fookinfandoms

[fookinfandoms]

Past the Point of No Return

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter X)

Summary: What's meant to be you trying to get Michael out of the funk he's been in since your return from New Orleans quickly goes south. What happens when things are said that can't be taken back?

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: So, here we go. It's about to get really dark for the next few chapters because Michael and Reader are about to go through hell. Regardless, I hope you stick around and continue to read, because I'm excited for what I'm going to be cooking up for you.

Mad Love Masterlist

Your fun Fall Break trip was cut shorter than you would have liked. The plans that you and Michael had tentatively made with Mallory that night before you summoned Papa Legba had been destroyed by the gatekeeper’s bold ask and the revelation that parts of the infernal leagues weren’t on Satan’s side. Michael claimed that he had found the information that he needed to banish Cordelia and that there was no reason to continue to stay in New Orleans—a lie, you were sure. When you bid farewell to your best friend, both of you shared a silent worry about what was to come. A worry that, in your opinion, was warranted.

Michael…hadn’t been the same, since that night at Dinah’s studio. You knew this from almost the moment that you left, when you tried to tempt him into joining the mile-high club with you (Don’t judge, okay? You have a super hot husband, how could you not be tempted to proposition him?) and he had turned you down in favor of staring in perturbation out the plane window for the entirety of the ride home. It didn’t stop there, though you wish it would have.

Ever since you returned home, he’s become quieter and more brooding than normal. He spends far more time in his office or at Kineros than he does with you, constantly planning for—well, you know what he’s planning for, and you don’t want to even think about it. Whether it was the experience with Cordelia or what he learned from Papa Legba, a fire had been lit under Michael, and he was now determined to continue his plans for the apocalypse. 

Regardless of the reasons, he’s distant, more distant than you’ve ever known him to be. Your normally loving, almost-overbearing husband is gone, at least for the time being.

It frightens you, if you’re being completely honest with yourself. You used to be able to read him and his emotions so easily, but now he’s completely closed off to you. You don’t know what’s going on in his head anymore, but you know that it’s nothing good. You want so badly to relieve him of the dark thoughts that are plaguing his mind, but you’re also worried that it might be too late. 

Though you’re willing to give him his space–you’ve never wanted to be clingy–it’s now been two days since you’ve seen him; even at night, he chooses to sleep in his bed (you’re not sure if he sleeps at all) instead of with you. You miss him, even though he’s in the same house as you. Fed up, you find yourself standing in front of his office door and silently debating with yourself on whether you want to bother disturbing him or not.

Before you can decide, Michael’s voice comes through the door. “I know you’re out there. You can come in.”

Beating back the embarrassment over being caught, you open the door.

There he is, sitting behind his paper-scattered desk and looking over something on his computer. The sunlight streams in through the windows, making his blond curls glow golden. It’s beautiful and familiar, and your heart aches at the thought that he’s trying to become a stranger to you.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly shy in a room that you once used to enter with all the confidence in the world. “Are you busy?”

He sighs. “Yes, but I’ll always make time for you.”

Michael pushes his chair away from his desk as you make your way across the room and towards him, allowing you to settle yourself onto his lap. After you do, you kiss him softly and sweetly, both of you just enjoying getting to be in the other’s embrace for a short moment.

“I miss you,” you admit, laying your head on his shoulder.

“What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“I know that. Physically, you are. But you’re always working now. I don’t ever get to see you anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly and guiltily. “I don’t mean to.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You just need to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. Or that you let me take care of you.” You look up at him. “Y’know, even Brennan mentioned that you’ve been dodging his texts.” 

The two had actually become friends after that night during Homecoming, and they usually got together to play video games at least once a week. That Michael had abandoned this plan gave you yet another reason to worry about him.

“It’s not on purpose. I’m just…” Michael trails off, knowing that he’s about to sound like a broken record.

“Busy. I know.” 

You think that it kind of is on purpose; he’s withdrawing from everyone that cares about him, and you assume this is his attempt to try and make going full Antichrist easier. You refuse to let that happen; you can’t lose him to Satan. This leads you into your careful segue, your true reason for visiting here in the first place. 

“Hey, speaking of taking care of yourself: How would you feel about going on a double date?”

“A double date?”

You nod. “Yeah! It could be a good stress reliever and a way for you to get out of the house for a night.”

“What is a double date?”

“Where we go on a date, but with another couple. Specifically Kate and Brennan?” Michael looks at you in bewilderment, and you backtrack when you realize what his line of thought is. “Not like that! We’re hanging out as friends, but you and I are in a relationship and Kate and Brennan are in one of their own.”

“Is there a plan in mind for this double date?”

You shrug, feeling thrilled that he’s even pondering the idea. This conversation has felt so normal that it starts to get a little seed of hope blooming within you. Already, you’re imagining a night of fun, one that will finally have your relationship going back to the way that it was. “Bowling was discussed as an option, but nothing’s really set in stone yet. Maybe we go to an arcade?”

“That sounds fun,” Michael agrees. “But I don’t think I can make it work right now.”

You sigh in disappointment. Really, you should have expected this. That doesn’t make it sting less. “Michael,” you groan.

“I know,” he sympathizes. “But I have to get this done.”

“What are you working on?”

“What am I always working on?” he retorts. 

Though it’s meant to be teasing, when you realize what he means, panic begins to thud in your chest. Michael, of course, picks up on this immediately. He shifts you in his lap so that your body is facing him now, leaving you no choice but to look at him unless you want to make it obvious that you’re ignoring him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, quickly and in a tone that doesn’t reassure him at all.

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“Fine. I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“About you. You haven’t been the same since we got back from New Orleans.”

“I mean, I won’t argue with that. Our trip was enlightening to me. Papa Legba showed me that I’ve been neglecting my duties. I have to get serious about my purpose, or else other beings will continue to question me, my father, and my power.”

Oh god, here it comes. You know what you have to say next, but you don’t know if you’re going to be able to do so. The moment that you’ve been dreading for months now is upon you. Up until now, you’ve been able to toe the line and subtly suggest that the apocalypse might not actually be a good idea. Now, there’s no skirting around it. You’re on a figurative precipice, and there’s nothing you can do but jump.

“Michael…” you start. “You can’t end the world.”

It’s as though some omnipotent being has hit slow-motion on their remote, stretching the scene that is your life out. You can almost see Michael processing what you’ve just said to him and the way that it clicks in his mind. When it does, shock begins to grow in his eyes, making them large and betrayed. You feel like a spectator to your own life, and it almost makes you want to take back what you said.

Then, a button on the remote is pressed again, and life goes back to normal speed.

“What?” He stands in surprise, nearly toppling you off of his lap. You stumble to your own feet, standing opposite him as he turns around to face you. “What are you talking about?”

Though you want to cower in the face of his rising anger, you stand tall. “I don’t want you to bring about the apocalypse. You can’t. It’s cruel and unjust and–and senseless!”

A shadow crosses his face. “It is my destiny to bring about the end of days. I was born and raised to do this, I can’t just…shun that.”

“Yes, you can.” You grab his hands. “Michael, think about it. You have The Cooperative in the palms of your hands. Surely you can convince them that there are better ways to achieve world domination, ways that don’t involve ending the world?”

You can think of multiple ways off the top of your head. Maybe Michael could become President or a diplomat. Maybe he incites uprisings to topple other governments. Maybe he becomes an influential figure and gets the entire world to stand with him. You’re not sure how it would be accomplished, but again, Michael has the richest and most powerful people in the world at his beck and call. If anybody can make it happen, it’s him.

Even still, Michael shakes his head. “No. It is prophesied that I am to bring about the end of days, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

“By dropping nuclear bombs on billions of innocent people?” you say incredulously, hoping that he’ll hear just how ridiculous it sounds. “Okay, what about our plans? Of me going to graduate school, of us moving somewhere new? Getting to explore the world together, and getting to be us? They’re just gone now because you’ve decided that listening to your father is better than a life with your wife?”

“It was foolish to make those in the first place. I’m just delaying the inevitable.”

You know that this isn’t really what he wants. That he’s acting on his father’s orders because Cordelia and Papa Legba both scared him into thinking about the potential consequences of disobeying him. Disobeying Satan has never scared Michael before though, which means that there must have been something between the lines that you hadn’t been able to read.

“Michael, please. I’m begging you. Think about all of the people that you’re going to kill! Kate and Mallory and Brennan? My–” your voice breaks. “My parents, who have done nothing but love and accept you as their own?”

“Their deaths fulfill a purpose,” he says simply and robotically.

You release his hands, the thought of continuing to touch him making you sick. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to stand by my side during this! Why are you not supporting me?”

“You want me to support you blowing up the entire planet? You want my support as you end the world?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes!”

“How would you ever think that I could support you during this?”

“Because you’re my wife!” he yells.

“Yes, I am. But that does not mean I’ll support you when you’re making the most colossal mistake anybody could ever make.”

The electricity in the room begins to flicker and the ground under you rumbles as Michael grows more angry. Shadows begin to grow and warp behind him, and his face switches back and forth between the face that you know and love and that of the demon that lives within him. Still, you refuse to stand down.

“If you do this, Michael, do not expect me to stand by you. Physically, you can force me to play the part of your dutiful little wife. Otherwise? You’ll lose me for good. I will never be able to love a monster like you.”

Instead of saying anything in defense, Michael stalks to the door and throws it open, apparently deciding that if you won’t leave, he’ll leave instead. He knows where you stand on this matter now, and he knows that it’s the complete opposite of where he is. You’re so full of rage and hurt, though, that you can’t resist the last barb that’s been on your mind since your conversation turned into an argument.

“Y’know, ending the world isn’t gonna make your father love you like you want him to,” you call out to his retreating form.

He freezes in the doorframe for only a moment before saying over his shoulder, “The world will end, my love. And you will be right there with me when it does.” 

This is not a threat, you know. It’s a promise.

When the door slams shut behind him, you fall to the floor with a sob as your resolve leaves your body all at once. You truly can’t believe that it’s come to this, you think as you shakily grab your phone out of your pocket and call the first person that you can think of.

“Hey, I was just about to call you!” Mallory answers her phone cheerfully. “I think I finally found a banishing spell that’ll work for you and Michael.” 

She trails off when she hears the sounds of you trying to stop your crying over the line. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Mallory, Michael’s going to end the world, and soon.”

“He told you this?” she asks seriously, all traces of her earlier lightheartedness gone.

“We just got into a fight. I asked him not to go through with the apocalypse, and he–” You cut yourself off with a sobbing hiccup, “he was so angry that I even suggested it. I don’t even know what happened; one minute everything was fine, and the next we were yelling at each other. I told him that, emotionally, he’d lose me as his wife if he did it. He told me that it was happening and that I’d be right there with him as it did.”

“Oh no.”

“What do we do?” You’re sure that you sound as hopeless as you feel.

“I…” Mallory falls silent on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure. Let me think for a bit, okay?”

You have no clue if she can actually come up with something, or if she’s just saying this to try and provide you with a bit of comfort. Either way, it works enough that you can stop sobbing and whimper out an, “Okay.”

“Hey. We’re going to figure this out. Everything will be okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know. But I believe me. Can that be enough for you right now?” It sounds oddly reminiscent of the conversation that you had with her back in New Orleans, only now, the roles have been reversed.

You nod before remembering that she can’t actually see you through the phone. “Yeah.”

You don’t even realize that you’ve said bye to her until you hear the beeping in your ear that signifies the call’s been ended, your world having been completely tipped off of its axis. Everything that you’ve worked so hard to try and hide is now out in the open, and you’re terrified about the potential ramifications. 

How could this have gone so wrong, and so quickly?

///

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @blakescoven @wroteclassicaly @we-did-it-joe @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @langdonsjoyy @aftertheglitterfades @ferndolan @iamlivingforturner @moonlike333 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angiestopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox

#fic rec #i love this series!! #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader

[fookinfandoms]

Wasteland, Baby Chapter One

Read on AO3 Here 

Next Chapter

Madeline Sage had lived her life in a state of uncertainty. She accepted that most of life was out of her control, that there were millions of things she would never know and so much more she would never understand.

 As a realist, she wasn’t trapped by beliefs of fairness or blinded by optimism. And while she had hoped to live a long life, had prepared to do so by studying and extending her education, she wasn’t terribly surprised when the world went to hell.

 After all, Earth was long overdue for an extinction event.

 Truthfully, the only thing that surprised her was that she had somehow survived.

 So when the world ended, Madeline was really only certain of three things.

 First, crises did not bring people together. The caste system of the Outpost made it very clear that there would always be a hierarchy.

 Second, no matter how much her fellow survivors longed for it, no one was coming to save them. And a changing song on a radio didn’t mean shit.

 And third, she was going to die in Outpost Three.

 For eighteen months, she breathed that truth and learned to accept the worst. To die of old age would be a blessing but it was safer to bet on a radiation leak, starvation, or cannibals.

 Until Michael Langdon.

Keep reading

#fic rec #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #this was INCREDIBLE #there was crack laced in this writing

[fookinfandoms]

The Sweetest Kind of Trouble

Well, here it is! My fluffier-than-fluff Tommy Miller fic. Seriously, this is so soft, y’all. I just didn’t have the mental capacity to go dark for this one. Sometimes it be like that! I just really wanted to write a very tender Tommy Miller fic without the looming threat of the end of the world. 

Word count: ~8.3k (my longest fic lol who am I what is happening)

Summary: You meet Tommy when he comes in looking for flowers for a first date. He’s trouble from the start.

Tommy Miller x f!reader, AU, no outbreak. 

Warnings: Some spice at the end! I think that’s it?? Let me know if I missed anything but I mean…this is SO FLUFFY. 

I hope you enjoy. I just want to give Tommy Miller all of the love he deserves!!

Keep reading

#this was just #wow #beautifully written #tommy miller #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us

[fookinfandoms]

Oh my god, the clarity of his grunts, growls, laughter, hmms, and breathing

#finally some good food #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd

[fookinfandoms]

#little meow #aemond targaryen #HotD

[fookinfandoms]

His walk, his hair, his fucking little waist 🥵

#his little slutty waist #ooo stunnin #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #house of the dragon

[fookinfandoms]

Sins of the Father - Part 1

Summary: When the Greens win the Dance of the Dragons, your father must answer for his support of Rhaenyra.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lady!Reader(house unspecified)

W/C: 1.5K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, forced/arranged marriage and reference to canon level violence. Future chapters will be explicit.

A/N: Thank you fieldandfountain, @truesblue and @whatblogisthis216 for all your help with the first part of this fic. The fantastically talented @writercole created the beautiful graphic!

Likes are lovely but comments and reblogs make my day!

You trail behind your father into the nearly empty Great Hall, flinching when the heavy doors close behind you. King Aegon the second is nowhere to be seen. In his place the Queen Mother sits on the throne, flanked by the Hand of the King and who you assume must be her youngest son, Prince Aemond. Even though he looks half bored he still makes for an intimidating figure, dressed all in black with an eye patch that only partially hides the angry scar that bisects his right eye. You swallow hard, recalling all the nasty rumors you’ve heard about him. Kinslayer was the kindest one you could recall.

A handful of Kingsgaurd members stand at the bottom of the throne and two more follow behind you and your father. You search the room for any familiar figures or other nobles but find none. There are no friendly faces here. When you spot the King's Justice half-hidden behind a pillar, you stumble. Fear lances through your chest, hot and tight, as you consider what his presence means.

“All will be well,” your father promises quietly, offering you his hand.

You grip it tightly and stare straight ahead. The stories your grandmother told you as a girl about her visits to Kings Landing pale in comparison to what you see before you. The iron throne looms large and imposing, the chaotic array of swords terrifying. You have to crane your neck to look at the high ceiling, eyes catching on the beautiful stained glass. Were this any other time you would have been thrilled at the chance to see the capital. Now you feel only dread.

There is no question why the two of you are here today. Your father and brother threw their support behind Rhaenyra in the war and now it was time to face that choice. To beg for mercy like the other lords summoned before your father. The heads of those unsuccessful in their plea were impaled on the spikes that lined the castle’s inner walls. You prayed to the seven that your father would not join them.

“Your Grace,” your father greets, bending deeply at the waist. You follow suit, dropping into a low curtsey and waiting until she bids you rise. “We were expecting to see the King today.”

“My son is busy,” Alicent tells you with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am here to speak on his behalf.”

“We were summoned by the King,” your father says, a deep frown on his face. “And have traveled far to speak with him.”

“You also pledged your allegiance to the usurper,” the Hand reminds your father.

“The King is merciful though,” Alicent is quick to add, a bland sort of smile on her face. “He understands your family’s ties with House Targaryen go back to before the doom and that your mother was a childhood friend to Aemma. It is understandable you might have been easily led astray.”

Your father remains silent, waiting for Alicent to continue. He told you on the long journey here that he suspected the crown wanted money. There were rumors the war nearly bankrupted the royal coffers. It was a costly war, paid in both blood and gold. Your father is one of the wealthiest lords in Westeros, second only to the Lannisters. It was a logical conclusion and you hoped he was right.

“King Aegon would like to offer you the opportunity to show us you understand the error of your ways and to reaffirm your commitment to his rule.”

“What does his grace have in mind?” Your father asks.

“Marriage between your daughter and Prince Aemond.”

Your lips part in a silent show of surprise but your father’s reaction is more pronounced. His brows draw together and he cuts a quick look at Aemond who stands tall and disinterested beside his mother.

"You cannot possibly expect me to give up my only remaining heir," your father begins, voice incredulous.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the King's Hand jut his chin out and one of the Kingsguard steps forward, hand on the pommel of his greatsword. You glance up at Alicent. She blinks, her face pinched in a sour expression. You think about the heads on Traitor’s Gate and step forward before you’re even cognizant of your own actions.

"Please your grace, you must excuse my father," you begin, resting a hand on his arm. "He grieves still for my brother, his only son, and heir. He fears he will lose me today too, but I can see that is not the case. Prince Aemond is a virtuous man and would treat me well. We are honored you deem us worthy of such a betrothal."

Your father turns to you and stares, surprised. His eyes, the same color as your late brother's, are full of anger. You know he wants to fight this, but you have your mother and sisters back home to think about. Silently, you beg him to understand, to acquiesce. After a long moment, he seems to, clenching his jaw tightly. The fear you see in his expression is a mirror of what you feel in your heart.

"We would be happy to show our loyalty to the crown," your father says finally, clearly unhappy. A second later he lays his hand over yours.

"The King will be pleased to hear this," Alicent replies.

"Of course, there is the matter of a dowry," the Hand says, speaking up finally. "It would need to be fit for a Prince."

You look pleadingly to your father when his hand tightens over yours, a muscle in his cheek jumping. He came ready to part with his coin, not with you. You should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. The crown needs to ensure your father’s loyalty. He is a powerful man and his influence ran deep. With you in King’s Landing, they could be assured of his cooperation. Any children you bore Aemond would inherit your father’s lands and titles after he passed, guaranteeing your house remained bound to the realm.

“The Prince needs only to name his price,” you say when it is clear your father is too angry to speak. When you look at Aemond, you’re startled to find his eye focused solely on you. His expression is blank, making it impossible to determine what he might be thinking.

“How kind to offer me a say,” he says with a smirk.

You drop his intense gaze, inclining your head forward in a show of respect to hide your fear.

“We are but returning the kindness your family has shown us,” you assure him, not daring to raise your eyes from the ground.

“Then the matter is settled,” the Hand says.

“It is,” your father agrees, voice strained.

The situation you’ve found yourself in is a dangerous one and you know the fate of your father and your house rests on your shoulders now. It’s a heavy burden and he looks at you with such a pained expression you feel your throat close up around any words of comfort you might offer. Instead, you squeeze his arm and try to impart whatever reassurance you can. He nods in return, exhaling sharply. Under his fear and worry, you think you see a glimmer of pride.

“The wedding should take place soon,” Alicent says, drawing your attention away from your father as she descends the throne. There’s an unexpected smile on her face when she beckons Aemon to her side.

“As your grace wishes,” you accede.

“In two months' time, all the lords of the kingdom will come to reswear their allegiance to King Aegon. It can happen then. That will allow us to prepare a wedding fit for the King’s brother.”

“That will give me the time needed for the dowry,” your father adds. “We will return in one month's time to make preparations.”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” the Hand begins, “your daughter will remain in King’s Landing. To ensure your continued loyalty.”

“It will give her time to know her betrothed,” Alicent adds with a smile, drawing closer. She places a light hand on your shoulder and looks at your father. “She will be well cared for until you return.”

“A dragon protects what is his,” Aemond says, a flash of movement drawing your eye to the hand that rests on the dagger in his belt.

“Your skills with the blade are legendary, your grace. It warms my father’s heart to know I will be kept so safe.”

“I am sure it warms something.” Aemond stares at your father now, chin lifted in challenge.

Alicent flashes her son a look but Aemond only chuckles, turning on his heel before your father can respond.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts and feelings on Aemond! I’m open to requests but cannot guarantee they’ll be fulfilled.

Also, I no longer have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

#fic rec #love #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen

[fookinfandoms]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Tangerine

— Bullet Train (2022)

#nice #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson

[fookinfandoms]

🕷Wolf Men & Secret Heists🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

9.2k words.

Behind closed doors and locked in shadows. Woven in between all these things, it seems a great burning crush is being harboured in the pair of your huge hearts.

“Hey.” You breathe. You almost sound nervous. You hate that you do.

In the half dark you can see Eddie’s eyes look stunning black. Big pretty tar pits that tug. His grin flicks into white.

“Hey.” He answers back.

Trying not to trip over where he stood. He’s certain you’d be able to hear the way his heart is pounding his ribs so hard, like it’s rattling against the barred window of his bones.

Or;

You and Eddie enjoy a rendezvous in a storage closet at school. Some inevitably dirty stuff happens-

Warning: There is smut in this! Fingering /sex references and all manner of dirty talk. follow the rest of the Super Freak series here-

Heels that click and clack on lino. That’s how you know your friend has arrived. She’s stomping up to your locker and to no one’s surprise- first thing she does?

She whines.

All scary padded shoulders in her bleached denim jacket glittering with rhinestones. Neon blonde hair piled up and bouncing. Plastic pink hoops rattle in her ears.

“My life stinks. I woke up with a zit on my chin. And I think I’m getting a fat ass.” Linda slumps against your locker with a scowl like her world simply must be ending.

“Good morning is the more traditional greeting.” You comment.

Side eyeing her, as you move her aside with your binder, to wrench open your locker. Actually getting some books out to do some learning.

She didn’t even bother to look pleased at the fact you were back and feeling much better- by the way. So nothing much had changed there.

Linda was still her vacuous-poison slinging self. School was the ever steady same. A crush of gossip, hormones, pooling levels of geekdom, and elitist social strata.

Your world was back to rights, so it seemed.

You rummaged in your locker for your weighty English textbooks. Linda shoved a stick of pink gum in her mouth. Shrewdly eyed you up and down as she slowly chewed. Judging you from under those periwinkle eye-shadowed lids. Long flick of mascara on her lashes. Neon pink heavily dusted on her cheekbones.

“Why do you look different?” She asks you with one raised brow. Trying to put her manicured finger on it.

“Do I?” You comment. Knowing full well you do. Maybe you allow yourself a small mercy of a half smile at that.

You’d left your hair down. Sprayed perfume on your wrists and neck again. Prettied up more than you would for school usually. Dare you say it, you’d even put on mascara this morning. Just a little indulgence.

You’d wanted to rectify the situation; the last time he saw you, would leave him the lingering memory of unshaved legs, untamed bed hair, and snoopy shorts. And you probably looked green from being sick.

You felt this outfit was a must, to clear the air. So to speak.

You’d dived submariner level deep into the back of your closet to find this dress. A simple cream button up with red flowers swirled all over. Little cute climbing roses. You wore it with just your white socks and your old sneakers.

Right day for a dress outside. It was that soupy kinda Indiana day that lingered, pressing sunshine down with stuffy mugginess.

You keep the real reason you’d prettied up very close to your chest. She’s already checking her hair in her compact. Despite the fact she probably checked it five seconds ago before climbing out Jonny’s wagon of a car.

“Laundry day?” Linda asked with a staining tone of judgement at the end of her question. Eyes on her own reflection. Not turned to you.

“Yeah.” You beam. Because it was easy to sway her. And that padded lie was far more preferable to the truth. Not that she’d bother at all.

You didn’t, couldn’t, pique her interest unless gossip or bitching was involved. You mainly leave that acidic, razor-studded ball in her court.

You missed the old Linda sometimes. That Linda.

The goof she’d been before High School and it’s noxious halls grabbed a hold of her. She used to love books. Nerdishly so. Always with the books. Wore a bright yellow camp fun time t-shirt and used to adore thrashing around your room to your Romeo Void cassettes. The way she used to chug a coke and burp afterwards cause she didn’t give a shit if it wasn’t ladylike.

Then it was like someone flipped a switch halfway through your freshman year.

Suddenly she was all about what was the right table to sit at. Worried about being visible. Started ranting about cute purses and funky tight pucci tops. The right clothes she went broke trying to buy, to stay current. Cause ew vintage clothes. What the fuck. This isn’t the 70’s anymore grandma.

She compromised instantly on who she would be. She grew up, apparently. You like to think you never did take that full compromise.

You missed the same scruffy kid as you. Joined at the hip like twins. With her mousy brunette and un-permed hair (shocking, unthinkable) the way she wore scuffed muddy kneed jeans and sneakers to school like you, and boys had been a distant and irritating spec on her radar.

The way she got more and more hung up on hot pink nail polish, hormones and chasing after scoring beer and trashy sex. How she’d rather be flipping through glossy fashion magazines and gossip columns than her actual studies.

Your friend, who she was in the before, would have been straight round to you like a shot, once upon a time if you’d been sick. Or not at school for even one class. She’d whine at you, and irritate, until you felt better.

She’d have slung her ass over to yours in an instant, burst through the door to raid your fridge. Sat criss cross applesauce on your bedroom carpet throwing flowery pillows and your teddies at you, because she was bored at school on her own. And how dare you-

Now all she wanted to do was pop pink bubbles of gum on the sidelines of her boyfriends basketball games, and natter away to preppy airhead cheerleaders, rather than put any effort into her own life.

She became the bitchy stooge you’d always sworn to hate when you were little kids. Erecting makeshift tents in your bedrooms and telling ghost stories.

No rectifying it now. She’s in way too over her permed head. Drawn to the dark side.

Her life now is lipsticks, new mini skirts, and blowjobs. And she revolves around her thug boyfriend like one of Jupiter’s moons. Heaven forfend she ever falls out of orbit.

You mourn it for a second. Looking at her inspecting her one very small zit, probing a finger to it, like its satan’s own hell spawn nesting on her face.

“I should be in fucking Notre Dame bell tower.” She grumps.

You dig in your locker some more. Shake your head with a sigh. Strong arming all your books in hand. Hunting for the one for your chemistry class that began in ten minutes. You shift stuff onto your hip.

“Paper bag over your head?” You suggest.

She scoffs at you. “Nice.” Knocks her elbow into your locker door to hit it up against you.

A shadow brushes past you. A disgusting greasy wash of assaulting Paco Rabanne stinks up the air. All spice and wood, overpowering.

You fight to roll your eyes. Her revolting boyfriend lumbered past you. All cologne and seriously no braincells.

“Baby.” She chirps all sweet. Demeanour swirling into sugary sweetness. They’re acting like they didn’t just see each other two minutes ago.

“Hey.” He gives her that lopsided too white grin.

She folds her arms out for him and he kisses her right up against the locker door. Tongue noises and mouthing, sucking making you feel suddenly like vomiting again. That wasn’t kissing. It was like he was trying to swallow her. Suck parts of her face off in slurpy chunks.

“What you doing after school tonight?” He asks close to her ear but loud enough for all to hear.

“You, probably.” She flirts. Eyeing him like he was a full steak dinner. Dragging her sharp nails down his letterman.

“Christ.” You wince in revulsion. They resume tangling and knotting their tongues.

“Can we help you?” Linda asks when they stop sucking face. Having heard your gripes. Her lips were red swollen already.

You glare, boredly. “Yes. Give me a larger sphere of personal space. Couple of hundred miles should do.”

“What’s up your ass, Picasso?” Jonny asks as he splays a hand against the locker near her shoulder. Her spit is gleaming wet on his lips. Charming.

He used that really clever arty nickname he’s assigned to you. You half wonder if it’s because he hasn’t got the mental acuity to learn your name. Or if he even bothered to know it. Probably couldn’t even spell it-

“No one as per usual.” Linda sighs in a cruel little jab.

You bite back the strong urge to kick her in the leg. You really do bite your tongue so hard it stings. You wanna shout:

Eddie Munson. That’s who, Linda. Eddie goddamn freak fucking Munson is currently so far up my ass. Matter of fact, he’s so balls deep I can feel his cock tickling in my throat. Kay?

If only you could say those words aloud. Open up your mouth and let them tumble past your teeth, unfurl from the bed of your tongue.

You could only imagine. Their faces would be pure comedy gold reacting to that news. You’d walk down these halls cackling and blast the finger at them.

Jonny pipes up to you.

“I got a buddy, Derek, whose looking for a date to the game. You’re like, kinda his type.” He offers up to you. Eyeing your chest when he remembered his buddy said something about liking big tits.

Your eyes sharpen with frost creeping in at the corners.

“I’d rather lick a filthy toilet bowl. Thank you.” You beam all sweet. Venom punctuating your smile.

“She doesn’t date jocks. Her idea of a hot date is a library group study session.” Linda explains.

Yes. That’s my idea of a blistering hot foursome, you think.

“Hey. The head librarian is a total hot fox. Maybe tonight is the night I’ll finally score.” You play around. Waggle your brows.

“Shit. You eat beaver?” Jonny asks dumbly. Laugh grazed on his voice.

You make a disgusted face. Of course that’s a sick term only a meat head jock would use.

“That would explain so much.” Linda tilts her head at you meanly. He mutters something to her and she laughs.

“Glad I can amuse.” You scathe.

They smile all bratty together, not listening to you, and then they go back to their mating ritual. She wraps her arm around his neck. Mussing those sweaty looking blonde curls of his.

They finally break apart. He’s wearing so much of her waxy pink lipstick. “I’ll swing by for you around seven- wear that pink thing I like.” He asks.

She giggles all squeaky. They kiss. Again.

You feel like you’re watching an exhibit at the zoo enclosure. Gag.

You shut your locker. You’ve heard enough. “See you in class. If you can remember to stop humping.”

They don’t even hear you. Rolling your eyes. They’d only break apart with brute force. Or if a teacher walks past and throws the safe sex advice at their backs. Telling them to disperse. This isn’t a brothel.

You start down the halls and away from hormone-and-braincell-dead central. Leaving them to it. You clutch your books and weave past people.

And you’re suddenly awfully cheered. Perked up by the sight a few locker rows down from you. Why, it’s your favourite ever metal head.

Eddie has his head shoved in his locker. Up on his tippy toes rifling through for something. Scooping his hand right to the back.

You know just from essences of his character you’d already gleaned, that his locker would be an absolute garbage tip.

Littered with trinkets and random mementos. DND dice. A pack of playing cards. A dead can of spray paint in chilli neon red. Cool pebbles or stones he’d found outside the trailer. Odd pencils and plastic figurines from cereal boxes and his Hellfire club. Loose erasers. Pencil shavings. Broken Metal cassettes.

Possibly long forgotten school text books, lost in amongst crumpled leafs of odd paper, scored with old ideas for campaigns. Old purple and red sharpies and dead ones he doesn’t use anymore but clings onto them anyway. For god knows whatever reason-

When you scoot up to his side and tap him gently on the leather shoulder. He shoots five feet in the air, like a startled firework that’s just been let off.

Bless the boy. You made him screech and jump. He jerks back and his shoulder slams into his open locker door.

He splays his ringed hand wide over his raging heart and calms when he sees it’s you. Huge puddles of muddy brown he has for eyes widened, big as saucers. Now they relax when he falls onto the shape of you.

Ceases screeching when he does see it’s you. Smile curls up the side of his mouth instead.

Cause, Holy shit, it’s you.

His voice breaks on the first word when he speaks. “Jesus fucking christ of Nazareth, Pencils.”

You flinch. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you Munson.”

He leans against his locker for support and laughs under his breath. “Holy hell. I’m not used to that. How stealthily do you move around. My god-“

His eyes fix onto yours. Eye contact that sets shimmers living inside your skin.

“I never considered myself as particularly covert.” You offer.

“Honey. Trust me. You could work for the CIA.”

You preen a little with the way he calls you honey.

“Not sure I’m entirely what they’re looking for you know.” You tilt your head and smile.

He smiles back. It’s magnetic.

Your smile just pulls things out of him. Cute sweet things like fluffy pink kittens and rose petals. He looks at you and it’s like, maybe it’s stupid as shit, but he feels like someone has finally found him.

“You didn’t die. I’m so relieved. You’re feeling better?” He asks all curious as he shuts his locker door.

Violet purple sharpie in hand. He uses the shutting of his door, as an excuse to sidle up close to your side.

You’re not going anywhere. You sought him out. Stood holding your books and talking to him and- god. This is like the fucking high school romance in some tacky movie. And he’s the lead.

You’re wearing a dress. He makes his twitchy eyes focus on your face. Because he’s so tempted to let his eyes soak and swim up and down the rest of you. And he’s trying so much not to act like a sexual slobbering deviant with you nearby.

Your hair was down. So pretty. It looked so soft. He bet it still smelled gorgeous too. Still wearing that tropical sweet bite of coconut from before. Your legs were bare and you wore your paint spattered sneakers. Sweet little red roses swirled on your dress.

“Much better actually. I had one hell of a great nurse.” You lean in an tease him a little.

“Florence.” You smile, saying it lowly.

He blushed. Dear god, how he blushed at that praise. His cheeks filled ruddy with it.

You realise you’ve caught him off guard and hooked this bizarre vulnerability out of him. Keeping him caught on his toes. Literally.

He bites his lip. “Yeah but I can’t promise I’d look good in nurses uniform, pencils.” He winced at the thought.

“I think you’d pull it off nicely.” You assume. He chuckles.

“Don’t think I have the equipment to fill it out.” He grins as he twirls the sharpie in his hand.

Nerves. Just silly infatuated nerves. He picks idly at the peeling metal stickers on his locker door with a thumb nail.

You’re stood near his locker in public, in full view of the eyes of everyone in this hallway. You’re here, you’re so cool about it. In ways he can’t be.

Stood there all cute, and there’s your perfume sneaking across to him like oranges and petals, and there’s flirting skated on your voice and your smile- holy fuck.

He didn’t think you’d want to openly come up to him in front of everyone like this. He’s so happy he’s not listening to those fetid bear traps of usual Munson anxiety littered in his head.

You want to kiss him so badly right now it’s driving you into madness. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips. You follow the movement almost hungrily. Those heaven looking lips. Now you’re feeling better, you can’t ignore it in this close vicinity.

You want Eddie.

And the look he returns back, seems like a full reciprocation on those wants.

“How’s our respective friend the dragon doing?” He asks. Otherwise he’ll just blush and stare at your lips.

He tries not to skate his eyes over your scooped neckline (he fails) He can’t help it. He’s a simple man composed of hormones and he’s dying, actually slowly crawling to a painful death, to see more of you under that dress.

“Currently wrapped around her ogre of a boyfriend.” You nudge your head over your shoulder. He peers.

“Ew. Now that’s gotta be unsanitary.” He drags his eyes down the lockers and quickly sees exactly what you meanHe puts one hand on his hip. Is very quick to focus his eyes back on you. Fuck that noise. You’re by far a prettier sight to rest his eyes on.

“They won’t need to show sex ed classes anymore. They’re one strawberry flavoured condom away from putting on a little dirty show.” You smirk. Pure horror at the notion etched on your face

Eddie smirks all wide in agreement. “And in the hallways too.” He tutts like a scandalised nun.

“Have they no shame?” He asks you in faked affronted mockery.

“Should try carpooling with her. Her hand so far up his leg it borders on a porno shoot.” You shudder.

“Your poor eyes.” He says worriedly. He does worry for them. You’d have to scrub that image away with stinging water and soap. Maybe he could help. Nurse Munson and all that-

He shoots forwards and cups the side of your head like he could pull out the foul memory by osmosis alone.

His warm hand on your head fired up so much passion in your blood. Your veins skip and pop and sing with the bliss of his touch. It’s insane.

There’s that tender eye contact again. The one that feels like the start of a wildfire in your heart. Swirls up and swells, desolated everything in it’s wake. Both bursting with things unsaid. Things you want to be done-

Undone is more like it.

You’re fully ready to admit you would like to be the one wrapped around Eddie this hallway with your horny tongues down each other’s throats. Hands crammed in back blue jean pockets. One last hickie before the class bell goes.

“Hey uhm. Do you have a free period today?” You ask him. Curious smile.

You’re shuffling things in your hands. You bring a pencil out the tucked pocket of your binder. Yellow legal pad on top of your pile.

“Mmmm. Maybe I’ve a three third. Why’s that?” He plays with you. Smiling at you with cheekiness all smug on his amused mouth.

Your smile grows to hear it. “Oh nothing big. I thought we could uh, don some rubber face masks and pull a bank job that’s all.”

He bubbles up with laughter. That straight shiny grin of his you’re head over heels for.

“Hey I call dibs on wolfman mask. Alright?”

He then howls a loud ‘Aroooooooo’ which makes the poor kid walking along next to you to stumble back into someone else, all skittish. Almost caused a pile up in the crushing throng of bodies walking past.

You both giggle about it when the poor kid can’t zoom away down the hall fast enough to get away from you.

“Another great movie by the way. I watched it so much as a kid I think Wayne thought I’d go nocturnal, sprout fur and fangs, and eat sheep on Friday nights.”

You chuckle. “Well. You know. A hobby is a hobby. He shouldn’t judge.”

“And I guess that leaves me with the choice of Clown mask or Michael Myers.” You decide. Tilting your head.

“I think you could pull it off pencils.” He flirts. “I have faith in your abilities.”

“So where we running to after this heist? I assume we’ll have to go underground. Assume new identities. Or hell. Let’s leave the country. Spend our spoils.” He narrows his eyes. Plays along.

“Ah see. I thought Tijuana.” You offer up.

He points at you. Brows raised under those bangs like he’s considering it. “I like Tequila. Let’s go for it.”

“Probably shouldn’t keep discussing it out in the open. Loose lips sink ships.” You warn.

“Honey, everyone here is not even paying the slightest attention to us. Not with Malibu Barbie and Ken putting on their National geographic reproduction special down there.”

As he turns and rants, you decide to surprise him by leaning right in and smacking a kiss right into his cheek. Up on your tiptoes to reach him. Apples and cigarettes mingled with old leather. Smoky scent of Eddie.

The look on his face: utterly priceless. Cheeks flaming red. Eyes stuck on you.

When you bite your lip still smirking and scribble on your pad of paper. Eddie thinks his heart may be about to actually fucking grind to a stop.

He needed a nurse now. Goddammit. A nurse. A cigarette. Defibrillator. A cold beer. In that order.

He thought it would be the booze or cigarettes that would get him, one day. Or the way he drives, that borders on escaped lunatic driven to maniacal suicide. But oh no.

It’s you that’s gonna get him. Gonna pump his pathetic little heart off it’s mortal coil.

Eddie, my boy. It’s always the pretty ones that will try and kill you.

He feels like his little overwhelmed heart is one large throbbing entity now ruling his entire freakin body.

Your stood so close your books almost brush into his chest where you hold them. Where you look down and scribble on your paper. You tear off the bottom of the paper and hand him the jagged slip.

“So. Maybe in your free, you can meet me. Here.” You tap the end your pencil to the paper you pressed into his hands.

He looks down at your neat loopy hand. Definitely had an artist’s slant about it. You’ve written directions on there;

Art department. Down the corridor. Closet opposite the Degas ballet rehearsal poster.

Eddies eyes flick back up to you. “Closet huh?”

He remembers with alarming alacrity what happened the last time the pair of you were in an enclosed dark space. Hands wandered and there was an insanely hot amount of making out.

He’d had that thought of you with fever hot hands on him peppered through his dreams for the last week. He may have jerked off to the memory of it a couple times. Hence why he’s just falling to pieces right here in front of you, now.

You offer a flirty look right back. Boldly you meet his gaze. “All heists should be planned in secret. And storage closets are kind of our thing now.”

“Damn. We have a thing.” He shakes his head at you. “Smooth talker.”

You blush and look down as you laugh at his crass joke. Maybe that’s exactly what you hoped.

Eddie is struggling to believe he’s the one to pull a blush out of a girl merely with his words. That’s never happened to him before. He liked the hell out of it.

“Count me in, I’ll be there.” He tucks the slip of paper in his pocket. Patting it after. Safe keeping. Breast pocket. Stuffed right close to his heart.

You nod. “Good. Because. Uh-“ You step right in and whisper those words to him. “I’ve been thinking about you a stupid unhealthy crazy amount.” You confess.

“That absolutely makes two of us.” He meets you head on in this crush.

“So I can’t be held responsible for my damages when I get you alone in the dark, again Munson.”

Eddie nearly falls over. And he’s stood leaning against a very hard, very solid stationary surface.

And he’s thought about some very very filthy shit with regards to you and darkened spaces. Things involving his bandanna tied around your eyes. Or binding your wrists. He thought about sucking and biting on your neck to hear more of those delicious yelps.

He thought about kissing you to absolute air starved death. About anything and every which way you could enjoy twisty hot n’ heavy sex, in numerous wild positions.

He swallows right now. And he really, reallyhas to fight the urge to shove his mouth onto yours, right here, and now. He wants to taste you. Slam your back to this locker and shove his tongue in the smiling cup of your mouth.

He wants under your dress. Pawing at you like a pervert. He feels like some parts of him will never recover from this. Ever.

“Goddamn pencils.” He whispers to you lowly. He almost moaned it. It shot straight to your gut. Lightning zap powerful.

Those dazzling chocolate drop eyes. He looks drunk with you. Hungry for you.

The shrill school Bell cuts into your heated atmosphere. You bite your lip and hate that you have to step back. More distance that you didn’t want or need. Fuck.

“See you there?” You step away. Voice laced with hope.

He’d tug you along there right now if he could.

“You betcha sweet lips I’ll see you there.” He grins. It’s maniacal and so sexy of him.

You join the crowds and melt into them as you walk away. Unable to resist leaving him with a smile flicked over your shoulder.

When you get back to Linda she didn’t even know you’d gone.

Eddie watches you the whole time before he had to peel his eyes away, and turn his mind to definitely less important things. Picking through crowds for you.

Mirrors on the ceiling. Pink champagne on ice. Welcome to Hotel California. Ready a room for one please-

Cause it’s sappy as fuck, he’s well aware, but he never wants to check out of or quit this feeling you leave in him. He’s scrounging for more. Always more. Hopefully come his free he can have it.

Free period better hurry it’s ass along-

~

Ballerinas. Where the ever living fuck were these damn ballerinas.

Eddie wanders along the arty corridors. Looking very out of place as he had done the last time. Paper scrunched in his clammy palms. Golden ticket.

When people appear walking the other way, heading for him, he ducks and squirrels it over to the nearest display. Hair whipping behind him. Wallet chain tapping his Jean thigh.

Pretends to be very seriously studying the artwork pinned to the cork boards on the walls. Graphite smudged fruit bowls. Interesting

Hands behind his back. Peering around at the people shuffling past him.

They continue on down the hall with their sketchbooks in hand. Bumping into each other and telling jokes and utterly engulfed in their conversation.

They don’t give him so much as a cursory glance. Like he’s suddenly melded as one with the walls. All the better.

He stands with his hands behind his back and leans back from his hips. Swaying to watch them walk away and stoutly ignore the lingering metal head.

When they disappear out the doors, he’s on the move before they’re even ripped out of sight. Trying to be stealthy and quick about this. He scurries along like a scampering cat. Worried a teacher is gonna catch him and then he’s gonna have to slink his sorry ass outta here.

Zips at top speed down the hallways. Nimble on his sneakered feet. Most of the classroom doors were shut. Noise happening behind them. Art classes being dictated. Creations flourishing under tip of graphite pencil scraping on paper.

The humming whirl of pottery wheels down at the end of the hall. That same smell of sticky old paint and dry clay dust. Sad pot plant table to the side again. In all its droopy unloved glory.

Posters with names of artists he’s never heard of whizz him by. His eyes pick apart every one. Blue almond branches all twisted and nutty brown. Not the one he needsthough-

“Ballerinas.” He hums to himself.

Tutus and plié’s and all that shit. Eyes speedily scanning the walls. Flicking around in the way that makes him look manic. And then-

He sees it. Inconspicuously tacked to the wall. Mouldy mustard walls on a drab background only punctuated with the milky blue light of ballet dancers. He grins as he shoves the paper back in his pocket.

His eyes flick from that poster to the door opposite. Shabby old thing. The old sign on it looked weathered. Bold printed letters that read ‘Storage.’ He bites his lower lip in a smile.

Bingo, baby.

He’s at the door like a flash. Twisting his head around shoulder to shoulder to see if there’s anyone. Hair whipping around his eager face.

He shoves that handle so hard and slips inside the closet, it’s a wonder he didn’t break the thing.

His eyes adjust to the darkness inside. There’s old drying racks. Shelves for storage. Old paint tins. Old cloth canvases. Rolled up painted scenery curtains from the canteen stage, bunched up to one side. Dusted in spiderwebs and forgotten. Some wash of blue dotted with snow from a Nativity scene. Some foggy green garden from a tenth grade Shakespeare play from long ago.

He steps forwards. Eyes fading comfortably into the darkness. And there you are.

You’d put watermelon lip smacker on. Fluffed your hair. Rubbed a little dribble of perfume at your wrists.

Biting your lip all nervous and fiddling with your skirt. Floundering on the spot at the end by a low bench table. The space seems to be crushing down on you both. The realisation you’re truly alone again comes stifling as a vice.

Behind closed doors and locked in shadows. Woven in between all these things, it seems a great burning crush is being harboured in the pair of your huge hearts.

“Hey.” You breathe. You almost sound nervous. You hate that you do.

In the half dark you can see Eddie’s eyes look stunning black. Big pretty tar pits that tug. His grin flicks into white.

“Hey.” He answers back.

Trying not to trip over where he stood. He’s certain you’d be able to hear the way his heart is pounding his ribs so hard, like it’s rattling against the barred window of his bones.

“Funny seeing you in here.” He comments. That flash of his bone dry wryness rearing its head. He picks his way through the dark to you. Hands lingering on his hips.

He sees the smirk it draws from you. Eyes glitter in the dim.

“Yeah. Often hang out in here on the off chance someone wanders in.” You shrugged. Humour laced your voice.

“Like a spider, building her clever web.” Eddie widens his eyes.

Swaggers nearer to you. Closing in. His stomach tightens in want with every step his legs eat up.

“Very metal. Very sexy.” He adds. Tilting his head and his smirk at you. He hears how that made your breath hitch.

“Guess that makes you my prey then doesn’t it?” You tease.

He’s one step away. Moving closer to you in that dancy-swirly way he does. Other people walk. You’d have to come up with a whole new word for the way Eddie Munson moves.

“Oh. Happily baby.” He drawls. He’s right in front of you.

Your breath is getting scarce. Lungs shrinking in your chest like weedy little deflated balloons.

The eye contact can only be described as the most insanely hot thing you’ve ever felt. Tugging yanking warm static bursting in your belly.

“You uh. You, look really pretty today, by the way.” He says so earnestly. Makes your heart squeeze and flip. Your cheeks are blood hot. Rushing full with it. 

He gently places a comfortable hand over your hipbone. Eyes glued to yours to check this is ok. Every inch he covers he’ll always be checking that it fits safely into the parameters of your boundaries.

“Better than snoopy bed shorts?” You ask.

“I’m a fan of both. As I believe I said once, it’s not your clothes I’m looking at. It’s the girl under them.”

“That’s sweet.” You beam.

He slides fowards. Hips crushed to yours. You cup the side of his cheek. Feeling the slight push of stubble. His hands smoothed over your hips. Settled back on the dip of you there.

“Although- I’d quite like to see more of the girl under them too. Key word being, under.” He flirts boldly.

“Stop talking already and kiss me, Munson.” You laugh.

“See, your cunning plan of lying in wait worked, Ms. Black widow. You got me…”

Because even when he’s zoning in to kiss you, he still has to make noise about it. Of course. He’s like a heat lamp that never shuts up-

You shut him up indefinitely - or for who knows how long - not very long you bet - when you slant your smiling mouth across his.

Keeping him there as you smile against his mouth. Hand cupping the back of that wild haired head, the brain inside that seemingly that never stops churning.

Maybe you could make it still and calm for just a little while-

Eddie moans into your mouth and fully wraps you closer. Arms crossing over your back. Fully seating you inside the safe bands of his arms, crushed in the enclosure of his chest.

You stumble back and you pull him in with you. Arm around his neck and brushing that DIO patch. When you pull away to gasp for air, he wastes no time. Nosing at your neck to make your knees quake.

“I missed you like, an insane fucking amount, pencils.” He says inbetween mouthing at your jaw and under your ear. Kissing and sucking. Biting gently and soothing with his lips.

Your heart is slamming for attention in your hipbones. You’d let us slip from your memory how magical this boys lips are.

The night after he climbed out your window, when you woke up in the morning, alone. That hit hard. Of course you didn’t expect him to stay. But half of you wondered.

For just a second you pawed at the pillow next to you. Fingertips sinking into the worn old cotton. Still clinging with the scent of cigarettes and apples. Your chest swallowed up your heart cause- you just ached after him. Such a loud messy ball of kinetic energy that made such a pulsing groaning absence when he wasn’t there.

You wanted to just listen to him breathe down the phone to you. Spend hours and hours wasting time listening to the shuffle and shift crackle of the line and his manic laugh down the other end. Just making him break into a smile turns your whole day on it’s head. Tips you inside out and throws you round.

You can’t love him small. Or quietly. And you’ve never realised that before now. And that emotion is running into you now, headlong, like a fucking freight train.

“I missed you too.” You say. Clutching at his shoulders like you needed him to keep you rooted to this earth.

And your heart clenched cause it was so true it hurt. You’re almost in agony with it.

Sending the neediness in your voice, he wraps you up in a kiss again. Each other’s spit skated on your lips.

It’s filthy and simply glorious.

“How much did you miss me?” He grins. All playful and toying with you even though your all wrapped up into him. Seeking quantifiable terms.

You pull his face in again and kiss him in a way you hope comes across as suitably needy answer.

This damn much, you dope.

Thumb stroking over his cheekbone. Fingertips sliding into his hair. He huffs in pleasure with the dirty way you kiss. Eyes rolling back in his head.

You’re kissing him open. Licking into his mouth. Finding his tongue with your own in a way that gets him hooked.

“Eddie.” You whine against his mouth. Almost whimper his name. Pressing it to his teeth.

Okay. His heart may actually fucking explode. Top of his head is gonna pop off like a champagne cork.

His hips roll onto you. Long slow roll. Languid smooth like bourbon. Pressing the start of a very hard erection into your belly. Stiff against his zipper.

His hands slip down your waist and he claws into the cheeks of your ass. You give him another one of those delicious sounding whines.

“Fuck.” Comes tumbling out his mouth when he realises he was grinding shamelessly into you. He shifts to pull back to say something-

“Shit-fuck- sorry, I didn’t uh mean to-”

He’s not going anywhere. Your hands yank into his lapels and then there’s this moan from you that spills into his mouth. You speak the words to his mouth. Sharing the same air. You give him a tangible direction he can follow.

“Fuck Eddie. Don’t stop.”

His knees almost give way. Thankfully, he’s got you to lean into.

“Mmm god fucking fuck, pencils the things I wanna do to you…” He mumbles. His voice dipping low and breaking with need as he grinds those hips into you once again.

 “Yeah?” You smile when he ducks to hungrily suck at your neck again. “Why don’t you tell me about those things. I’d love to hear them.”

You cup his head. Let him wander all over you. Mashing your lips to his with no musicality. All hunger. But just anything anything anything for that graze of friction.

You reel him in and you’re winding your pelvis in a circle against his. He almost trembles with the pleasure of it. He groans into your lips and devours your mouth as you push your hips together.

“Filthy things. Wanna grab your tits and lick your nipples. I-oh Jesus. I wanna, hmm, finger you until you wet my whole hand, baby. Can’t get enough of you. I wanna get you off again and again.” He sighs.

His reward for his filthy wants is your hand sneaking to the front of his jeans and cupping his stiff bulge. His whole body jerks like a live wire shock.

“I want all of that.” You tell him. Matching him step for step in this desire. Your fingers spread out, cupping the whole length of him. Palming his balls too. The pain of it being through the denim is like a half sensation and to his shame it turns him on more.

“You got me thinking filthy too. I’ve dreamt about what it would be like for you to work your dick into me. Stretch me open.” Cause he feels girthy. Maybe you could have a flip side to this freak nickname. Sex freak.

“Shit.” He whines.

Closing his eyes against your neck. Ringed fingers wrapping right around your wrist. You got him almost drooling down your collarbone.

“Fuck baby, yeah. Touch me.” He murmurs desperately.

Guiding your hand to rub against his cock even harder. He almost choked when you fiddled and clunked with buckles to get his belt undone and slipped your hand inside. Stroking over the barrier of his underwear. His hips rutted to you.

You met that rhythm with winding thrusts and roll of your own hips. So damn good.

“You can touch me, too.” You tell him.

Oh god. You’re a dream. He’s dreaming. Slap him awake somebody-

And then before he can ever register fully what’s happening, you take his hand and slip it right up under your skirts.

Rest in peace to his little senseless head. His brain may aswell be melting out his ears by now.

“Damn. okay. Fuck.” He bites his lip all swirling with nerves and excitement.

He was never one to deny a lady in distress. And when you place his hand right over the crotch of your sopping hot cotton panties, he can’t quite believe his heart is still ticking. His breath shudders through his throat.

His stomach physically swoops like it’s riding a tilt-a-whirl when he scoops his fingers under the barrier of your panties and finds you so slick and hot. He runs two fingertips through plump gummy lips and his dick has never been this hard- he swears.

You gasp out when he sinks those fingers deeper.

“Sorry.” He pants. He stops. Desperate black eyes shining at you. Spit coating his raw pink lower lip. His rings must have been too cold against your pussy.

“It was a good moan.” You promise in a purr. Your nipples are skipping with electricity. So hard they fully ache for touch. His fingers felt amazing. You urge him on.

He slithers them deeper, curling up and slotting deep. Muffled his moan against your shoulder. Your hand cupping his balls. Those were pretty damn big too.

He feels drunk. Pumping his fingers into you, this feels better than any damn high he’s had.

“How do you- what do you like?” He manages to ask as he eyes the way his hand is bumping through your panties and your skirts. Rolling to your pussy in a comfortable pattern. But he needs to find out what it would take for you to cum.

That fact he’s so excitable, and yet still wanting to know what it will take for your orgasm, makes you clench down on him.

He bites his lip at the feeling of your pussy suddenly strangling his fingers. Shit that was hot.

You reach for his hand. His pressure was heavenly, but you fine tune the angle of his fingers. Sinking them deeper, getting him to curl them just a little more-

Then he finds that spot that makes a yelp fly out your mouth.

He smothers you with a smug kiss to shut you up. He does not wanna get caught by a teacher in a dark closet with his fingers halfway up your pussy.

“You wanna get us caught honey? Cause I sure as shit don’t. You got an orgasm to give me.” He grins with newfound confidence making him brave.

He slows and curls and stretched his fingers. Sloppy squelches begin to get louder and louder. You’re getting his fingers wetter and wetter. It’s addictive.

“Like that?” He asks, sloppy hot against your mouth. Tongue sticking your lower lip.

“Fuck yes.” You pant. Face screwing up into ecstasy. Brows pulling up in the middle. Mouth dropping open. Eyes rolling up.

You widen your legs and let him finger the hell out of you. And holy god it was so good.

You can feel the callused tips of his fingers decadently flicking that godforsaken spot deep in your walls.

The way his rings add an extra jolt of friction and another layer of texture against the mouth of your cunt. How you must be getting those things on his fingers so wet cause you’ve never been this sloppy or loud before.

Granted you’ve only done this to yourself a few times. You’ve achieved the main goal of course- to cum. But this is so much more pleasure somehow. His fingers are bigger and he’s taking the time to explore and learn you. It’s ridiculously sexy of him.

Your hands grab for him. Whining for more, for that extra touch that is guaranteed to get you there, you take his other hand and push his thumb into the soaking folds of your mons. Guiding him to find your clit.

When you gently swirl the pad of his thumb around it, you cry out loud again and it makes him throb in his jeans. Hips thrusting forwards to him.

His stomach clenched and knotted in want knowing he’s making you writhe in bliss on the ends of his fingers.

“Take what you need honey. So fucking pretty for me. Bet you look so pretty when you cum. Couldn’t stop thinking about that.” He kisses up your jaw. Cleverly using his thumb and two fingers to drive you insane.

He’s fully ready to admit he’s thought about you flushed and naked and sweaty in his stained bed. Maybe those wet stains would be from you.

He lived with you inside his eyelids at night, picturing you naked, as he was desperately squeezing and tugging his own cock and just trying to imagine the way you’d sigh his name and the way you’d taste on the bed of his tongue.

How it would feel to have you in your hands and knees for him in his bed. Nails on the wall scratching down his band posters. Cock buried so deep you’d hiccup sobs with it. His hands clawing your hips and ass as he slammed you down on his dick and felt you cum around him, shrieking his name like a curse, toes clenching.

Something shredding loud and filthy, A little Sabbath maybe, playing on his stereo to mask the broken sound of your cries. As he curled over your back and worked his cock into you.

“Eddie.” You whine for him. Voice a weak gaspy stutter. Spreading your legs around his hips as he stands closer. Pressing right in so he can kiss you.

“So wet for me baby. Think I’m gonna get my wish of you wetting my whole hand aren’t I?”

“Yeah- yeahyeah.” You can’t nod fast enough. Poor baby he’s got you drunk on the thrust and drag of his fingers.

He can’t help it. You’re frying his brain. He has to kiss you. Wants to swallow you while. He needs touch. Needs.

He wants your nipples grazing hard on his hot tongue. Soft tits mashed in his face. Your pussy he’s cupping in his hands. Your ass. Your lips. He fully needs every part of you cause that’s just the way he wants to love you. Love you to strangling death.

Your cries intensify. You’re close. Drawing closer.

“Oh god please say you can come over to my place one night. Please, pencils. I can’t take it if you don’t.” He mumbles against your open moaning mouth. Kissing you and shoving his tongue in your mouth.

You push yours to meet it dumbly. Nodding. You break away to gasp.

“Okay- don’t stop. When?” You manage to scrape together the braincells to ask.

“Whenever you want I don’t care, oh-shit you’re so hot.” He felt you squeeze down on him.

You’ve got him so good he’s babbling. “Whenever. Come over whenever. Stay the night. Stay the whole weekend. Stay forever-“

“Keep doing this and kissing me and I’ll never leave.” You say as you clash for a kiss again. Bodies rocking.

“I can do that.” He mumbles inbetween heavy breaths. Huge great smile on his lips.

Both Eddie’s hands working you so cleverly. You will say this for the boy, he may hate school, but he’s damn sure a quick study.

He doesn’t know what’s louder. Your moans, or the sloppy squelches he’s fucking out of you.

When you start to tremble and clap your hand over the back of his, his eyes don’t know where to land. He drinks in the way your face twists into an expression that almost looks like pain.

“Close. M’so fuckin close.” You warn him. Your voice is wounded.

“Shit. You cumming?” He checks.

Your answer is in the form of a cry. You can’t even form the words. They don’t make it out your mouth. You can only cry and shudder. The shape of his name ready to come out your mouth as you clench and clench-

Eddie mashes his mouth to yours. Hungrily kisses you though the shaking whirling torrent of your orgasm.

He drinks in your delicious whines and kisses your lips raw whilst you cum hard on his hand. His thumb slowly swirls to a stop on your clit. Wringing out every last burst of pleasure that he can. Ceases the hard thrusts of his fingers.

You did wet his hand after all. He can feel your slick coating his fingers. Some splashed down on his palm between the webs of his fingers.

He doesn’t even care that he didn’t get to finish. Watching you tumble headlong into bliss - because of him - was more than enough.

“Damn.” Eddie watches in rapt fascinated pleasure as you struggle for breath and your chest heaves.

The ends of your fingers tingling where you clutched his scratchy denim shoulders. Your head shot to little floaty scrunched stars and noisy crunching static.

“Holy f-“ Eddie cuts you off. Smears into your mouth with a kiss that takes all your remaining breath. Sucks it right out your soul. Brings his hand around your back. His soaked fingers rest against your thigh.

“Fucking drenched me.” He noses into your cheek. Kissing down your jaw. He can’t resist your neck and he doesn’t. You’re sure the burning patches of wet on your skin are some pretty decent hickies.

“Not my fault you’re a quick learner with talented fingers.” You smug into a lingering peck you place on his lips.

He wiggles them into your thighs. He really was dripping. Wetly slapping your skin. “Pure magic.” He smirks.

You sag forwards into him. Ease the strain in your burning thighs.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact I just made the hottest girl ever, cum in an school storage closet.”

“Not your average Friday?” You sigh. Teasing.

He pinches your thigh for that. “Menace.” He chuckles into your neck. Holding you close. Sighing in bliss as he lays his nose into your hair and smells that coconut scent again. He’s dreamt about that too. Everything about you is delightful and he’s dozy drunk on every essence.

“So. Any plans tomorrow night?” You ask as he kindly pets your pussy one last time.

Draped your panties back to their rightful place. You bite your lip as he brushes his fingers against you through them. You were more soaked than before.

“None at all. Well, a bank heist. But that’s not til next week.” He plays.

“Your place? Scary Movies? I’ll bring pizza and beer.”

“Fine. But I’m buying the pizza baby.”

“You just made me cum. Pizza is most definitely on me.”

That draws an amazed and blushy laugh out of him. “You sure you’re real?” He checks.

“Definitely. I am no mirage.” You answer as you reach your hand around that skinny trim waist of his and cup his ass through his back pocket.

You bite your lip with glee. It makes him smile and his hips jerk into you.

“Alright. Alright. Damn. Menace. What am I getting myself into here-“ He wonders.

“I don’t know but I really like where this is heading.” You admit.

“Yeah? Me too.” He looks at you and his grin slowly climbs across his cheeks. So sweet.

You tenderly look at each other a moment and it’s like the whole rest of this world can go get fucked.

“Had you better get back out there before someone notices you’re missing?” He asks Pointing his thumb to the closet door. After fumbling with his fly and his own belt.

“Shit. Probably.” You answer glumly. Sighing as you untangle yourself and get used to your weight on your own two feet again.

Eddie smooths your skirts down. But you think it’s a cheap and yet sweet excuse to cup your ass some more. You chuckle with it and he slings your body forwards into another kiss.

Waddling you both across, joined to the door. Swaying side to side like penguins. Hands in his hair as you kiss him again. Leathered arms wrapping around your waist.

He pushes you up against the back of the closet door, kisses you so deep. It makes you smile. One more. Just one more.

“Call by around 6.” Eddie offers.

“You bet.” He pecks you so sweetly for that.

“I think you got drugs in these lips of yours you know, Pencils.” He says when he can’t pull away from making out with you. Rolls his hips into yours naughtily.

“Corny, Munson.” You smile. But you won’t pretend that compliment doesn’t make your stomach sizzle.

He scoops you away from the door and you twist to open it. His mouth sneaks to your ear. Chin resting on your shoulder.

“Tell me it’s stuck and we can stay in here for hours.” He sneaks his hands up your thighs again.

“You’re terrible.” You twist back.

He grins with lusty lidded eyes aimed your way.

“That’s not what you said five minutes ago sweetie.” He preens. Chest all puffed up with the fact he made you orgasm.

You jiggle the handle and it crunches and swings open with a creak.

“Rats. Foiled again.” He curses.

You step out into the hallway. Out the shadowed clutches of the closet. You peer around checking the coast is clear.

You creep out with Eddie a hairs breadth behind you. Chin on your shoulder. His hands comfortably on your hips again. Watching the sway of your bare legs and cute skirts.

A sudden voice to your left made you both shoot out your skin. Eddie yelped again. Leaping to pull you close but then realised that would probably be inappropriate in front of a teacher.

His hands slipped for you and then waved jerky in the air and fell away. Awkwardly fidgeting to his sides.

“Shouldn’t you both be in class?” Came the sudden and dowdy interjection.

Mrs. Clary, the ninth grade art teacher stood looking at the pair of you with suspicion through her gold rimmed glasses, linked by a shimmering chain around her neck.

She wore ankle length skirts and a brown cardigan over a beige blouse. A short sweep of a nutty brown bob streaked with silver framed her frowning face. A little frumpy in her appearance but she was a complete stick in the mud. You certainly didn’t miss any of her classes.

“Mrs Clary.” You answer her with due politeness.

She’s busy frowning at Eddie. “What are you doing here, Mr. Munson?” Her eyes narrow. Mouth pinched at the puckering corners. His rep around the school was well cemented as trouble.

“Just-“ He floundered and his head hopped around seeking for an answer.

“… came to help this lovely art student here get something out the…closet.” Is the best excuse he can come up with.

“Get what?” She presses. Looks from him to you.

You dig your nails your hand to keep from bursting into a smile. Your face is itching with the need to not laugh. You chew your lip so hard. Hoping the lie isn’t etched over your face.

“Something. Uh- really heavy. From the very top shelf.” You jump in to defend him.

“Yes. That’s better.” He shook his finger pointing at you. Then he lays on the charm real thick.

“I was wandering my merry innocent way past and I wondered if she might need help.”

He meets your eyes and how you don’t lose it, you’ve no idea.

“Mmhmm. Yep.” You agree quickly.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Mrs Clary asks. Clearly unimpressed.

“I sure as hell did.” Eddie beams like a letch.

You snicker.

“Back to class right this second.” She warned shrilly. Barking her order.

“Yes, commander.” He bows. Saluting.

You scurry away and Eddie shares a look with you before he goes. Being shooed away like a disobedient loping stray.

An ear splitting wolf whistle echoes down the corridor. It made Mrs Clary leap into the air in fight. Clutching her chest.

You look over your shoulder, with hot cheeks and catch the sight of that maniacal grin splitting his face. You can’t help chuckling.

Mrs Clary sighs in sheer moody irritation. “That boy is nothing but trouble. Steer clear.” She snips at you.

He wiggled his fingers in a silly wave and a wink as he dances out the doors. Hair flapping behind him.

If this isn’t love then you’re an absolute fool.

~

#i love this series!! #eddie x female reader

[fookinfandoms]

#lmfao

[fookinfandoms]

Angel of the Morning | Tangerine 

pairing: tangerine x female reader

plot: Part Two to All in a Days Work! 

Not edited, I’ll do it later.  

warnings: language, mentions of blood, violence, they’re assassins idk what you expect tbh, Smut! Unprotected* P in V, dirty talk, rough seggs.

taglist: @jonnae17 @caotica-e-quieta @ashyyslashy @imslimshadey @or1on-writes @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @sweetangerinee @marv3lwhor3 @m00nkn1ghts @hello1276​ @revenstaz​ @deceitfuldevil​n @piechans @stickyllamapersonatree​​ @dangoo1o @idk-what-to-name-this127​ @stevebuckysdoll​ @crystal-jack-asripines​ @isuwhw818 @noz4a22 @dogsandrocketsocks​ @rowen-mp3​ @ivedonemywaiting13​ @queenofstarsanddarkness​ @miraosu​ @mistonk​ @white-wolf-buckaroo​ @rickiisrad​ @duuckyfuzz​ @piechans @chanooopy​ @potentially-kinetic​ @adrienette715​ @feralforfruit​ @mushywutty​ @blackparacosm​ @sugarpenchant​ @justshutupmars​ @cuddlyklaus​

 The bar was lowly lit, the occasional drunk pondering around the place like it was heaven. It smelt of an old wood and spilt alcohol, the occasional stickiness of the countertop making your drink look less appetising. A dingy place like this meant no cameras, no security and no angry men with guns. 

It was nice. 

You were still in France, having left Paris for a smaller and less populated area. Your payment was successfully in your account with next to no issues, and a plane ticket back home had been booked with your name on it. So why were you even here? 

You knew why, and you knew he had tracked you down. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. He was alone, that you knew for a fact. It was unusual for the fruity twins to be separated, which is why you weren’t in the least bit worried. If he wanted to, he could’ve sniped you from the building across the road, hell, he could’ve paid a drunk to slip something in your drink.

But he didn’t. 

Instead he had pinged your phone to your exact location. He had styled his hair a little differently, and he even tucked his shirt in a little tighter than usual.

Tangerine was nervous. 

Your smirk into your drink as a familiar body took to the seat next to yours, his hand raising to order a scotch and another beer. He stood out like sore thumb, his accent sounding stronger as he gives a thumbs up to the bartender. 

“Been waiting long darling?” He gives you a quick glance, his eyebrow quirked with his usual cockiness. 

You turn your head, taking in the assassins appearance as he slides the new beer to in front of you. He gets comfortable on the stool, his arms resting on the counter as he faces you.

Holding up your current bottle, you shake it a little, showing there was only a few sips taken. “Not long at all.”

“S’good then, how’s my intel?” He chuckles at his own joke, watching as you take a look around at the dimly lit building for any listening ears. You lean forward, your eyes narrowing with a humorous glint.

“How’s the head? You retort, your hand raising to flick at his forehead. He winces at the feeling, knowing he had no way at hiding the bruise that currently resided on his skin. 

“You can ask me that later,” Tangerine quipped, noticing the way your eyebrow raised at the innuendo. “Don’t you worry.”

“Later huh?” You elbow at him gently. “And here I thought you were going to take me into a back alley and put one in the back of my head.” 

“Haven’t decided against it yet,” It was clear he was joking at the way his lips curved into a small smile. “Besides, whose to say Lemon isn’t waitin’ around the corner with a frying pan right now.” 

“Because Lemon is currently sitting in room fourteen of hotel étoile, and he’s just ordered room service,” It was your turn to smile at his shocked expression, and Tangerine didn’t know what to think. How easy were they to track? How did you know about the room service. “What? You think I’m the only one here who can be traced? Please.” 

He sits there with his mouth slightly open, wondering if he should contact his brother and rearrange his stay. But as you begin to chuckle next to him, Tangerine knew that you weren’t a threat, nor did you have any hits out on the two of them.

He exhales loudly, his head quirking to the side as he takes a sip of his scotch. Tangerine had read your file, of course you would’ve done your research before staying put in such an open location. You had the whole situation under control before he had even stepped foot in the bar. 

Clever. 

“Why didn’t you go home?” The Englishman chooses to change the subject much to your enjoyment, and you shrug at him in response. He takes another swig at his drink as you finally answer.

“Guess I needed some vitamin C.” Tangerine chokes on his scotch, immediately wiping at his chin with the back of his sleeve as you wink at him. Maybe it was the beer talking, or maybe it was the last few days finally weighing in on the two of you.

You had been thinking about the fucker with a 70’s pornstache since you had left him on the kitchen floor. 

Maybe it was the way he looked underneath the flickering neon signs, but god he looked good. The pulsing adrenaline he had left in your veins when you were both tussling in the kitchen, sure -  he had left a nasty bruise on your stomach, but you had given him a few more reminders on his own. 

The two of you talk for awhile, Tangerine having taken his jacket off to cover your bare shoulders during your second beer. He didn’t seem as bitter about the whole frying-pan-to-the-forehead ordeal than you thought, choosing to see the humour in it now more than anything.

You almost felt guilty, but considering he and his brother were only offered a quarter of what you were paid - you would’ve been stupid to refuse the job.

He talks about his brother, and it warms you seeing how highly he spoke of him. Having a partner was something you never considered - let alone a sibling, so it was clear the two of them had a serious bond. Tangerine was careful with what he admitted, just as you were with your own backstory.

You told him how you had been in the job since you were eighteen, having been handled by Xan and his team since the moment you became Angel. 

You told him where the name had come from, mentioning how your first ever job was pretending to be an Angel in a Christmas play in order to take out the king pin who had organised the event. It annoyed you at first, until you realised there were people out there with alias such as Tangerine, so you really couldn’t complain.

He laughed loudly at that, bringing up the nickname you had given the two of them upon first meeting. The ‘Fruity Twins’, it had irked him at first, but he realised then he would let you joke about anything at his expense if it meant he saw you laugh. 

Tangerine was now showing you his tattoos, having noticed you observing them when his had pinned his sleeves back. You asked about various scars surrounding them, nodding along as he told you about every job that had caused them.

He pointed at one on your collarbone, and you told him it was actually from your childhood, and any scars from work were hidden behind clothes. 

He didn’t miss the hint with that one.

A wide grin falls upon his lips as he notices your eyes lingering on his ring clad fingers, his hands tensing under your gaze. “If you want to get out of here love, all you have to do is ask.” 

You feel your skin heat up at question. Tangerine studies the way your lips turn upward as you think over his words, and it isn’t until you look into his eyes that Tangerine’s blood begins rushing in all directions.

It’s always the eyes. You don’t break eye contact, it was nearly impossible when he stared into your soul with such a darkened gaze. He shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here. The two of you were supposed to be at each others throats.

So why did you want him in yours so bad?

You should be with anybody else but him. You weren’t scared by any means, hell, the mere thought of the man was enough to excite you, let alone having him in front of you eye fucking you like you were his last meal - And how could he tell you that you were the only thing on his mind the entire time you two were apart? 

Lemon blamed the concussion, told him he was thinking with his cock and not his brain, but Tangerine knew he had to see you again - even if you were dangerous.

The two of you should be taking each other out, no doubt paying off someone else’s bounty. You were the last person he should trust, just as he was the last person you should be taking back to your hotel.

You nod at him. Tangerine stands, holding his arm out for you as your free hand pulls his jacket tighter over you. He keeps you close as you leave, his arm wrapped around your waist in a gentle grip.

It felt like hours as the two of you walked in a comforting silence. He let you lead the way, not knowing where it was that you were staying. Tangerine wanted so badly to press you against any nearest surface and kiss you, to feel you against his body like you had done to him in that kitchen. 

But he was a gentlemen, and he knew it would be more comfortable to throw you on a bed than it would a bricked surface. 

It was nice walking the streets, rarely did you get to enjoy another countries quiet time, let alone with someone at your side. Deep down, you felt that Tangerine felt the same, noticing the way his hands would squeeze at your sides as you walked. 

By the time the two of you had found your hotel and entered the elevator, Tangerine was already beginning his playful touches. His fingers began sliding from their position on your hip to your rear, his hand cupping your cheek as you pressed your floor.

He kept his attention on the doors as you squirmed a little, feeling the goosebumps on your skin with every gentle touch. 

You see him smirk in the corner of your eye, and you match it, pulling your hand forward to glide over his crotch slowly. Tangerine’s smirk immediately disappears, and his head whips to yours as you give him an innocent smile. 

“Are we playin’ dirty love?” He mumbles down at you, his eyes closing a little as you apply a little pressure to his clothed cock.

“Are you complaining?” You ask. Tangerine shakes his head eagerly, cursing aloud as the elevator doors open to an empty hallway. 

You find yourself pressed against your rooms door before its even clicked shut, his lips hungrily meeting your own. Your mind instantly is taken back to a few days ago, revelling in the way he pushes into you like you were going to disappear.

The hair above his lip tickles at your skin - and you had nearly forgotten the feeling. It was unusual, but not uncomfortable. His calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting your head so you’re at a better angle to match his pace. 

Tangerine pulls away for a gasp of air, his free hand sliding his jacket from over your shoulders to meet the carpeted floor. You’re panting, your chest rising quickly as the larger man props his arms against the door above your head.

“Been thinkin’ about these lips all week darling,” He groans, his own breath coming out laboured. “You been thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

You nod, choosing not to speak. You were worried you would end up telling him to strip then and there. Tangerine didn’t exactly look like someone who liked taking orders.

Maybe he would learn. 

His lips press back to yours, his tongue gliding along your lips in a silent beg to let him in. He groaned against your lips, your skin feeling soft and warm against his own, and Tangerine pulled you away from the door. His arms rope around the small of your back, warmth pouring over you in a wave that suffocated you so perfectly.

He parts from you again, the air leaving your lungs in a small sigh. He eyes you, his blue eyes roaming over you in a clouded gaze. You feel his rings pressing into your skin, and Tangerine leans down once again, leaving you to release a soft moan as he bites at the skin on your neck. 

Your hands press against his broad chest, scratching at the material of his shirt as he continues nipping at your throat - no doubt leaving marks. The heat in your lower stomach grew with every kiss, the throbbing ache between your thighs beginning to dominate your thoughts. 

It wasn’t like you to let someone control a scene, so as Tangerine was distracted with the zipper of your dress, you push him away, letting him fall to the bed below. He sat upright immediately, his breathing just as erratic as yours. 

He’s about to speak when you’re on him again, pushing him down and straddling his broad thighs. His hands reach under your dress instantly, his fingers dancing with the flesh of your ass and the lace of your panties. 

“Fuck,” He curses through clenched teeth. Tangerine couldn’t get over how beautiful you looked, your lips swollen and your clothes askew. “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

You chuckle down at him, your eyes half lidded. “Yeah?” You whisper softly, flashing the fruit a sweet smile. You grind against him, biting your lip at the groan that escapes his lips. “How bad?”

“God,” He keens, feeling his cock straining against his pants. “K-Keep movin’ like that Angel.” 

“Who would’ve thought you would be so needy.” You tease, and it was then that you saw the gears turn in Tangerines eyes. 

You had already bested him once, made him feel smaller than anyone had done so in a very, very long time. The bruise on his forehead was a reminder every time he had woken up this past week. He wasn’t going to let you control this time too, not if he could help it. 

He was good with his hands, you’ll give him that. Tangerine had grabbed at the waistline of your dress, tearing at the fabric until it pooled around the blankets at your side. Your eyes were wide at the action, whereas Tangerine’s eyes were on your bra covered breasts. He had a quick glimpse of them before when you had hidden a usb in there, and the man grinned as you sat upright.

“Do you have any idea how much that cost?” You gasped, staring at the designer name in pieces. 

He sits upright with you, your chest now pressed against his. He grins at your expression, knowing you weren’t entirely as pissed off as you attempted to show. “You’ve got a million in the account love, I’m sure you can buy more.”

Asshole. 

You don’t respond, knowing it’ll be an insult more than a complaint. Tangerine glides his fingers over the bare skin of your back, and your eyes close at the feeling. “What to do with you hm?” He mutters, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. 

He wanted to be rough. He wanted to take you then and there.

But you just felt so good like this, touching him and grinding against him like he was the last man on earth. 

He continues his exploration on your skin before he’s cupping your face, kissing you a little softer than before. His moustache again tickles at your cheeks, causing you to grin against his lips. He’s quick to soften your sounds, nipping at your lip to grant his tongue entrance. 

You’re gripping at the ends of his shirt, pulling at the fabric and loosening it. Your hands slip under, and it was your turn to run your hands over the hard muscle that lay beneath. “Take it off.” You mumble in between kisses.

“You could rip it?” He jokes, pulling away to meet your unamused expression. He shrugs, pulling his shirt up and over his body. The fabric joins his jacket on the floor, and you don’t hide the raised eyebrow as his tongue darts out as he attempts to kick his shoes off.

“You’re not as scary as your file makes you out to be,” You reach behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the ground. “You’re just a little softy aren’t you?”

Tangerine’s eyes immediately land on your breasts, his head jerking to the side as he exhales. “There’s nothin’ little about me love.” He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth before you can reply.

Yeah. 

You could feel him beneath you. 

It’s definitely not a gun in his pants.

Your hands wound their way into his hair, tugging as he bites at the skin of your breast. “Fuck.” Your head falls back with a moan. 

He decided then and there that he could listen to your pretty noises forever. 

He wants more.

As beautiful as you looked on his lap, Tangerine was done letting you believe you had the upper hand. His cock was hard in his pants, almost straining against the rough material in a need for release. With a gasp, you find yourself thrown onto your back, Tangerine’s hands on either side of your head as he pins your lower half beneath him. 

“That’s better,” He releases you for a quick moment, however keeping his eyes on you as he unbuckles his belt. “Bit quiet there Angel, you alright?”

You nod, not able to stop yourself from ogling at the view above you. Various scars covered his abdomen, a tattoo resting on his pec, a familiar bruise resided on his hip, disappearing towards his back.

Your doing, naturally.

“Look at the mess you’re making love,” Tangerine nods towards your panties, chuckling at the way you squirm under his gaze. “What a fuckin’ sight that is.”

He goes to lean forward, when you grab his shoulder, shaking your head. He gives you a confused look, and you curse loudly. “I want you, now.” 

“And you’ll have me,” Again he goes to kiss above your pubic bone, scratching his chin along your lace underwear. “Just want a taste, that’s all.” 

“Mmf - please, just fuck me already.” God you wouldn’t blame him for mocking you, who were you right now? You barely recognised your own voice. 

“What’s the rush?” He taunts, that cocky voice of his stronger than ever. “Not that I’m complainin’, begging looks good you.” 

“And you’ll good on me,” You groan as Tangerine rips your underwear, lifting your ass slightly to pull it away. “Stop ripping my fucking clothes.”

He sniggers, drinking in your now naked state. Your pupils dilated, lips swollen and skin flushed with heat. 

An angel.

The corner of your lips twitched, your tongue swiping over the skin as you nod towards Tangerine’s crotch. “Need help?”

His zipper was undone, the bulge of his cock flush against his underwear. He shakes his head, taking the time to stand and remove his pants completely. Before you could say his name, the man was back on top of you, his palm spread on your throat before grasping at your hair as you moaned at the sensation. 

Tangerine wanted to watch you come undone. He wanted to watch your eyelashes flutter as you hit your high and screamed his name. He wanted his name to be the only thought on your mind. “So beautiful,” He sighs against your throat, groaning as you grind against him like a broken record. “A real fuckin’ angel.”

His cock rests against your thigh - thick, hard and throbbing. You part your legs, letting him rest between you more comfortably as his own hard thighs cover yours. Your hips roll into his, and you grinned at the delicious sound he let out as his tip swept over your cunt. 

Your skin burned under his touch, and Tangerine tilts his head, mumbling your name against your cheek before bringing his lips to yours once more. You sigh into his mouth, the sound disappearing under his own groans. His cock bumps over your slit and your hips shift, brushing his head through your wetness as Tangerine reaches down with a free hand, lining himself up. 

Your head hits the pillow as he slides in, and it felt like the air had been taken from your lungs as you felt the mouthwatering burn of his size. He curses loudly as his hips snap against yours in a hard thrust, bottoming out.

“Fuck,” He grunts with a lick of your lips. “D’you feel that? D’you have any idea how fucking good you feel? Squeezin’ me l-like -“

You clench around him, cutting him off from his rambling. Tangerine repositions his arms before he slowly pulls out, revelling in the soft whines leaving your swollen mouth at the action. He let you enjoy his teasing thrusts for a little longer before he began thrusting harder, your words becoming incoherent as his pace quickened.

His pounding is hard and definitive, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to hold on. He just feels so heavy and he makes you feel so unbearably full.

“O-Oh god.” Your eyes squeeze shut, and Tangerine kisses at your cheek - an almost sweet action in comparison to the assault he’s hailing on your pussy.

“Just me Angel,” He grunts, a playful tone behind his usual gruff voice. “Just me.” 

Tangerine finds a steady rhythm, his thrusts bringing his hard body flush against yours in a dire need to feel your heat. One thrust lands just perfectly, a loud moan forcing its way out as he laughs against you.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he mimics the sound, noticing the way you just manage to roll your eyes at him. “Oh we can’t have that now.” His voice was merely a whisper as he says your name, a shudder running through your body as you clench around him, causing his own hips to shudder in return.

He fucked into you at such a pace that you knew he had ruined you for anybody else. It was his goal, to mark you and leave you wanting everything he could give. Tangerine felt you squeeze around him again, the lewd sounds of his cock pushing into your soaked cunt making his thoughts clouded. 

His finger just glides over your clit as you come undone, cumming on his cock with an arched back and raise of your hips. His eyes widen at the sight, a charmed smile on his cheeks as your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Good girl,” He laughs down at you, continuing his thrusts. “Aren’t you just gorgeous.” 

Tangerine’s breathless, his attention solely on the way you shake beneath him, your breasts bouncing as you climax. He can feel the own pulse of his dick throbbing as you squeeze around him, and as his name leaves your lips in a silent prayer he too comes undone. He cums inside of you with a final snap of his hips, his body shuddering as he curses loudly. His head rests against your shoulder as he stills, his grunts like music to your ears. 

He rests on you gently before pulling out, the immediate empty feeling making you sigh as he rolls onto his back beside you. “Fuckin’ hell.” His breathing was sharp, a slight sheen on sweat on his chest. 

You just stared at him in a comfortable silence as you attempted to find your bearings, watching as Tangerine grabs your hand, entwining his fingers with yours. “You with me?” 

You nod at him with a smile, and he chuckles, a cocky grin finding it’s home. “S’good, because we aren’t done.”

“What?” You almost whine, and he sits up, gripping at your waist and dragging you closer to him. 

“Head darling,” He looks at you like you’re the one not making any sense. “Gotta give you somethin’ to ask me about in the mornin’ yeah?” 

#tangerine x reader #tangerine smut #tangerine fic #tangerine bullet train #all in a days work #fookinfandoms #bullet train smut

[fookinfandoms]

whoever convinced him to grow out his moustache needs the biggest pay rise i'm so serious like...

#whoever cast him needs their ass ate honestly #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson #tangerine

[fookinfandoms]

All in a days work part two?? Pls 👀👀

👀👀👀

#fookinfandoms #anon #eeee

[fookinfandoms]

Hey loved your tangerine fic! Was curious if a part two was in the works or if not, definitely asking for more 🔥🔥

Part two is nearly finished! Just gotta write the smut lol

#fookinfandoms #anon #ask me!

[fookinfandoms]

can you do a part two of this fic? i love it so much pls

It’s on its way 😎 hopefully tomorrow!

#fookinfandoms #anon #thank you!

[fookinfandoms]

the tangerine fic…… i’m on my knees😩

thank you! 🖤

#fookinfandoms #addisonnie #ask me

[fookinfandoms]

mommy that tangerine fic was WOAH

mommy 💀 man I love y’all

#this had no business making me laugh as much as it did #fookinfandoms #anon