe, only to be silenced by John's hand clamped over your mouth again. 

His voice is sterner now when he speaks, the low murmuring from before replaced with a harsh grumble. "Hush now petal, we have to be quiet. Look at me, yeah?"

You regret it the second you do. Like Kyle, John's covered in leaves and debris and greasepaint. His eyes glint menacingly from the depths of the shadow cast by his low brim, his chops a thatch of hair only distinguishable from the mass of brush that covers him by the fact it's too well-kept. He looks like a swamp thing. He looks like the earth itself come to swallow you whole.

"I'm gonna take my hand away now, but you're going to be a good little flower and stay quiet, yeah?" You nod. His grip is so strong on your jaw that you drag his hand along with you. When he calls you a good girl this time, you can't help but melt into the grass beneath you. John seems to take your laxness for acceptance of your situation and he squeezes the nape of your neck when he pulls his hand away to set about erecting some sort of tiny telescope. He murmurs to you as he works, voice gone back to the quiet, calming rumble from before. 

"I can't get off you because you're not wearing appropriately camouflaged clothes. Even if I were to strip you of this fucking cardi, you'd still stand out like a sore thumb. That's why the wellies had to go in the stream. No good place to hide 'em." You frown back toward the brook, watch as one of your shoes goes bobbing along out of sight. The other probably sank already.

"My car's too far away to walk barefoot."

"I'll carry you," John suggests casually. He's got his little scope established now and when he lowers his eye to it, his cheek sits flush against yours. "This position is shite," he grumbles.

Kyle hums in agreement. When he speaks, his voice is teasing. "We could carry petal here back up on the hill."

"Watch it," John warns. Kyle doesn't so much as smirk. Their talk turns mostly technical after that, muttering about degrees and cardinal directions, calculating inclines. You let it wash over you in favor of contemplating your predicament. 

You trust they're military, at least. Kinda hard to fake the funk to this extent. That fact doesn't necessarily soothe you, but knowing this about them is at least better than knowing nothing about them. You suppose it doesn't matter either way though, as there's not a whole lot you can do to get yourself out of here if the way John bears down on you every time you try to wriggle out is any indication. Sometimes he breathes soothing words against your cheek. Most times, he just ignores you.

They slip into silence eventually, which makes the long, boring minutes drag even worse. You know enough to figure this is a sniper mission which means it's possible you'll be here a while, but that doesn't make you physically prepared for it. You check the positioning of the sun from time to time, but frown when you find it unchanged. You tell yourself it's only because you don't actually know how to gauge time like this.

You crack after what feels like an hour but is probably only fifteen minutes. "What are you guys supposed to be doing here, anyway?"

"Classified." John's eye is still glued to his scope, barely giving you the time of day. 

Should've figured. "Aren't I going to see it unfold anyway?"

"Might not." You're not quite sure what that means, but something about the tone makes you nervous.

"Are we gonna be here all day?"

"Hot date?" Kyle's also still glued to his scope, but something about his tone is less dismissive so you latch on.

"Yes, actually."

Finally, a break from contact as John pulls away from his scope to look at you. There's a spot of paint missing just above the trim line of his beard and your stomach flips in guilty excitement when you realize it might have transferred to your skin. Of course he ruins it, "In a fuschia cap?"

"I'll have you know I made that cap," you squawk and John only needs to twitch his mustache at you to get you to shut up. He may also raise a brow. Hard to tell under the low angle of his brim.

It's Kyle who apologizes. "It's a lovely hat, flower."

John grumbles while you thank his friend, returns to his scope as he mutters about it still not being good date attire.

"I was going to change first." You're not sure why you care what either of them think of your date outfit, but you do what the record to show you're capable of dressing sexy when needed.

"What you're wearing now looks nice." Kyle's cadence is complementary, but it's the same tone he had used to pick on John earlier so you know he's referring to the absence of one cap and a pair of silly wellies.

Well, you can be quippy, too. "Think I'm currently wearing your boss."

Both men laugh. Kyle takes his eye off the scope to take in the spectacle on his left for the first time since setting up. "Like I said, looks good on you," he winks.

"Eyes on the prize, Gaz."

"Were, sir." Kyle - Gaz?- cackles when you have at him, but ducks back to his scope and you huff, already bored again.

John notes your frustration and decides to make it worse. "Might not make your date, flower. At this rate we'll be here all night."

"'Course," you mutter, tucking a bit of bramble more thoroughly into the netting that adorns the sleeve in front of you. "First date I land in months, and then comes you lot."

"Sure he'll understand." John sounds distracted. When you glance at him, he's staring down at the way you're weaving into his equipment.

"He'll understand I got pinned under an army sniper?"

"Could tell him you got laid up with -."

"Shouldn't you be keeping quiet, sergeant?"

"Sorry, sir."

You glance between the two of them, but they're both resolute in their professional silence now. You sigh again, folding your arms under yourself to rest your head on. 

A moment passes. Another.

"Got a fox in my shot."

"Two o'clock?"

"There 'bouts, yeah."

"Saw 'im poking 'round a moment ago."

You nearly knock John's chin with how quickly you raise your head. "I wanna see."

"Hush," John instructs dismissively. 

You huff, and then remember you don't need him anyway. Wriggling your hips what little you can, you feel the hard cylinder of your lens press against your right thigh and you squirm around until you can feel it under your fingers.

"What're you doin?" John's lifted slightly off you, but you think it's a move probably rooted more in curiosity than an actual desire to make your task easier. Still, you'll take it.

Grinning triumphantly, you pull your camera up until it rests next to John's tripod and then frown, dejected, when you spot the snap halfway up the barrel. "Must've fell on it," you pout.

John is unsympathetic. His hand is big enough to encase the whole unit when he grabs it, flinging camera and all into the stream with another disheartening splash. 

Your cry dies in your throat this time, the fight gone out of you. When you slump back onto your arms dejectedly, John pats your elbow. "Material could've caught the light, flower. Had to be done."

You pout anyway. "Bloody expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You will, cap? Or will the service?"

"You will, if you don't shut up." 

"Wouldn't mind. Get 'er a real nice one. Anything you've had your sights on recently, buttercup?" 

"Don't have my sights on anything, currently," you snark and you can practically feel John roll his eyes. 

"Christ, here." He fiddles with the device a bit, then leans back enough he can guide your face up to the viewfinder. You keep a squeal of delight bottled in your throat when John's hand lingers over your jaw, reminding you how you need to keep quiet.

You watch the fox happily for a moment, content to let the boy's low conversation wash over you as you let this new amusement pass the time. Except then the fox wanders out of frame and when you move the scope in order to follow, you only seem to muck it up more. 

"Give me that," John grumbles, not unkindly. You slump back down anyway, like a child.

"Forearms, cap," Gaz drawls and you see John peel away from his scope long enough to look down at you. He grunts in acknowledgement, fiddles with his tripod, and then lowers himself even further onto you, wrapping one scraggy arm around your own to block you in completely.

It's so much worse. John runs hot, apparently, and without the breeze on your face at least, you're sweaty within minutes; or maybe hours, hard to tell. 

You've nothing better to do so you try synching your breathing with John's, thinking maybe that's the secret to his seemingly infinite patience. It's hard work, though, his breaths somehow both shallow and slow, and you wind up counting them instead to pass the time. 

Eight sets of one hundred later, Gaz breaks the silence with a low murmur which may as well be an explosion with how much it startles you out of your reverie. 

"Gotta piss." 

Your voice is floaty when you complain, head wobbling up to eye him. "Ew." 

John's stern chastising Kyle, calm when he brushes his lips against your ear. "Quiet, sergeant. Go back under, petal." You hum in agreement, duck into his arm, count his breaths again.

You lose track after another five hundred, content yourself to feel the warmth of him contrast with the cool damp of the soil underneath you. You remember the sight he makes above you, a rolling crest of greenery pulling you under. You blame your sleepy state when you begin to fantasize about it like some old myth; Hades collecting his dues. When he does speak again it's low enough you're not sure it actually comes from above you, half convinced you're hearing the movement of tectonic plates deep below instead. He sounds pissy though, despite his low, soothing tone, and you try to blink yourself into wakefulness, peering around to find Kyle unloading his gun with distractingly deft fingers.

"What's wrong?" You ask, dumbly, and John drops his hand from his radio back to your shoulder, rubbing at you with a heavy, steady hand. 

"Nothing, flower." To Gaz he adds, "Liked him better when he was dead,"

Gaz side eyes him, begins to load his gun back up. "Say the word, cap." His voice is so serious you only figure he's joking when John puffs a laugh across your cheek. 

You watch as John disassembles his own equipment, the weight of him almost fully pressing down on you now that both his arms are raised and busy. It's strange but you're almost sad it's over; it had been oddly relaxing, tucked away underneath him.

"You awake yet?"

"Wasn't asleep." He keeps pulling away from you, but the ground is cold so you get your hands underneath yourself and push up, following.

"Right. You ready to get up, then?"

John's movements are still slow and heavy. When you nod, he levers himself up to a kneeling position, wraps his hands around your tummy to bring you up as well. He sits there a minute while tucking various tools and things into his pockets and placing your cap back on your head. It takes you a moment to realize the way he's seated has him straddling your calves. He doesn't seem to mind how you lean back into his chest. 

"What time is it?" 

"Still hoping to make your date?" Gaz teases. He gets his equipment settled and holds out a hand to you to help you stand. When your feet catch on John's big boots, the captain steadies you with a hand on your back.

You'd nearly forgotten about the mousey little man who would likely be left waiting for you downtown. He doesn't hold much appeal anymore but you lie anyway and tell Gaz yes.

"More bad luck there, petal," John commiserates. His voice should be further away now that he's not laying on you, surely? When you turn you find him standing far too close, somehow seeming even larger now despite no longer crushing you into the ground. Gaz is tall too, you note, and between the two of them in their ghillies, you imagine you look like some illustration from a fairytale book: the barefoot maid and her two elements, maybe. It's silly, distracting, which is why you've already forgotten what he's talking about when John continues, "'fraid you still got debrief to sit through." 

"Huh?" You ask stupidly, and then yip when John throws you over his shoulder.

"Debrief. Could take all night," Gaz winks. "Looks like you're ours for the evening, flower."

"Oh. Well, you do still owe me a camera."

Gaz laughs, neat white teeth splitting his face in a handsome smile. "That's right, and cap here owes you some boots."

"Any color you want, flower," John agrees.

next>>

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

main masterlist

~ REQUESTS CLOSED ~

most popular - DON'T BLAME ME ♥︎ - You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.

author's favorite - YOU BELONG WITH ME ✮✿ - Tangerine has always chosen her over you, until he doesn't anymore.

latest work - THE 1 ✿ - You want to trim your boyfriend's mustache

~ BLURB MASTERLIST ~

~ HEADCANONS ~

fem!reader with an abusive ex

fem!reader in a relationship with him

fem!reader who likes to party

fem!reader pulling on his tie

~ FICS ~

Seeing Tangerine gradually lose clothing items on the train.

Not saying I love you back prank.

You, Tangerine, and Lemon play monopoly.

MASTERMIND ✿ - Since the mission in Tokyo, you wanted Tangerine out of your life as soon as possible. Instead, he stormed back in to save you from yourself.

DRESS ✿✮ - Your best friends promised never to tell you about their dangerous job. However, all goes to shit when you find out another way.

NO BODY, NO CRIME ✿✷ - You meet a sexy, dangerous, stranger on a train. And he somehow ends up kidnapping you?

HITS DIFFERENT ♥︎ - You and Tangerine discover you love sucking on his fingers.

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✿✷ - After accidentally killing your kidnappers, the Twins—especially Tangerine—seem determined to keep you away from harm.

LABYRINTH ✿ - When you go to steal a silver case from the Twins, they quickly realize you're under duress.

VIGILANTE SHIT ✿ - Tangerine wants to teach you some important self-defense skills.

DELICATE ✷ - Tangerine and Lemon care for the kidnapped girl they were paid a lot of money to save.

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM ✿✷ - Tangerine protects you at a fundraiser and then Lemon learns about the two of you - Epilogue to Don't Blame Me

TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE ♥︎ - Your fiancé wants to fuck you raw.

ALL TOO WELL ✮ - You never told Tangerine he has a daughter in the hopes of never seeing him again.

GUILTY AS SIN? ♥︎ - Tangerine is infatuated with you and when you happen to be at the same hotel he's in, his need for you grows.

LONG STORY SHORT ✿✷ - When your sister's new mystery fiancé is someone you know from university, your husband isn't very happy.

NEW YEAR'S DAY ✷ - After losing your job and being falsely imprisoned, you turn to the Twins for help—which eventually stirs up unspoken feelings.

OURS ✿ - You've always loved your boyfriend's tattoos but panic when he offers to have you choose his next one.

THE ARCHER ✷ - Tangerine and Lemon learn more about the young woman they'd been hired to save and things become complicated. pt. 2 to Delicate

STYLE ♥︎ - No matter how hard Tangerine tries, he can't resist your sweetness.

MIDNIGHT RAIN ♥︎ - Your boyfriend punishes you.

TOO SWEET ✿ - Tangerine falls in love with his pretty neighbor.

YOU BELONG WITH ME ✮✿ - Tangerine has always chosen her over you, until he doesn't anymore.

THE 1 ✿ - You want to trim your boyfriend's mustache.

[notakugelblitz]

DELORES PART 1 • Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

something sweet to soothe your anger dearest brellies 🥰 takes place during season 4 episode 1, no warning all safe. enjoy !

Y/N had worked with Five at the Commission. She was with him on the day of JFK's assassination, and when he mentioned the possibility of escaping the company, she thought, why not? The Handler still hadn't given her the promotion she'd been promised 15 years ago, and the health insurance was worthless by then ...

Y/N followed Five through three apocalypses, becoming a teenager again. At least she no longer had the beginnings of arthritis, which she was more grateful for than her colleague. The Hargreeves quickly took Y/N under their wing, appreciating her a lot, especially since she had the gift of shutting Five up.

Y/N and Five became very good friends. Once the umbrella Academy lost their powers in this new timeline, Y/N chose to open a bookstore, while Five became a CIA agent. They met from time to time, enjoying each other's company over a black coffee on a terrace. In six years, nothing ambiguous had happened between them. Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted it to or not—it was a strange feeling. But now, with her new life started, she had time. If Five was interested, he would make a move; if not, so be it. But this was the calm before the storm...

Five entered the secret meeting set in an apartment with a classy, dimly lit atmosphere. The place was spacious, hosting about thirty people. Five smoothed his mustache, grabbed a glass of champagne from the buffet, and scanned the room. Just as he thought he recognized Lila, another young woman caught his attention. She was leaning against the balcony, her face hidden as she stood with her back to him. She had long, straight auburn hair, styled with a yellow beret. She was wearing a white shirt with black polka dots, neatly tucked into her pencil skirt.

Five felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and took a deep breath before joining her. He also leaned on the balcony, just like she did, barely daring to look at her.

"Beautiful night, isn’t it?" Y/N murmured, a simple smile on her lips.

She didn’t meet his gaze either, which slightly irritated Five. He finally turned his head and recognized Y/N.

"What the hell are you doing ..."

The words escaped his mouth when he noticed the name on her nametag : Delores. Five almost choked on his champagne.

"Yeah, the champagne is disgusting, I agree. But the hors d'oeuvres are delicious though. You should try them!" "What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re part of this ridiculous support group ..."

Y/N burst into laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh no, no ... I came with "Nancy" so Diego wouldn’t ask too many questions. But this wig is seriously itching. It's awful." Y/N explained, amused, scratching her scalp.

She then turned her attention to Five and looked at his nametag.

"Jerome? That doesn’t suit you very well. I wonder where you got that name..." "It wasn’t my choice. And where did you get yours?" he retorted, frowning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden cold and somewhat aggressive tone.

"I like that name." Y/N simply said. "And that shirt—do you like it too? It’s hideous." "I found it in a thrift shop—it seemed nice... hey! What’s gotten into you?" Y/N finally exclaimed. "Bullshit." "Five what the hell!"

Y/N seemed sincere. She had no idea what her cover name meant to him. After all these years, he had never told her about Delores. Instead of apologizing, he downed his glass of champagne.

"So, those hors d'oeuvres?" Five asked.

Y/N laughed lightly, understanding it was his awkward way of apologizing. Just as she was about to praise the treats, Jean and Gene appeared, announcing the start of the meeting.

What followed was a very eventful evening. The Umbrella Effect, interacting with Jean and Gene, dining with Lila and Five, Viktor's kidnapping... it felt like the old days! And throughout it all, Five kept giving Y/N odd looks. Why had fate embedded the love of his life so clearly in his friend and colleague? Five didn’t believe in coincidences; he never had.

Y/N had noticed those supposedly discreet glances, which intrigued her a lot. Especially since she could feel her cheeks flush like a 16-year-old girl.

Despite everything, the Hargreeves ended their evening at an Asian restaurant to debrief. Having retrieved the Marigold thanks to Sy, most of them decided not to take it. This surprised Y/N a lot. Powers... that was the dream, wasn’t it?

While Ben was in the bathroom, Y/N leaned toward Five.

"Imagine what you could do for the CIA with your teleportation..." she whispered. "Shut up, Y/N." Five murmured. "No, but seriously! I don’t know what I’d give to be special like you guys were! If it were up to me, I’d drink that jar dry!"

Five chuckled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"If you think this is one of those stupid Marvel movies, think again. Having powers comes with great responsibilities, sure—the responsibility to control them and not cause an apocalypse." "Killjoy..." Y/N sighed. "And for your information..." Five hesitated before continuing in a lower voice, leaning a bit closer to her. "You don’t need that to be... special."

Coming from his mouth, it sounded weird. Reaching her ears, it sounded weird. Y/N sat up straight and silently thanked some higher force when Ben arrived with a tray of eight shots. While everyone found an excuse to leave, Ben convinced them to drink. "For old time's sake," he said.

Everyone gave in, and when Y/N realized she didn’t have a glass, she felt disheartened.

"Can’t I celebrate our reunion?" she asked. "You're not part of the family." Ben snapped. "Wow, Ben, that’s rude!" Luther exclaimed. "Y/N is more family than you ever were." Five groaned, pointing a threatening finger at him. "No, it's fine, let it go, Five." Y/N sighed, though Five’s words had touched her.

She stepped aside, letting them toast. Just as everyone raised their glasses to their lips, Klaus nudged Y/N and handed her his glass.

"OnJanuary 15th, it'll be 3 years that I am sober. Tonight’s not the night I’ll mess that up, and certainly not for old time's sake." Klaus whispered. "I can’t accept that ..." Y/N politely refused. "Oh, come on, down it or I’ll tell everyone you slept with Five at Luther’s wedding."

Y/N gasped, grabbed the glass, drank it down in record time, and handed it back to Klaus. No one seemed to notice the trick, and that was just as well.

Y/N still had that awful taste in her mouth. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk that glass. After all, Klaus was lying. Wasn’t he? It was true she had a total blackout that night, but... her and Five? No... right?

Once outside, everyone said their goodbyes. As Y/N tried to figure out where Klaus had gone so she could question him, a car pulled up next to her. The passenger window rolled down, and she bent down to see the driver. It was Five.

"I’ll give you a ride." "No, it’s okay, I’m not far..." "That wasn’t a question," Five said, leaning over to open the passenger door.

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help smiling. She got in, buckled up, and Five started the car.

"Be honest with me, Y/N." he said seriously, focusing on the road. "Mmh?" "Why Delores? And why that damn polka dot shirt?"

Y/N widened her eyes.

"You're still hung up on that!" she exclaimed. "I’ve changed since then..." "Stop it right now, Y/N. This isn’t funny," he growled. "Look, Five, I don’t understand! You’re completely crazy!" "Why Delores?" "I don’t know, okay?" she yelled back. "I don’t know."

She repeated the sentence silently to herself.

"The name just came to me, and the shirt was the cheapest... I swear, Five, I’ve never been more honest with you..."

Five finally looked at her and realized she was telling the truth. When they arrived at the bookstore, he parked on the side of the road.

"I’m sorry, Y/N... it’s just that... I knew a Delores a long time ago, and... she looked just like you."

Y/N, surprised, met his gaze and tilted her head to the side.

"I never thought the famous Five Hargreeves had a romance," she breathed.

Five nodded , locking eyes with her sparkling ones. He had always loved that color, though he would never admit it. He looked away, eyes fixed on the steering-wheel. Fortunately Y/N didn't know Delores was a mannequin. Five kept silent, thinking about this damn coincidence and its probable meaning.

Y/N didn’t know what to say so she got out of the car, feeling unsettled. As she headed towards the bookstore, she suddenly stopped, turned around, and walked back to the car, leaning against the window on Five’s side.

“Be honest with me, Five.” she said seriously.

Five chuckled softly, amused by this ongoing joke, and nodded, signaling her to continue.

“What happened at Luther’s wedding?” she asked suddenly.

Five frowned. Why was she asking about that now?

“They got married,” he said simply. “Haha, very funny. No, seriously, between us... did something happen?”

Five discreetly swallowed and started the car.

“You should go home, it’s getting late.”

Y/N groaned and walked around the front of the car again so that he couldn't leave, suddenly opening the passenger door and sitting down.

“What are you doing…?” “You agreed to be honest with me. And you’re not. So I won’t move until…” “Fine.” "Oh, that was quick."

Five immediately started driving and continued in silence.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” “No.” “So, is this a kidnapping?” “Call it whatever you want. You learned how to jump out of a moving car at the Commission, so if your ass is still in that seat, it means you don’t really want to leave.”

Point for him. The silence was fine at the beginning, but it grew heavier and heavier minutes after minutes. Y/N was relieved when she recognized the streets as they were arriving at the parking lot of Five's apartment. He turned off the car and slumped further into his seat. Y/N could tell he was hiding something.

“So. Did we sleep together that night?” she asked bluntly.

Five’s eyes widened.

“What! Who told you that nonsense?” he exclaimed with an amused tone. “Klaus… he…” “You know Klaus always exaggerates, Y/N…”

Y/N lowered her eyes, embarrassed for having believed it so easily. Five noticed her distress and sighed. He rummaged through an inner pocket of his jacket, hesitating before pulling out a Polaroid photo. He handed it to Y/N nonchalantly. She looked at him, then at the photo, which she took with apprehension. It was taken at Luther’s wedding. Y/N and Five were on stage. A microphone stand separated them, only a few centimeters from each other's face. They looked completely drunk, which explained why they were singing so close and why Y/N had no memory of it.

“Just imagine eyes like moon rise, a voice like music, lips like wine.” Five muttered, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Y/N looked up at him. Those were the lyrics to a love song by Frank Sinatra, yet it sounded oddly different coming from his mouth.

“Please, tell me…” she whispered.

Five sighed, knowing full well he had reached a point of no return.

“We overdid it on the alcohol that night. And with the apocalypse looming... it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally be capable of.”

He paused, but Y/N smiled, encouraging him to continue.

“You seemed different that night. You had no filter. You never had one when it came to annoying me, but for saying nice things, well... and you were really beautiful. And without thinking, I grabbed that mic and sang that stupid Sinatra song. And you looked at me with those eyes. They sparkled like… like the Kugelblitz. Almost more. And you joined me, and we made quite the duo, I must say. I can't fucking remember the name of the song as we were only babbling incomprehensible lyrics.”

Y/N was speechless.

“So…” “No sex. Pure fluff, even though it’s a disgusting word to say.”

Y/N chuckled.

“And you kissed me,” Five finally said, emotionless.

Everything seemed so unreal, yet he looked sincere.

“Why didn’t you tell me for six years?” she asked, shocked. “I… I chickened out. You didn’t remember, so it gave you the chance to start fresh.”

Suddenly, Y/N slapped him across the face, the sound of the slap echoing through Dallas. Five didn't blink, feeling like it was deserved somehow.

“You’re such an idiot.” “I know.”

They remained silent for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. If any member of the Umbrella Academy had the power to read minds, they would’ve run away, given the turmoil that stirred within them.

Y/N thought back to all those moments spent with Five, and of course, they had a different flavor than those shared with an actual colleague. Despite their constant teasing, Five had always been there for Y/N, and vice versa. They understood each other, given their age and experience. Everything suddenly became clear.

And then, in perfect synchronization, they kissed passionately, Y/N placing her hands on Five’s cheeks while he firmly gripped her waist. It was a fiery kiss, making up for all the lost time due to misplaced pride. Out of breath, Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him, a smirk on her lips.

“What? Don’t make me regret what just happened…” Five chuckled. “Firsy things first, secretly keeping a picture of me is weird. Secondly, the song by Sinatra ... It is named Dolores. Just saying…” Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that had fallen over his bright eyes.

"Shut it." he groaned, pecking your lips to make you silent. But then , he approaches his lips to your ear, whispering.

“It seems that no matter the timeline, I’m destined to have a Delores getting in my way.”

Y/N burst out laughing, and Five couldn’t help but smile sincerely. It felt good to come out of his shell, especially for Y/N. Five invited Y/N to spend the night at his place. This sudden happiness seemed surreal, yet it was very real. The idea of a normal life together seemed so pleasant. If only they knew ...

here it is, i really hope you liked it ! sorry if you spotted some mistakes, English isn’t my first language.

would you be interested in a part 2 now that Y/N swallowed up a shot of marigold ? just sayin’ … 😏

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: walrus

There are a lot of iconic arctic animals, such as the polar bear and narwhal, but my personal favorite is the walrus. Known for their large tusks, prominent whiskers, and habit for busting myths creepy eyes, walruses are unique amongst the pinnipeds. Most people know of the two main groups of pinnipeds: Phocidae, the earless or true seals and Otariidae, the fur seals and sea lions. Walruses however are in a class of their own, being the only surviving species of their own family: Odobenidae. A weird fact that I learned researching for this is that taxonoimists used to think Odobenids evolved from bears before later reclassifying them alongside the other pinnipeds. Old-timey taxonomy was wild and came up with some absolutely unhinged ideas. Like they used to think that microbats and megabats weren't related, instead classifying megabats as primates.

(image; a walrus sitting on an ice flow. It is a large, brown mammals with short limbs that end in flippers. Its head has a wide, blunt snout and two long tusks emerging from the upper jaw)

There is one species of walrus, Odobenus rosmarus, divided into two subspecies based on location: the Atlantic walrus (O. r. rosmarus) and Pacific walrus (O. r. divergens). The two subspecies are still very similar and genetic testing indicates they diverged between 750,000 and 500,000 years ago. There used to be a third listed subspecies from the Laptev sea, O. r. laptevi, but they have since been reclassified as a population of the Pacific walrus. Walruses are very large, being the third largest pinnipeds after the two elephant seal species. The Pacific subspecies is larger than their Atlantic brethren with most males reaching an average weight between 800 and 1,700 kg (1,800 to 3,700 lbs). A few males have been known to grow considerably larger than average. Male Atlantic walruses average about 900 kg (2,200 lbs). In both subspecies, females are about 2/3 the size of males and have shorter tusks. a large portion of their weight comes from the thick layer of blubber under their skin that helps them stay warm. Both subspecies have an average length between 2.2 and 3.6 meters (7.4 to 11.8 ft). Walruses have hind flippers that can turn forward to act like feet, letting them crawl on all fours like sea lions. Like true seals, they have no external ears. The skin is very thick and mostly bald. They are born with brown skin that becomes lighter as they age. While swimming, the blood vessels in the skin construct to reduce blood flow and limit heat loss, which makes them considerably lighter, almost white. Males have skin nodules called bossed around the neck and shoulders. Their creepy eyes are the result of eye sockets with no roof and powerful extraocular muscles that let the eyes protrude out of the skull and look both forward and sideways. The famous mustaches are composed of 400-700 thick whiskers. The whiskers are attached to muscles and have both nerve ending and blood supply. They are incredibly sensitive sense organs and a walrus can identify objects as small as 2mm with its whiskers. Their lips are muscular and flexible and aid in creating a large variety of noises.

(image: a close-up of a walrus's face, showing its prominent whiskers and small eyes. Its mouth is open, revealing its tongue)

How come the walrus can whistle but I can't? (video: a walrus in a zoo being instructed by its handler to make multiple vocalizations)

Of course the most famous features of walruses are their tusks. These two large canines can reach a meter in length and are larger in males than females. The tusks have a number of uses in both sexes, though males use them more. In both sexes, they are used to help dig breathing holes in sea ice, hang onto ice and help the walrus climb out of the water. Males also use their tusks in displays of dominance, especially during mating season. Larger tusks are a sign of dominance and typically the walrus with the largest tusks will win standoffs. If a standoff escalates from posturing to a fight, they will use their tusks as weapons. They tend to strike around the neck and shoulders and the skin nodules in those areas help protect males from each other's tusks. It was formerly believed that walruses would use their tusks to dig for prey on the sea floor, but this is no longer believed to be the case.

(image: a walrus skull showing the tusks)

(image: a walrus using its tusks to hang onto the ice and keep its nostrils above the water)

Walruses spend a lot of their time searching for the food they need to support a body that big. They prefer forging along the continental shelf and spend much more time in shallow water than other pinnipeds. While walruses have been tracked diving 500 meters deep, the majority of dives are much more shallow. The vast majority of a walrus's diet consists of seafloor-dwelling invertebrates including tubeworms, soft corals, tunicates, crabs and shrimp, sea cucumbers, and mollusks. While that's a wide palette, their absolute favorite food is clams. To hunt, walruses drag their noses and the forward surface of their tusks through the sediment and use their whiskers to search for food. This stirs up the sediment and releases nutrients back into the water column, a process balled bioturbation. Many foods can be swallowed whole or chewed, but they have a special feeding style for clams and other bivalves. Walruses will hold the bivalve in their mouths and use their flexible lips to form a water-tight seal around it. It then withdraws its tongue into its mouth to create enough suction to suck the bivalve meat right out of the shell. So important is this strategy to feeding that the shape of their mouths is specially adapted to it. Walruses are also known to feed on seals, though how much of that is due to hunting or scavenging is unknown. Additionally, they will scavenge whales, may hunt walrus trapped under sea ice, and have been seen catching and eating birds.

(image: a walrus foraging for food underwater. It has its snout pressed into the sea floor and is kicking up a large amount of sediment. Still from a National Geographic video)

Walruses are social and migratory, traveling south for the winter and north for the summer in aggregations that can be tens of thousands strong. They will haul out onto land or sea ice in huge numbers, blanketing the landscape in blubber and tusks. While these aggregations are preferred, they are not considered a true social species as they do not aid each other when together. Walruses on land or ice are skittish and will spook easily. Being startled can lead to stampedes while the walruses flee back to sea. Sometimes, walruses will be trampled to death during these stampedes. During mating season, the normally cordial walruses become much less friendly to their neighbors. Breeding seasons lasts from January to March. During this time, males will gather in the water around females in heat and compete for the change to get to that nice walrussy (I will not apologize). This is usually done via bellowing and posturing with the tusks, but may escalate to fights. While males become sexually mature around age 7, they often do not become large and strong enough to secure mates until around age 15. Females become sexually mature between 4 and 6 years old. Curiously, females enter heat twice per year, but males are only fertile once per year. Gestation takes up to 16 months and calves are born able to swim and weighing up to 75 kg (165 lbs). Females with calves move away from the large aggregations, possibly to keep their calves from being crushed in stampedes and possibly to make it harder for predators to detect their scent. Nursing lasts for over a year, longer than in many pinnipeds. Walrus milk is fattier than that of land mammals, but less fatty than that of true seals, forcing walrus mother to nurse longer. Even after being weaned, walruses may spend up to 5 years with their mothers. Females only mate at most every two years, which gives the walrus the lowest reproduction rate of all pinnipeds. Walruses can live up to 30 years in the wild and 40 years in captivity. Male walruses have the largest penis bone of any non-cetacean both in absolute size and proportionately.

(image an aerial shot of a walrus herd on land. There are many walruses and they are so tightly packed together that no ground is visible)

"Don't talk to me or my son ever again" (image: a mother walrus with its calf. The calf is a smaller version of the mother with no tusks. The calf is sittting by its mother's side. Both are looking at the camers)

Walruses have been hunted by humans living in the arctic circle for millennia. Hunting peaked in 18th and 19th centuries when there was a high commercial demand for meat, blubber, skin, and ivory. This almost led to the extirpation of Atlantic walruses. Since then, hunting has been outlawed except by indigenous peoples, allowing the populations to recover. Now, the major threat to walruses is climate change leading to loss of sea ice needed for hauling out and breeding. The IUCN lists both subspecies as Vulnerable. They were an important source of food and other materials to the peoples of the arctic circle and appear frequently in the mythology of said peoples.

(image: a walrus tusk carved with the images of multiple fish, seals, and polar bears)

[heian-era-housewife]

Corporate Affair, pt. 2

Synopsis | Business becomes personal when you're invited to join Toji Fushiguro and Shiu Kong in an after-hours rendezvous.

Content | MDNI 18+, f!reader x toji x shiu, threesome, piv, double penetration, oral (f & m receiving), swearing, some fluff, soft!toji, a single booty smack.

Word Count | 2.4 k

Read Part 1 here

White noise pressed in on Toji's ears. Spells of heat and dizziness fell down upon him in disorienting waves. Leaning his back against the wall, his hands groped numbly, aimlessly for support. His mouth was dry and his words were lost somewhere deep in his chest- caught up in the disbelief of it all.

After having walked in on a less-than-kosher scene involving your mutual handler, you - his friend of many years, someone he always thought of as strictly "off limits" - had just agreed to a threesome with him and Shiu Kong.

He watched, slack jawed, as you sauntered toward the grinning handler, lifted the cigarette gently from his lips, and took a long, slow drag. Never breaking eye contact you blew the smoke enticingly back in his face. Shiu's teeth nearly chattered as you returned it carefully, tracing the thin hairs of his mustache with the back of one finger as you did so.

A foreign feeling took the form of a dull ache in the pit of Toji's stomach. Was this...jealousy?

"Ten minutes." He interjected, finally finding his voice. Both you and Shiu turned to give him a startled look. "Ten minutes," he pleaded, a note of desperation in his words neither you nor Shiu had ever heard before. "After that we can do...whatever. Just give me ten minutes alone...with her." Your eyes grew wide in surprise as Toji met your gaze with the sincerity and trepidation of a lovestruck schoolboy.

Shiu, having suspected something like this might happen, was already reaching for the tv remote while waving the two of you off. "Yeah, yeah." He said with an eye roll and a knowing smile. "But if you're not back in exactly ten I'm starting without you," he finished with a lewd gesture.

Toji pulled you into his darkened bedroom, closing the door behind you, hands placed firmly on your shoulders.

"You sure you're okay with this?" He questioned, scanning your face for the faintest hint of doubt.

"I'm fine. Are you?" You returned his worried look.

"I just never thought... I mean I'm thrilled... Surprised, I guess... It's just I- well it's your decision too so... -can't really just..."

"Toji, you're babbling."

"I want you first." He asserted, suddenly crystal clear. You blinked. Silence fell between you like a curtain of snow. A soft chill crept up your spine. You stared intently into Toji's steady gaze. You were certain he'd never been more serious about anything.

"Take me, then."

The remaining minutes were filled with panting breaths and desperate kisses. Years of unrequited feelings rained down in dripping sweat and heavy thrusts of stuttering hips. So rapt you were in each other's perfect rythm you'd nearly forgotten about the man in the next room.

"Time's up you two!" He called in playful mocking.

Toji took your face in his hands, aligning your gaze with his. "Listen," he spoke softly. "Kong's actually a decent guy...and a great fuck," he added callously. "I want to have a good time with you both. But you just keep those pretty eyes on me, okay?"

"Whatever you say, lover boy."

He pulled his pants back up over his hips watching as the shirt he handed you swallowed you up, slinking off of one shoulder, the hem just brushing your thighs.

A string of mumbled complaints could be heard coming from Shiu who sat just as you'd left him, on the couch in the center of the apartment's main room. Leaving the bedroom, Toji crossed to the back of the couch in three easy strides while you pattered along barefoot behind him. Suddenly emboldened by your recent rendezvous, he scooped you up in chiseled hands, swinging you over the back of the couch and plopping you onto Shiu's lap where you gave your hips a taunting wiggle.

"Miss us?" You teased taking the last of his cigarette from his mouth and inhaling deeply before flicking the butt into a nearby ashtray.

"I was starting to think you guys forgot abou-"

Taking his face in your hands you broke off his words with a feverish kiss, tongue sliding past his teeth with a gentle flick. You opened your eyes just long enough to wink at Toji, who was still standing behind the couch. Throwing himself over the back, he landed on the plush cushions with a hefty bounce, giving your barely covered rump a hardy smack before stretching his arms behind his head as he laid back to watch the show.

Shiu's hands groped eagerly at your ass while you moaned your way deeper into his increasingly desperate kisses. His fingers roamed your hips and up your sides, lifting the shirt ever higher as they climbed. Toji palmed the front of his sweats to the beat of your probing tongue wishing it was his mouth you were still exploring.

Meanwhile, Shiu's pants stretched tight beneath you, his throbbing length pressing forcefully upward into the back of your thigh. You rutted your hips down against it feeling the growing stain on his pants dampen your leg. He groaned with an ache of pure longing, bucking his hips up into you with growing urgency.

Wanting to move things along, Toji reached forward bringing you gently down onto him where he lay, removing the oversized teeshirt in one swift motion. The outline of his cock strained against his pants just inches from your face. With a downward tug you freed him, reveling in the sizeable "smack" as it sprang back against his abs.

"Thatta girl," Toji praised, eager to have your attention back on him.

Shiu, meanwhile, was just as happy on the sidelines. He rose from the couch making quick work of ditching his pants and tie. He stood, white collared shirt undone, bare chest exposed with glistening sweat, black boxer briefs clinging to the wet spot over his throbbing erection. It was his turn to palm at his front while he watched you take Toji's length into your mouth humming playfully as Toji jerked his hips in anguished pleasure.

With one hand Shiu freed his throbbing length, fisting his cock at the erotic scene, while using the other to trace patterns over your rounded asscheeks causing goosebumps to chase his calloused fingertips.

You continued to bob on Toji's length taking him deeper into your throat until, noticing the way the light glinted off your slick, Shiu used a thumb to part your glistening folds, making you whine and sputter.

"Dont worry, doll." Toji reassured you, pulling you up to lay on his chest where you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "I gotcha."

"You still okay with this?" Shiu asked with an uncharacteristic tenderness to his words.

"Yeah," you breathed. "I'm ready."

Keening your hips upward, Shiu tapped his tip against your swollen folds swiping it up and down the length of your pussy, painting you from entrance to clit and back with your own arousal. Steadying himself at his base, he thrust deep into your core groaning in relish at the way you swallowed him fully.

"Ohhh fuck yeah," He shuddered. At his words you felt Toji's cock twitch beneath you.

He moved in slow and steady strokes, savoring rather than plunging impatiently. Each drag against your walls felt like a breath being forcefully drawn from your lungs. You rolled your hips in carnal bliss moaning softly while Toji ran his fingers through your hair, several minutes passing this way before anyone spoke.

"He never shuts up about you, you know." It was Shiu that broke the silence. Toji tensed at his words, a hint of red tingeing his cheeks as you looked up to into his uneasy gaze. "I'm serious," Shiu laughed, still thrusting his cock deeply into you, a firm grip on your hips.

"Sure, it's me he's been fucking, but it's you he really wants." He continued. Silence followed his truthful confession, the tension so thick, you could cut it with a knife, but Toji knew there was no point in denying it. Instead, he reached to the coffee table to grab a cigarette and lighter. Rather than place it in his own mouth, he leaned forward under your weight, arching your back as he did so, and placed it thoughtfully in Shiu's- a gesture of their shared friendship. He then lit it, setting the lighter back on the table before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I think we're all warmed up enough," Toji announced, eager to cover up his sentimental feelings. "We gonna have some fun or what?"

"What exactly did you have in miii-ohhhhh-" you were cut off abruptly as Shiu pulled you out by your ankles while Toji helped flip you over. You found yourself lying flat on the couch, Toji having slipped away, the two men now towering over you. Each one taking a leg, they planted sultry kisses down your ankles, nipping and sucking their way to your inner thighs. When the gap narrowed, Toji took the lead letting Shiu pull back to massage and bite around your calves while Toji eyed you preditorially from between your legs.

He waited a beat. One...two...then he plunged himself forward lapping voraciously at your folds, splitting you on his tongue as he inhaled your nectar. His eyes rolled in his head while an animalistic groan ripped from somewhere deep in his throat. Shiu's strong hands keeping time, playing you like a fiddle, he ran his fingers up and down your legs.

"Mhmm, so fucking good," Toji moaned into you, his voice reverberatong up your spine, sending a chill that crept up into your flushed cheeks.

Toes curling, thighs clenching, Shiu steadied your legs, spreading you further apart, giving Toji room to bury himself deeper in your throbbing heat. His tongue pierced into you drawing shuddering gasps as he dipped in and out of your fluttering hole. His nose found your clit and hit it just right moving his face in sinful circles that sent a rush of heat straight to your cunt.

A distant sound pulled at your senses, growing louder with every scandalous swipe of Toji's tongue. Darting your eyes in search of its source, you caught a glimpse of Shiu that made you yearn for him. Still spreading your legs wide, he thrust his hips against the open air desperately chasing relief that wouldn't come. He groaned, hungrily, watching his friend devour you while he himself was starved of pleasure. In a mix of pity and pure, unadulterated lust, you barked an order that surprised yourself as much as it did the other two.

"Shiu!" You snapped, pointing a finger to where Toji was feasting. "Eat up!".

Chucking his cigarette into the ash tray he dropped to his knees, face, lips and tongue nearly flush with Toji's. Both men began eating you out in tandem. Tongues moving languidly around your clit, taking turns gasping for air as they surfaced. A blur of heavy groans, sloppy kisses, and scratchy stubble overwhelmed your senses.

Reaching down to lace your fingers in one of the men's hair (you weren't sure whose at this point) you arched ravenously against the couch's cushions, keening into your orgasm with a strangled scream as you gushed against their lapping tongues.

Sweet moans filled your ears while they drank you in, trailing their kisses back up your thighs, watching you come down from your shuddering climax.

"That's my girl!" Toji praised, scooping you off the couch with ease and placing you straddled on his lap. "We're not finished with you yet."

He bucked his hungry cock up into you, walls still fluttering as the remnants of your orgasm melted into the new sensation. You struggled to remain upright, limbs like jelly after finishing with such intensity. Laying back, Toji brought you down on top of him once more, strong hands pulling your face into the warm crook of his neck.

Somewhere from behind, the couch shifted and creaked under a new weight. Shiu was positioning himself behind you, tapping his tip this time near the entrance Toji was already occupying.

With a husk, Toji whispered, "Remember what I said..."

What was it he said? You were drawing a blank. Pupils blown, you scanned his face for any hint of-

Oh God, the stretch. Burning tears brimmed your lashes as you craned your neck to look at the man behind you.

"Hey now," Toji spoke in little more than a gruff whisper. "You just keep those pretty eyes on me, doll."

They moved in rhythm opposite each other so that you were always fully stuffed, no doubt relishing the way their shafts slipped seamlessly against one another pressed tight together deep within your heat. The stretch was more than you could handle and yet you rutted your hips so hungrily for more. Words eluded you, all three of you, as the walls reverberated with grunts, groans, and the delicious smack of hips and asses.

You could feel your second orgasm building. Feel the heat boiling over in the depths of your stomach. Your walls began to flutter when a gutteral roar left Toji's chest, hands digging rabidly into your plush hips. He pounded your sweet spot sending wave after wave of hot seed spilling into you just as Shiu pulled out. Rutting against your ass, Shiu unloaded heavy ropes of hot cum onto the small of your back, having used the last of his willpower to pull out of your quivering cunt in respect for his friend.

The three of you gasped and panted, collapsing on the couch in a heap of heaving chests and fucked-out expressions. Toji's warmth leaked out of you in rivulets that trailed down your thighs. The air was thick with the heady scent of great sex.

Toji pressed tired kisses to your sweaty temples, praising your for taking them both so well.

Once everyone recovered, Shiu took his leave, grabbing his still-burning cigarette from the coffee table ash tray.

"You kids don't stay up too late," he jeered, straightening his tie as he stepped out of the apartment door. "Can't have you flaking out on your missions tomorrow." He chuckled as the door swung shut behind him.

"So," Toji sat up, eyeing you earnestly. "What do we do now?"

"Oh, I don't know," you said with a shrug and a wink. "Wanna get drunk and complain about our boss?"

Toji broke into a wide smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs always appreciated, never expected.

MDNI banner by @cafekitsune ♡

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Talking Heads Roll on Floors

So I really really wanted to do this hybrid au inspired by @bluegiragi, but if they want me to delete this I'll do so. I don't want to steal their idea, and if I'm stepping on toes I'll take it down. However, I did like the idea of shifters and created my own hybrids (just because I love monsters and mythology) and wanted to make a story following König.

So this story is just an intro of reader talking to a general as they're assigned König's case file. König is a half nachtkrappe/half jotunn hybrid, with a tendency to spread sickness and decay.

Either way, very short intro.

TWs: Discussion of death and disease

Wordcount: 1.1k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Talking Heads Roll on Floors

You looked down at the documents in your hand. The file was decently thick, strangely so for a hybrid. You’d been assigned to a couple of hybrids before, but you’d never had a case quite like this before. A lt. general had purposefully called on you, specifically, for your background in avian hybrids, and though you had tried to explain that your experience with avians was limited to one grumpy grounded roc hybrid, the general was determined to see you on König’s file.

“He’s a lot to handle,” the general warned you sternly, “be careful with him.”

“Has he actually… He’s not hurt any handlers before, has he?” you asked nervously.

“We’re legally required to disclose these deaths in relation to Cnl. Leichenberg,” the gray haired man brushed his mustache, thick with dark streaks stained through it.

You looked down at the daunting manilla folder being pressed across the table.

“You’ll find that deaths in relation to Cnl. Leichenberg are largely due to handlers not following proper procedure,” the general tried to lighten the weight but failed miserably.

“Sir, it’s not my place to correct you,” you fumbled awkwardly, “however, aren’t most handler deaths written out as handlers not following proper procedure?”

The general was kind enough to give you a small smile, “You’re right to be suspicious, however Cnl. Liechenberg is a separate case entirely. In his shifted form, he acts as a form of bioterrorism against enemies. You may have heard of Lt. Riley, from SpecGru?”

“The one who kills somebody everytime he shifts?” you asked nervously.

“By random chance, yes,” the general nodded, closing his soft blue eyes momentarily before opening them again slowly, “Cnl. Leichenberg has a similar condition, except it seems that those in close proximity are at higher risk of contracting a fatal illness.”

“And you expect me to accompany him into battle,” you grumbled.

“Cnl. Leichenberg cannot control his illness, which is where you come in. You are to ensure he does not contaminate other shifters,” the general explained, “of course you’ll be given full vaccination and hazard gear on the military’s dime, and need I mention the benefits this position offers?”

“I can only imagine,” you whistled.

“Cnl. Leichenberg is not a dangerous shifter by any means,” the general paused, “at least, not to his handler. When proper procedure is followed, he is perfectly safe to be in close proximity to. However, the last string of handlers have been… Lackluster in performance.”

You glanced over the latest handler’s bio, “It says here that the latest was crippled?”

“He contracted a case of small pox,” the general explained, “the man was apparently a known anti-vaxxer and yet was put on Cnl. Liechenberg’s case. Of course, he didn’t manage to make it through the mission. You, I’m assuming, are up to date with your vaccinations?”

You nodded.

“You’ll need a few more before meeting Cnl. Leichenberg when he’s shifted, but I imagine you’d do well to meet him before you take his case,” the general’s warm eyes crinkled, “he’s not a difficult case to manage, I assure you. I’ve met the man, and he’s a nervous creature, but he’s nothing to be afraid of. I imagine you’ve dealt with more unruly hybrids during basic training.”

You laughed, “Well, if you’re so sure, I might as well meet him. Does he have a call sign or anything that I can call him by?”

“He goes by the name ‘König’.”

König… It seemed familiar.

“Wait, that guy’s not a colonel,” you glared at the general.

“He was when he was in the military,” the general explained, “and here in KorTac, we tend to respect the previous rank a soldier had before joining us, as long as they’re up to standard of course. König, thankfully, exceeds expectations.”

“It says here he’s an insertion specialist?” you asked, “but he’s a nachtkrappe shifter. Those are pretty small, aren’t they?”

“Keen on your biology, aren’t you?” the general chuckled, “but you’re right, they’re usually rather small and sickly, a result of their contagious nature. That nachtkrappe part of König is why protocol is so important when managing him. However, the other problem with König comes from the other side of his family,” the general trailed his finger down a page, “which you’ll find is-”

“He’s a jotunn shifter?” you spluttered before snapping your jaw shut. You looked up at the general fearfully, but thankfully the older man was in good spirits.

“That’s the insertion specialist part,” the general laughed, “he’s the biggest shifter on base, bigger even than the roc you were managing. He’s the biggest I’ve seen in ages.”

“So why are you asking for avian training when handling him? It’s not like he can fly, right?” you joked. You face fell with the general’s.

“König can fly alright, that’s part of what makes him an effective insertion specialist. He’s too big for most weapons to do significant damage, and he’s able to get into high points with a few flaps of his wings. He’s big, strong, and fast,” the general smiled grimly, “a perfect killing machine. Of course the unfortunate part is that he spreads disease wherever he goes. He’s the only shifter that can be used on a team at a time, and the rest of the squad needs to be outfitted accordingly. It’s part of your job as handler to ensure other soldiers follow protocol when they follow behind him into a building.”

You groaned, “You know they’re not going to listen to me.”

“You make them listen,” the general’s face hardened momentarily, “if you don’t think you’re up to it, I can find someone else easily. But here I was, thinking I was doing you a favor and helping you get ahead!”

“I understand sir,” you ducked your head submissively, “I’ll ensure the soldiers are equipped properly.”

“You’d better,” the general snorted, “the anti-vaxxer nearly got a whole squad of special ops killed on the first mission. Half of them had to be put on permanent leave,” the general leaned close and hissed, “you will not make the same mistake.”

You nodded quickly.

“Good,” the general relaxed, “so you know the drill, meetings will be once the paperwork’s been signed up. We’ll send you your forms with you once you leave, and König will get his side. Have them filled and submitted by Wednesday and we’ll arrange a meeting between you on Friday.”

“Yes sir!” you gave a quick salute.

You were quickly dismissed, and as you left the secretary by the door handed you a tome of paperwork that already had your head aching. Looking down at the stack, you had the dreadful feeling that the night would be a long one.

[msmk11]

I saw that you wanted some tangerine requests. I'd say I'm pretty good at requesting those🤓☝️.

OK, so I really like this concept.

Tangerine and reader have met before. Maybe it was at a gala. Maybe it was on a mission, I'm just gonna leave that open to you. But the point is, they have had multiple meetings before. Maybe they flirted on the mission or maybe they just got into a fight, again leaving that for you.

Basically, Lemon Tangerine and Reader have all been assigned to do a mission. And before that mission happens, they're planning at a dinner ( They don't really have the worry about blowing their cover because the diners kind of like in assassin's diner where assassins can meet up)

And a scene like this happens (ripping off of pulp fiction) And instead of talking about the pilot, he brings up her career as an assassin.

https://youtu.be/O3tGImqhrMo?si=1FVe6VFQSvZC7UfR

They flirt, they plan, Lemon feels awkward

And they both leave thinking about each other. I love this concept so much!!!!

Sorry for any grammar mistakes

I’m Sorry, Thank You, I’ll Always Protect You

Tangerine x fem!reader

WC: 3.5k

CW: lots of cursing, mention of weapons and blood, mentions of food, mention of alcohol, smoking (just cigarettes), mentions of death/fighting (it’s a Tan fic for goodness sake)

Author’s Note: Thanks for requesting lovely! Hope you enjoy! (This fic is also proof that I can’t write briefly for the life of me.) (also, side note, for the sake of the fic, your codename is viper)

The charming classical music playing softly in the background hardly matches your agitated mood. Your handler had just given you a new mission. One that, to your dismay, was not a one-man job, but rather, required you to work with partners. You always preferred to work alone because having a partner could get messy fast. Whether it was because they were too gutsy, not gutsy enough, or they were a cocky, arrogant asshole, you’d been thrust into one too many less-than-desirable situations because of the interference of a partner. Therefore, going into this mission, you are, rightfully, hesitant, and you pray that you haven’t been partnered with a total fucking idiot.

You anxiously check your watch for the umpteenth time, drumming your fingers on the dark, wooden table. Your new partners are not late, yet, but the dread pooling in your stomach makes you anxious to get this meeting over with as soon as possible.

“Viper?” A deep, heavily British voice declares.

“That’s me,” you say, looking up. And then your voice dies in your throat.

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” the man in front of you curses.

It’s him. That arrogant bastard you’ve had the unfortunate luck of working with before. His twin is here too, of course, and you’re thankful for the slightly more pleasant company.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite twins, Peanut Butter and Jelly,” you drawl.

Peanut Butter and Jelly- your own personal nicknames for the twins. Ones that, to your delight, really pissed off the brunette.

“Told you not to fucking call us that,” the mustached man grumbles, sliding into the booth across from you.

His brother follows after him, and you notice the smirk he is trying to hide, “You’re just mad that you’ve been dubbed Jelly.”

“Yeah, ‘cos everyone bloody knows that peanut butter is the better part of the fucking sandwich. And I’m the better twin, obviously, so I should be peanut butter” he growls.

“The masses would disagree, Jelly, you fucking prick,” you retort.

His jaw tenses and you can’t help but revel in the feeling of getting him all worked up.

“Well aren’t you still a fucking daisy,” he replies.

“And as charming as always,” his brother adds, winking.

“Always a pleasure to see you PB. Though I suppose I can’t call you that on the job. What’ll your code name be this time?”

“I’m Lemon,” he responds, “and my brother here is going by Tangerine.”

You snort, “like the fucking fruits?”

Tangerine glares at you, “Yes, like the fucking fruits. What’s so funny about it?”

You hum and sigh dramatically, “I don’t know, Tan, it just seems a little silly, don’t you think? I mean, I can see Lemon being intimidating, because you never know what you’re gonna get with one. But Tangerine sounds pathetic, really. It’s the snack of grubby-handed children.”

You’re pretty sure his mustache twitches, and his hands certainly close into fists, “It’s sophisticated, yeah? Classic. No one likes fucking lemons.”

You feign mock offense, “I do. I like lemons a lot, actually. Tangerines, not so much.”

“Well sorry if I don’t really value your fucking opinion,” he spits out.

“I like lemons too, mate,” Lemon tells him.

“Well fuck me then.”

In your most teasing, seductive voice you reply, “Later baby, we have work to do first.”

Tangerine chokes on his spit and you hide your smirk as you pick up the menu.

Lemon coughs uncomfortably as he follows suit, “so what’ll it be tonight? We’re paying.”

“Like fucking hell we’re paying for her,” Tangerine protests.

Though you can’t see it, the grimace that flickers across the brunette’s face tells you that Lemon has kicked him in the shin, “Be fucking polite will ya, brotha’? Can’t go around dressed like that and then not pay for people.”

Lemon isn’t wrong. Every time you’ve seen Tangerine, he’s been dressed to the nines, fitted in the finest of suits and decked out in gold bling. It’s a wonder to you that he ever dresses nicely at all, considering all the blood that ends up on him by the end of a mission.

The brother with frosted tips, you think, has always had more swagger and appropriate mission-clothing. He is usually dressed more casually in a jean jacket and semi-formal shirt. Tonight, it’s a blue button-up with a Thomas the Tank Engine tie.

Before Tangerine can make some nasty reply, the waitress appears at the table asking if you’re ready to order. It’s a sight to behold, watching the cocky douche switch from his true, unpleasant self to a polite British gentleman.

“Yes, darling. I’ll take the steak, medium rare, and a whiskey f’me, please.”

You’re not surprised he orders a fucking steak, and, for some reason, it really pisses you off. While Lemon orders a burger and fries, you scan the menu looking to order whatever will tick him off the most.

“And what’ll it be for you, ma’am,” she says to you.

“I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu, please,” you tell her sweetly. And then, you motion to your counterpart, “Tangerine here is paying tonight, and said to treat myself. Quite the doll, isn’t he?”

Tangerine masks his grimace with a charming smile, one that makes the waitress blush a little.

“Only the best for you, love” he says through gritted teeth.

You ignore the way your heart flutters the teeniest bit at the nickname.

When the waitress walks away with your menus, the brunette merely glares at you.

You only give him a sickeningly sweet smile, “Thank you, Tan. You’re awfully generous.”

He inhales sharply, trying to stay calm.

“If ya didn’t have such a pretty face, I think I’d punch ya right now. Lucky for you, darling.”

“Lucky for you too, I guess. Wouldn’t want my blood to ruin your shiny, new bling,” you retort, judgmental eyes trailing down to his adorned fingers.

“Right well,” Lemon interrupts, “can we get down to business? Please. You two’s bickering is making my hair whiter than it already is.”

Tangerine bites his tongue and nods while you just smirk.

Lemon turns to you, “Viper, I’m sure you got the briefing?”

You nod.

“I can tell this job is gonna be a lot more fucking difficult than our last one. We gotta save one person from a whole ass gang. It’s gonna be bloody.”

You lean back casually in your seat and cross your arms, “Won’t be a problem for me, Lemon. These sorts of jobs are my speciality.”

You dig through your bag beside you and pull out a pack of cigarettes. You put one to your lips and then curse, “Bollocks, forgot my lighter. Either of you happen to have one on you?”

Lemon shakes his head, “Nah, don’t smoke. Already put my life at risk everyday for my job. Not about to tease fate with those killers.”

The cigarette hangs loosely between your lips and you smile lazily at him, “to each their own, I guess. Tangerine?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and smirks, “Might, if you give me a cig.”

You roll your eyes at him and sigh. You pull out another cigarette and give it to him. He pops it in his mouth and then pulls out a silver lighter from his suit pocket. He flicks it on with one try and holds the lighter to the tip. It lights and smoke pours out. You watch the way his pink lips blow out a ring of smoke, and it’s for much longer than you’d ever admit. He takes another long, slow drag and you know that he’s testing your patience. As much as you want to nag him to hurry up, you don’t, knowing that if you did, he’d only purposely take longer. Finally, he holds out the lighter towards you. You go to take it from him and he swiftly pulls it back.

“Like fucking hell you’ll take this, love. This here is my nicest lighter, and I’m not going to let you fucking break it.”

You huff, “Fine, fine. Do whatever the hell you want.” And under your breath you mutter, “Asshat.”

You lean across the table, cigarette between your lips, and he reaches out to light it. The tiny flame pops up, and his hand gets so close to your mouth that if you moved forward just a little bit, your lips would connect with his skin. It isn’t an unpleasant thought, and that’s what disturbs you the most. Once it’s lit, you quickly pull away and take a long drag. You close your eyes and let the smoke work its way into your lungs, calming you.

“So for the mission,” you sigh, taking another inhale of smoke, “I think one of you two needs to be in charge of getting the hostage, so I can help take out the mob.”

“Yeah bloody right,” Tangerine argues, “Lemon and I are a team. You’re not fucking spliting us up.”

You lean forward and narrow your eyes at him, “For the sake of this mission, we’re a team. And if you have a fucking problem with that, Tangerine, I’m going to have a fucking problem with you.”

Tangerine is about to spit something else at you when Lemon interferes.

“That’s enough bickering from you two. We all have to work together, whether you like it or not. So you two best sort yourselves out now, because I swear to god, if I die ‘cos you two can’t get your shit together, I’m going to come back and kill you both.”

You turn and look at Lemon seriously, “Last I recall, I was the one that almost fucking died last time because of your shithead brother.”

(flashback)

Though it had been nearly three years since your last mission together, you could remember that night clear as day. It’d been a double-profit job- you three were assigned to attend a charity gala and steal a diamond necklace being auctioned off while also partaking in a little shill bidding to hike up the price of the necklace. A heist/scam job, in your opinion, was an easy cash-grab in comparison to your usual missions as an assassin. Tangerine and Lemon had thought so too. The plan had been simple: you and Tangerine would appear at the auction as a wealthy couple interested in buying the necklace, and drive the bidding price way up. The highest bidder would pay a hell of a lot more than the necklace was worth, and that chunk of money would go straight into the pockets of your employer.

Lemon, on the other hand, had gotten hired to be a part of the auction staff, which gave him the chance to switch out the diamonds for a fake.

You’d shown up that night in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged your curves and shimmered slightly like the night sky. Tangerine had worn a suit that matched in color, though it was adorned with white stripes. He’d looked really bloody good that evening and you’d hated him for it. It’d left you feeling just a little flustered and distracted- a dangerous mindset to be in on a job. The early half of the night should’ve been easy. All you’d had to do was lay on the charm thick with the wealthy folks and spread the word that the shiny, new couple was interested in the diamond necklace. Greedy as that lot was, you and Tangerine had known that you two’s feigned interest in the necklace would get it a lot of bidders.

As it turned out, the job hadn’t been so easy, not because the objective had been hard, but because Tangerine’s hands had been all over you all night. Deep down, you’d known it was all part of the appearance you were putting on, but after a while, his touching had started to get to you. The horny part of you had been delighted to have his big, calloused hands on your back and bare shoulders. But the other, more serious side of you had been uncomfortable with his touch. As a woman in the field, you’d rarely been taken seriously and were often only seen as a piece of meat. In that moment you had begun to feel the same. It’d felt like Tangerine was showing you off saying, “look how sexy and wonderful my (fake) wife is”. And as the night had progressed, those two conflicting emotions had come crashing together, leaving you angry and overwhelmed.

The auction had set off without a hitch, and the two of you had braced yourself when the diamond necklace was brought out. Once the bidding war had started, all eyes were on you two, and Tangerine’s hand had casually made its way to your thigh. That, for some reason, had been your breaking point, and you’d hissed under your breath, “Get your hand off my fucking thigh, now.”

Tangerine had only been half paying attention, too focused on the bidding going on, and so he’d only mumbled, “quiet, darling.”

That had really pissed you off and you’d begun to curse at him under your breath. You’d gone to force his hand off your thigh, and that’s when shit had hit the fan. You’d looked down for one second, and then you were on the floor, Tangerine on top of you. There’s been shouts and screams and the loud bangs of gunshots. Bewildered, you’d tried to sit up, but had instantly hissed in pain. Everything had happened so fast, you hadn't noticed the bullet that had grazed your side. The one that, you would later learn, had been aimed right at your chest until Tangerine saved you. It seemed your mission had been leaked, and people had been sent to take you three out. Though you’d only been grazed, your counterpart had forced you to stay in hiding while he’d run off to take care of the last of the men.

When the job had been finished, Tangerine had hauled you up and out to the side of the building where Lemon had been waiting with the car. It was only when you’d driven a few miles away that the shock had finally settled and was replaced with fear, anger, shame, and embarrassment. And instead of dealing with your emotions healthily, you’d lashed out at Tangerine. You and him had gotten into a screaming match- you’d blamed him for invading your space and treating you like a wounded animal and he’d called you negligent and over-emotional. The night hadn’t ended in any reconciliation, and he’d been a thorn in your side ever since.

It seemed like he always popped up at the most inconvenient times, often messing with your missions or just plain pissing you off.

Those past three years of tension culminated into your hatred for him today, and the fact that he’d somehow gotten more handsome since the last time you’d seen him didn’t help either.

(Back to present)

“Oh bloody ‘ell, here we go again,” Lemon curses.

But then, the unexpected happened.

You’re tense, biting words already at the tip of your tongue, ready to argue whatever point Tangerine makes.

Instead, he quietly says, “I wasn’t ever gonna let you die, love.”

Your heart literally stops beating in your chest for a moment, and you swear that his gaze softens a little.

“I was aware of our surroundings the whole time, and also knew you were off your game that night. Your death was never an option. I wasn’t going to allow it.”

You begin to butt in, trying to defend why you were off your game

Tangerine only interrupts you, “And you don’t need to explain to me or anyone why you were off your game. You just gotta trust that we also know what we’re doing. And you gotta trust that I- we- got your back. It’s also why I think you should be in charge of the hostage. It’s safest if Lemon and I work together to protect you while you go for ‘em. Anyhow, you yourself have said that ya work best alone .”

He turns to you and Lemon with a slightly vulnerable look on his face, “No one’s dying on this mission, I swear by it.”

If Tangerine couldn’t already tell that you and Lemon are slightly shocked by his emotional outburst, the silence that follows certainly does. You hold Tangerine’s gaze, his blue eyes piercing into yours, and a series of words seem to be exchanged:

I’m sorry.

No, I'm sorry.

Thank you.

I’ll always protect you.

In your peripheral you see Lemon shift uncomfortably in his seat and you cough, finally breaking eye contact with Tangerine and taking another drag of your cigarette.

Tangerine inhales deeply through his nose and takes a drag too.

Then he says, “Although I know you could take those men out quickly, Viper, I think we’ll work better as a team if Lemon and I can simultaneously take the guards out while you move ahead. We basically have twin telepathy and work like a well-oiled machine. Plus, you can most easily hold your own if you run into anyone on your way to the hostage.”

You wave him off, “No need to flatter me, Tangerine. You two could hold your own just as well.”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” he tells you, “Everyone’s been talking about your job in Peru.”

“Ah my moment of glory,” you say with a smirk and a roll of your eyes, “pretty sure I peaked then.”

Tangerine smiles at you a little, an actual, genuine smile, “What was it actually like, that mission? People tend to always fucking throw things out of proportion.”

“It was a solo mission where I was just supposed to take out the CEO of my client’s rival company and her guards. But it ended up being an ambush. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, of course, but Christ, it was bloody.”

“And how’d you do it all by yourself?”

“With a knife and a gun. See, im pretty good with knives. Can throw ‘em, stab, slice, the likes. I even tried something new with a knife on that mission, out of necessity.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you impatiently as he blows out another puff of smoke, “What was it?”

“Nah, too gory,” you say calmly, taking another drag of your cig.

“Love, I’m a fucking assassin too, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Using a knife, it’s different from a gun, Tangerine. It’s a lot more cruel and I’d rather not tell it to you,” you reply somewhat shyly.

“A hundred other people already know though,” he counters, “and it might change what I think of you.”

You pause, thinking over your next words carefully, “that’s what I’m afraid of. I know we’re in a nasty business, but I’d rather not have my partners think I’m a monster.”

Tangerine puts his cigarette out on the windowsill and looks at you softly, “that’s not what I meant and you know it. It’d only make me respect you more, not less.”

And then, he adds, with a teasing smirk, “not that I could respect you any less than I already do.”

You roll your eyes and suppress a giggle. A fucking giggle.

“Well I’d rather not risk it. And anyways, there’s too much pressure, now that I’ve built it all up.”

“Fucking tease,” he whispers playfully, and kicks your leg lightly under the table.

You hide your blush under the guise of looking down to put out your cigarette. When you look up, you catch Tangerine’s gaze again, and the tension is palpable.

When the waitress suddenly arrives with the food, Lemon vocalizes exactly what you’re thinking, “oh thank god. Jesus Christ.”

You dig-in to whatever the fuck you ordered, using it as a distraction from Tangerine.

*****

The rest of the dinner is quiet and, as promised, Tangerine pays. Lemon leads the way out, and you’re acutely aware of every movement of your body as Tangerine walks behind you. When you get to the door, he grabs it from Lemon before you can, and he’s so close to you his cologne makes you woozy.

When you make it out to the parking lot, Tangerine sends Lemon off to find the car while he escorts you to yours. Though you unlock your car, he opens the door for you. As you get settled, he leans against the roof, and it makes his muscles bulge deliciously.

“You be safe tonight, Viper, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

You nod, “goodnight, Jelly, don’t miss me too much.”

He winks at you, “I won’t, cos I’ll see you in my dreams tonight.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, but internally your stomach does flips.

Tangerine watches as you pull away, a sort of ache in his chest. Lemon pulls up in the car and he gets in, still thinking about you. Before he has a moment to process anything, Lemon smacks him upside the head.

“Ow, fucking shit,” he curses, “what the bloody hell was that for?”

“For being fucking whipped for The Viper, you dumb shit.”

[delicatebarness]

The Mercenary’s Daughter | Chapter One

Summary: Nick Fowler is tasked with the elimination of a well-protected weapons broked. He learns that the target may be connected to Lloyd Hansen.

Warning: Implied Violence/Assassination | Underground Dealings | Mention of Weapons | Organized Crime | Corruption

Word Count: 685

Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: The book club read the prologue of Cry Baby back to me today so out of embarrassment, I wrote another chapter of this. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Mercenary's Daughter: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged | @soelstress | @that-one-fangirl69

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Neon and noise filled the city, but Nick Fowler tuned it all out as she stood in the small, dimly lit bar on the edge of town. He hated meeting in a crowded area, but his handler insisted on meeting face-to-face for this mission. Nick wasn’t in the business of asking questions.

The door creaked open, and a man sat on the stool beside him—a middle-aged, cheap-suited, and slight-framed man—Nick’s handler, Elijah. He always had a way of blending into the background. No one would give Elijah a second glance, which was exactly why he was good at what he did. 

“Fowler,” Elijah greeted, placing a thick envelope on the bar with a nod. 

“Clarke,” Nick replied, side-eyeing the envelope. It was always business with the pair, no small talk or pleasantries. 

Sliding the envelope closer, Elijah tapped it once with his finger. “We need someone with your particular skill set. A high-profile target.” 

Nick flipped through the papers inside as he lifted the envelope. His blue gaze scanned the contents. It included a name, blurry surveillance photographs, and a list of recent movements– the standard information. He knew this target was protected, well protected, and heavily involved in the underground dealings overseas. 

“The weapon broker?” Nick asked, his voice flat as he paused on a few details in the file. 

“Among other things,” Elijah replied. “Supplying hardware to the groups we try not to speak of. And, other intel suggests there are plans of a major deal within the next month, and we want to intercept him… discreetly.” 

Already mapping the logistics in his mind, Nick nodded along. “Where is he?”

“France, there’s a private compound in Chantilly. Security is tight– high walls, and heavily armed guards. No one gets in or not without the right level of clearance.”

Nick took a sip of his drink, raising his brow with a smirk. “Sounds like my kind of job.” 

Elijah’s expression remained serious. “Fowler, this isn’t a typical job. A source says the broker is working closely with someone we’ve been watching– Lloyd Hansen.” 

Something shifted in Nick’s expression as he looked up. Lloyd Hansen was a whispered name within their circles and an air of mystery and menace. He was a dangerous man to cross– a former military contractor, rumored to have high-level contacts and a network of operatives. 

“Lloyd’s got a stake in this deal?” Nick asked, intrigued more than ever, now. 

“We aren’t sure for now,” Elijah retorted. “It is reported the broker is close to him. It’s believed that if we can take the broker out, it could disrupt any of Hansen’s plans and force him to make a move.” 

The pieces of the mission slotted into place in his mind as Nick processed the intelligence. He had heard all of the rumors, hundreds of times– the elite soldiers who were trained to move in shadows, their loyalty bound only to him. Most governments could only dream of the kind of network he had created, and Hansen was a master at wielding it like an empire. 

“So I go in, eliminate the broker, and see if Mustache rattles?” Nick questioned, more to himself than Elijah. 

“Exactly,” the man replied, his voice steady. “We hope that if Hansen is invested, he’ll come out of the shadows.” 

Closing the file, and placing it back in the envelope, Nick gave Elijah a brief nod. “Consider it done.” 

“Good.” Elijah narrowed his eyes. “And Fowler– watch your back with this one. Lloyd Hansen is not the kind of man to take such interference lightly.” 

A smile tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “I’m counting on that.” 

Elijah rose, leaving the bar without another word and disappearing into the crowded city. Rubbing his hand down his face, Nick let the weight of the mission settle over him. France, a fortress compound, and a target tired to one of the most dangerous men. The job was risky, there was no denying that. But, that was what made Nick interested.

Pocketing the envelope, the agent finished his drink and slipped out. He had a flight to catch.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[jennhoney]

Immediately after taking this I realized there were at least two mustaches behind me. Handled, I guess? I feel a bit like garbage but stubborn garbage. Garbage that will get the laundry and taxes done. I need to see my PCP but instead I spent the morning having to reschedule my April butt stuff for August because everyone in town needs butt attention. There is no way for me to get anywhere this week anyway, with weather and auntpretty1’s medical emergencies claiming all the resources.

[tare-anime]

SxF Mission 83

(Beware of spoilers)

Hoo boooyy!!! We've been right!!!

It is Loid who got shot! Because he hesitate!!

The highlight of this chapter for me?

This panels

Both men.

Broken.

Injured.

And both apologize to Yor.

Uuugggghhhhhhhh!!!!

The brotherhood angst!!!

Uuuhhhh!!!

> Will this makes the relationship between Loid and Yuri better or worse?

> Will Yuri be hospitalized and thus making Yor upset, and Twilight to feel even more guilty?

> Will Yor notice Loid was hurt and blame herself for not being able to protect him?

> Will Yuri digs on information for Twilight who now he knows must be someone close to him for able to mimick his gestures perfectly? (Yuri is smart)

Another hightlight for me?

The return of belt move by Twilight.

I love it how the original idea from anime team is adapted by Endo.

I will never forget the epic Twilight belt moves in anime ep 5! Accompanied by Know_name's banger piece TBD no less!

And who teaches Westalis' best spy that belt move??

Why of course none other than his badass mentor: the Handler Sylvia Sherwood herself!

Woohooooo!!!!

(And somehow the last half of the chapter become less interesting for me 😅😅😅😅

Geez, I'm so subjective.)

Yea yeah, Fiona looks so much better with black hair. And as Twilight's mentee, she does shows her capability of being one of the best WISE spy.

And so is Agent mustache!! (A.k.a Midnight. Imma dub him Midnight. Or as @shinybluebirdwizard love to call him, Normal Normanson) He is shown to still able to work as a field agent.

And voila, looks like the person in the hotel is indeed the real Winston Wheeler himself. Quite capable in reading situation. Quite capable in diguises also.

Welp!!!

Anyway. Very interesting arc so far.

I wonder where will Endo lead us now.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please read the tags and warnings before reading.

BNHA

you could have knocked me out with a feather by sahwen

"Your X-rays don’t indicate any fissures or other breaking in the skull,” his handler said as she looked over his file. She always spoke like that, as did his other handlers; the skull. Not his. Because it wasn’t his, when you got right down to it. He was a public figure. He was property. He was real estate.

And he knew what she meant when she said your x-rays don’t indicate any fissures. It meant, you’ve wasted our time. It made him sweat.

Or: Hawks gets bonked. The HPSC is not a hospital.

Stranger Things

Adopt a Jock by @sp0o0kylights

Hellfire adopts Steve during his final year of high school. Pre-Steddie. (Ongoing tumblr fic)

DC (Batfamily)

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

"For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.”

“Then you talk!”

“There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.”

“Then what will slow it down?”

After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time.

“Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

“You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.”

“The hell do you care anyway?”

“Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!”

“You fucking should."

Marvel

status quo by jilliancares

"So, you’re investigating this not-so-bad-bad-guy, and you’re coming out of his apartment at—" Wade tilts his head to the side, just enough to check his watch “—almost exactly the time you usually start your patrol.”

Peter chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yep,” he decides on.

“And — just to be clear — I definitely shouldn’t unalive this guy instead of the douchebag across the street.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees. “No one would like that.”

Wade bangs his head against the fire escape again. “Okay, Webs. This one’s just to gauge if you’re smarter than a fifth grader: how much of that do you think I actually believe?"

Or: Somehow, the components of Peter’s secret identity keep crumbling all around him.

Also: He’s running out of excuses not to tell Wade that he’s in love with him.

9-1-1

Don't You (Forget About Me) by Princessfbi

"Bill, can you tell me your location? I want to send some people to make sure you’re okay. You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not. But he’s worse off than I am. Shouldn’t you want to help him instead? Wouldn’t you want to know where he is?”

“Who is he?”

“That firefighter I buried underground.”

The long awaited buried alive fic

ATLA

All the Little Things by CSHfic, VSfic

Sokka receives an offer of an arranged marriage from the Northern Water Tribe. On the one hand, accepting would strengthen ties between their tribes. On the other hand, Chief Arnook has suggested Hahn as a potential match, and Hahn sucks. But with the future of the Southern Water Tribe Reconstruction project relying heavily on the good will of the North, Sokka doesn’t know how to say no.

(Katara doesn’t have to deal with this. Katara is dating the Avatar.)

Zuko has a solution. Sokka just wishes he’d realized he was in love with the Fire Lord before he agreed to pretend to date him.

Classroom Lessons by Thisisentertaining

Sokka never would have thought he'd be pretending to be a Fire Nation Colonial Citizen, going to a parent conference about his fake!son who was an airbender, but here he was.

At least life wasn't boring.

Sokka turned on Aang, fake mustache and beard bristling. "Young man, as soon as we get home, you're gonna get the punishment of a lifetime."

The headmaster smirked, smugly, evil-y, Fire Nation-y. "That's what I like to hear. Really Zuko him."

the snakes, and the people that they bite by Serie11

Rai is just a normal guy, really. One of the many guards that patrol the Fire Lord's palace.

Why did it have to be him who got caught up in this assassination attempt?

Finishing Each Other's Sentences by mindbending

fire lilies are red your melancholy mood’s blue still I prefer you 

After the war, Sokka starts writing poetry.

She broke your throne by Serie11

Zuko is kidnapped from his afternoon of paperwork by a well intentioned friend. There just so happens to be a festival on in town for them to attend instead of working...

[pluck-heartstrings]

Whats a scene from PMH (spoiler-free, like one we’ve already seen) that made you giggle mischievously and twiddle your mustache? y’know like an ‘ohh that’s good’ lightbulb idea. :)

A lot of the dialogue between the Vocalist and the Attendants are tricky to write, particularly when they're saying things that could give THE BIG SECRET but never enough to truly solidify the truth. The amount of times I have to go back and reword certain sentences because it's too close or it doesn't flow right is a lot.

So when the Handler got sick and as the Princess they told Sun 'it's just a little virus', I was particularly proud of that. It's not lying, it rolls off the tongue, and it gets completely misunderstood in context.

If I could hire someone to come up with sentences like these then PMH would be so much easier to write. But alas I did this to myself.

[femoso-seben]

Foundation Task Force 141 x Afab! Reader

TW: Mention of death

The building is a reck. Thick metal doors were crumbling like paper. The lights flicker on and off others broken. Deep slashes carve through the thick concrete walls. The metal support rods bent out of the concrete. Pools of water sock blood pooled on the ground.

The bodies of occultist and their rich followers all littered the ground. Like discarded broken wooden dolls left to be forgotten. Many of the dead had large slashes and missing limbs.

You look down at your fellow researchers and guards you once laughed with. You pull out a cigarette and light it. You take out a long drag of the cigarette letting the toxic smoke dance across your tongue and down your throat. It fills your body and a wash of calm sets in for you.

You swing your lanyard around her pointer finger the bright pink lanyard swings healing with all the keys you have on it. Attach to your pristine bright blouse was her ID card pinned to your chest. Your high-heeled boots click loudly in the silence of the hall.

What a mess.

You stop at the main office and open it with your ID. There slumped over in his desk the head occultist— the fool decided death was more lenient than reprimanded by the council. You walk in and pick up all the files, put them into the metal trash can, and take one last puff of the cigarette. You drop the cigarette on the paper, light a match, and drop it into the trash can.

You turn around and whistle a tone as you leave, your footsteps your metronome. You take off your sunglasses and look at the growing crowd of reporters, military men, and random curious civilians. You look over to the SCP task force leader. You give him a curt nod and he begins to calm the crowd.

“We want an answer,” you look over to see a group of military men being held back by the SCP special forces. Your eyes rake them over, special forces… from the UK… working with the CIA— outsiders.

“You,” you look over at them hands in your white lab coat pocket. You waltz over. “What’s going on?” He asked his strong… Scottish accent sounded harsh and angry.

“Sir please back down our men are—”

“What right does your company have to take our missions,” another man steps force. His mustache transfers into his beard, bucket hat is low on his head. He glared holes into you. You sigh pull out another cigarette and light it. You calmly look up at them.

You could tell from the way he was standing he was trying to intimidate you. You touch a guard on his shoulder and he steps aside for you. You get into his face and blow out the smoke.

“What write do you have?” You ask cigarette held in your head. His face reddens and rage seems to boil under his skin.

“We are part of the task force for this mission— what jurisdictions do you have?” The man asks back. You push your hair out of your face a vein pops in your neck.

“The CIA— the FBI— this fucking government. You’re not from here— you have no jurisdiction here, foreigner.” You spat out. This is America, not the UK they have no rights— then again even if they were Americans they still wouldn't have any rights.

This is the foundation concern.

“Ma’am,” you turn around to see the task force leader walking up to you.

“You have a call.”

“From who?” You take the phone.

“This is Kate Laswell from the CIA—”

“What does the feds want?” You ask annoyance seeping into your tone.

“My men, need to be a part of this.”

“Why?”

“This is the third foundation breach we want our men in this investigation,” you purse your lips.

“Have they been debriefed?” You sigh and take another drag of your cigarette.

“Not yet—”

“Debrief them, have them sign the papers, and then I’ll let them in, until then they stay out.” You hang up the phone, hand it over back to the Captain, and turn to the four military men.

“Your handler called,” you tell the bucket hat man, “you have a debriefing to go to.”

You turn away and begin walking away. In the corner of your eyes, a black car pulled in, the CIA is one fast organization. You watch as all four men enter the car. You wonder which ones will join you— their fate is entirely in your hands.

“Alright,” you look at the extraction and tracker teams, “let’s find these runaway anomalies.” They all solute you and begin to March into the forest.

This place was a former military holding cell turned into a private hospital by a group of rich fools. They thought they knew what they were doing— fools.

You walk to the crowd they whisper, “Everybody,” you call out, “Please back out this place is still an active dangerous zone.”

“What happened?” A reporter yells.

“One mentally ill patient got ahold of a gun and created a massacre, then damaged the pipes. Theirs a gas leak, go home.” You lie to them. You lie as easily as you breathe lying is expected for this line of work.

“What are the military forces?”

“The patient is still loose this place is for the criminally insane their dangerous psychotic people out there, I advise you all to go home, lock your doors, and stay inside.” You instruct.

The few civilians quickly begin to walk off getting into cars and going one. The situation is dire. The media on the other hand— they think their invincible.

“Can we get more answers?”

“Relax, you’ll know as soon as we know.” You tell them fighting the urge to roll your eyes. They mumbled but slowly despised but a few did stay.

You turn to the police and give them a curt nod. They were no ordinary Police officers but a SCP informant. The police push towards and tell the media to go home there’s nothing to see.

***

Task Force 141 walked into the empty conference room. Soon Laswell walks in, her face stiff and serious. She set four different files down and silently slid the files to each of them.

“What you will learn here means you entering a world of utter confidentiality, do you understand?”

“Kate, what is going on?” Price gruffly asks.

“John, what— what you are about to know means you can not back out without your memory wiped.”

“Kate—”

“I need you all to promise me.” They turn to each other. Ghost stayed silent and watched intently, Gaz sent a glance at the Soap before looking at Price. Laswell’s strange behavior was off-putting.

“We— we promise.” Laswell sighs and gestures to them to open the files.

“That woman— isn’t a woman. She's an SCP and she’s a part of the SCP foundation.”

----

1.1K

[calabria-mediterranea]

The Festival of the Giants in Catanzaro, Calabria, Italy

A glimpse of i giganti at a Sicilian or Calabrian festival is a treat for all ages. But who are these folkloric giants – the golden-haired damsel and her dark-skinned suitor – and what are their origins? Just as the evocative figures float and whirl through the streets, their history entwines actual events and colorful myth to create the intriguing tradition.

The legend of the giganti is generally thought to originate in Messina, the northeastern Sicilian city that is separated from Calabria in the toe of the mainland by the aptly named Strait of Messina. Some accounts tell of a beautiful peasant girl, others of a local princess, but whatever her social position, the young maiden came from a virtuous, Christian family. Her name was Marta, or Mata in dialect. One day around 970 A.D. during the period of the Saracen invasions, a very tall Arab named Hassass Ibn-Hammar came ashore with his men to pillage the city. Upon seeing the lovely Mata, the prince asked for her hand in marriage. She refused, causing him to plunder all the more.

In the picture: THE IMPRESSIVELY GIANT GIGANTI IN MESSINA, SICILY

As a good Catholic, Mata resorted to prayer. Some stories tell of her kidnapping, but whether voluntarily or by force, she eventually capitulated and fell in love with the Muslim prince when he converted to Christianity and gave up his barbaric ways. He subsequently changed his name to Grifo and came to be known as Grifone due to his noteworthy physical stature. (The suffix -one denotes largeness in Italian.)

Across the Strait of Messina in Calabria, the giganti are constructed of papier-mâché and rest on the shoulders of their handlers.

Hidden under the giants’ skirts with a face hole to help guide their way, the puppeteers engage in a dance of courtship – the swarthy, mustached Saracen versus the fair, rosy-cheeked girl next door.  Fast footwork to the step of the tarantella conducts the couple through turns, inclinations and other gestures that draw them ever nearer and lead to an embrace or kiss to the delight of the crowd.

The ballo is accompanied by the incessant beating of drums that not only requires great stamina from the puppeteers, but has even inspired legends.

Calabria and Sicily share the giganti as they share the Strait and histories plagued with foreign incursion and domination. The ballo of Mata and Grifone is commonly viewed as a representation of the struggle between Islam and Catholicism. In festive atmospheres throughout the regions, the conflict is peacefully resolved, the people emerge victoriously, liberty is preserved and everyone has a good time. Long histories and engaging folkloric traditions come together to form part of a rich cultural fabric in which i giganti play an important part, both enlightening and entertaining the generations of today and tomorrow.

Video by Giganti Varapodio RC Profilo

Written by Karen Haid

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea