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imyourbratzdoll · 9 months

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

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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pretty-little-mind33 · 15 days

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Don't Blame Me

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: implied fuck boy!Tangerine, bitchy!Tangerine in the beginning, reader is named Peach, unprotected sex, passionate sex, not much foreplay (they're desperate lmao), swearing, insecurities, praise kink, degradation, emotional, Tangerine is all over the place and bad with his feelings!

I'm so sorry I feel like this took forever <3 enjoy! @j23r23

"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not," you smile, your nails drumming on the desk as you pick at the petals of the roses in the jar near your computer. "Ah ha, he loves me. Knew you were so full of shit," you hum happily.

"Piss off," Tangerine loudly grunts in your ear and you tilt your head, scrunching your nose. You've told him not to yell like that—you've warned him that the earpiece is sensitive and you'll lose your hearing if he continues like this—but he never listens.

Being the Twins handler for almost four years now you've learned how to deal with their quirks.

Lemon, as ruthless as he is, is too trusting. He's also loyal to a fault and he'd die for Tangerine in seconds; something you've had to account for in your missions so it doesn't happen.

Tangerine on the other hand? Recklessness under the guise of control. He'd burn the entire world down for Lemon without hesitation, his temper as bright as the flames of a wildfire.

Unexplainably however, you were drawn to him the most.

While he pushes your buttons like no one else, you also tend to push him in ways that leave him wanting—no needing—more.

"Tan," you warn again, "don't talk so loudly, they'll hear you!"

"Stop your yapping in my ear then, luv," Tangerine snaps, his comment snarky and you hear a loud humph as it sounds like someone crashes into something.

Tangerine sounds out of breath and you use your mouse to click on the map on your computer. You zoom in and ask, "Where's Lem? You aren't supposed to meet any security for a while—"

"He's busy, darlin'. And your little shortcut turned out to be not so short after all," Tangerine says and you hear a loud grunt. It's obvious he's in the middle of a fight.

Your blood runs cold as you chew on your lip. Your hands quickly dance over the keyboard as you try and find another way for them—an easier way—

"Hey, Peach, will ya stop breathing so damn loudly, it's distracting me," Tangerine's voice interrupts your worry and you hold your breath when you hear a loud thwap and then a grunt—immediately accompanied by cursing and more hoarse shouts.

"Tangerine!" his name spills from your lips as you hear louder blows. "Tan?" you whisper when the line disconnects and a low buzz is heard in your ear. You fumble to discard the earpiece onto the desk in front of you and then you focus on finding Lemon.

If anyone can help Tangerine, it's Lemon.

With a frown, you activate the tracker you'd promised not to slip into Lemon's jacket, and a little red light blinks on your computer screen. He's not far from where Tangerine is. You lean over and connect to the microphone on your computer.

"Lemon?!"

You hear a crack and then the shuffling of clothes against the microphone in the tracker. "Peach?" Lemon grunts, "Ya cheeky lil' bird, I told ya not to track me," he lets out a breathy laugh, and another smack is heard, "Fuck me, these fuckers just don't die easily!"

"Lem? Where's Tan?" you ask, seeing that the tracker Tangerine wears voluntarily on his suit hasn't moved in a while. "Is he okay? I think the earpiece broke."

Something must have happened to his tracker too if it's malfunctioning.

"Yeah, which is why I say I should wear it—but he's bossy and he's your favorite," Lemon says.

"I don't have favorites!" you insist, your cheeks burning.

"Sure, whatever," Lemon chuckles and then adds, "Ah, speaking of the devil—I can see 'im now. Damn, he's beat up ain't he. Bullocks. Y'know your little plan was shit, Peach, security swarmed us almost immediately!"

You pinch your eyes and guilt settles in your stomach. "I know, I know, I'm sorry,"

You hear Tangerine's voice distantly as he grumbles, "Fuckin' arsehole broke my earpiece when he punched me—I lost contact with Peach," he complains and you hear shuffling. Your stomach fills with unwanted butterflies at the sound of his voice and how your codename rolls off his tongue.

"She can hear ya," Lemon says, his smirk evident in his tone, "Say hello, Peach."

"She tracked ya?"

"Yeah, and bugged me too apparently."

"What the fuck, my tracker doesn't do that," Tangerine says and you hear an infliction in his voice.

"Yeah, cauz you always have the earpiece."

"Because she likes me better,"

"That's what I said!!"

"Oi, you wankers, I can still hear you," you interrupt, "Will you just come back to the van now? The mission's a bust," you finish. While they continue to bicker for a moment, Lemon finally shuts down the tracker—by breaking it you assume—idiot—and it isn't until the van door slams open that you hear and see them again.

"Oi, now you're takin' the piss," Tangerine exclaims, glaring at his brother as he runs a hand through his mussed hair. He enters the van and you stand. Your eyes scan over his appearance; his suit is torn and bloodied and he has a gaping cut on his forehead. His ear is also bleeding from when you assume the broken earpiece had shattered.

"Christ," you whisper and walk over to him. Lemon smirks as he walks by the both of you and collapses onto the second chair near your desk. He's less beat up than Tangerine—who'd taken on more men you assume—but you remind yourself to check on him later anyway.

Tangerine senses you come up to him and he tenses when you hold his cheeks in your hands and check his wounds. "Tan, this looks bad," you say.

"Peach, I'm fine," he grumbles and turns his head away. He sounds grumpier than usual.

"Look, I'm sorry—I'm sorry I messed up, I—"

Suddenly, Tangerine explodes. His hand comes up around his ears as he scrunches up his nose. "Will ya just stop talkin' for one fuckin' second?!" he yells and even Lemon, who had been a silent bystander to the conversation, looks up from where he's bandaging his hand.

Your eyes widen and you blink at Tangerine. "W-what?"

He presses his index on his temple and narrows his eyes at you. "I have a fuckin' headache 'cause of you and you talkin' my fuckin' ear off all the damn time! And now I can barely hear because it's ringing so fuckin' hard!" he points to the blood inside his ear.

You flinch at his tone and try to control the tears threatening to spill as he harshly berates you.

"Right," is all you say, "sorry," your voice sounds small and you push by him and out to the front of the van to start the engine.

* * *

When you arrive outside their house—well, your house too since you've been living with them for the past three months—you don't talk to Tangerine. You don't even look at him.

Instead, without a word, you walk up to your room, tears still brimming, and slam the door behind you.

Your stomach hurts and your nails dig into your palms as you run a shower. You desperately want to wash away any memory of what happened tonight.

It isn't uncommon for you and Tangerine to fight—but he's never shouted like that and never in response to your worry.

Once you finish with your shower and walk out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around your body, you jump when you see Tangerine standing in the middle of your room.

He'd clearly freshened up too but, unlike yours, his hair is freshly dried. You aren't surprised—you know he hates sleeping with it when it's wet.

He's wearing a casual pair of beige slacks and a white T-shirt. The fabric strains against the muscles in his arms as he crosses them across his chest and you look up, feeling a burn in your cheeks.

Tangerine's ear has been bandaged and his cuts and bruises look kindly tended to. Lemon, you assume, he's always been soft on his brother even when he's acting like a jerk.

Tangerine is staring at you intensely, his blue eyes shining a shade darker than usual.

"Shit, stop being creepy," you grumble, holding your towel tightly around yourself. "Have you come to say you're sorry for acting like a prick or just stare a hole into my head?"

Tangerine's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. He stalks closer to you, pink lips parted and his hands find your hair near your nape. He pulls you in, seemingly unbothered by the squeal you make or how you're unable to move your hands to push him away.

Not that you'd want to push him away anyway.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" you hiss, staring at him, "have you gone mad?"

Tangerine just continues to stare into your soul. "You're so damn annoying," he mutters.

"I'll scream and Lemon will come and beat the shit out of you," you threaten, challenging him. You know Lemon would never do such a thing and you'd be a fool to scream.

"But, fuck me, I like you so damn much," he finishes his sentence, and then his lips find yours. His hand tightens in your hair as he kisses you. There's no tenderness in his kiss, no hesitation or remorse, just pure passion as he wraps his arms around you and holds your back as he pulls your chest to his.

You clutch the towel, making sure it feels secure, and kiss him back. You make a small sound behind his lips but you can't deny the heat in the kiss or how badly your stomach tightens just right. The steam coming from your bathroom is taunting as it surrounds you; sticky and warm.

"Tan," you mumble as his hand comes around your jaw and he turns your head to kiss your neck.

"Shut up," he growls, "you talk too damn much." He squeezes his eyes shut and the words fall easily from his lips as they press to your skin.

"God, you don't understand how hard it is for me; hearing your sweet voice in my ear while I'm trying not to get fuckin' stabbed or shot to death! You don't know what you do to me, darlin'. You have no fuckin' clue. It's fuckin' torture," he says as his hand tightens in your hair and you whimper.

"Tan, m-my towel," you tell him, struggling to hold it up as his body presses against yours.

This makes Tangerine snap out of whatever trance he's in for a moment and he looks down at you. His eyes have softened just a little and his tone is sultry when he asks, "Let it fall. I don't care. Do you?" His lips quirk up. "I've dreamt of you naked a thousand times, luv."

Your eyes round at the intensity of his words. You want to tell him to fuck off—that you've never thought of him like this. Never imagined his lips on yours or the way he'd feel inside you. But then you'd be a liar, and you aren't a liar.

Instead, you drop the towel, your eyes still intensely locked onto his. The cold air sends a shiver up your spine and Tangerine's hands find the skin on your back instead of the towel. His eyes haven't left yours and he looks surprised that you'd done it. He hasn't looked down and his cheeks have turned a dusty pink.

"What?" you move your hands up to his cheeks and hold them, "you said you'd dreamt of this. Well?" With as much confidence as you can muster, tilt his head to your naked body. You can feel your hands tremble against his cheeks, all kinds of insecurities and uncertainties bubbling inside you and just as you're going to pull away from sheer embarrassment, Tangerine speaks;

"Fuckin' hell, you look so much better than in my imagination," his hands slide up the curves of your hips and breasts. His touch is surprisingly gentle for how passionate he'd been in the beginning.

You watch as his eyes roam around your body and he runs a hand over his jaw, staring at you with pure admiration. "You belong in a fuckin' museum," he whispers behind his hand.

"Alright, lover boy," you roll your eyes and shift to move away but his hands find your hips and he hoists you up into his arms. You gasp, your arms finding his shoulders and your legs cling to his waist as your wet hair sprinkles water over his face. It's a weird position to be in considering you're naked.

"Tangerine!" you cry as he carries you over to your bed and you squeal when he drops you and hovers over you.

"Let me worship you, darlin'," he whispers as his knee slides in between your legs and he kisses your lips again. He disconnects them and looks at you seriously, "Please," he pleads and your eyes widen.

Tangerine never says please.

You find yourself nodding, too lost in the haze of it all to hear the small voice in your head screaming how stupid this is.

He'll throw you away after. He doesn't care. He'll hurt you. He'll break your heart!

You kiss him again, his lips moving against yours rhythmically. You're so lost in pleasure that when he sits up on his heels to strip his shirt, you whine and grasp at his arms. "Shhh, I'm here, dove," he chuckles, enjoying the power he has over you. When he leans over you to kiss you again, this time your hands find his abs and you can't help but explore them.

"You countin' them, luv?" he chuckles after a moment and his lips find your nipples as he squeezes one of your breasts in his hands. You make an embarrassed sound that quickly turns into a moan when he positions your hips just right so the fabric of his slacks hits your clit.

"I know, I know," Tangerine teases as he senses how needy you're becoming. "Shit, you're just a little slut, aren't ya, luv? Knew you'd wear those dresses to tempt me—didn't ya?"

You nod. You had. You didn't think it worked—he always played it so cool.

"You should know I would wank one out after seeing you—your thighs so visible and," he pauses and uses his hands to spread you open until he sees what he wants, "and that pretty pussy. So fuckin' pretty—

—you let me have a peek sometimes didn't you, naughty girl? Knew you did it on purpose," Tangerine says. He sounds satisfied with himself that he'd found you out and his grin widens when you nod.

"Just for you," you whisper, looking up at him with hooded eyes. "Please, Tan," you whine, you're already so wet for him.

"What do you want, hm? Tell me," he smirks and dips his head down to kiss your neck as his hands wander around your skin. He sits back up and removes his slacks and boxers. Your eyes downturn on his cock and you bite your lip. God, is he really this beautiful everywhere? How fucking unfair.

Tangerine's hand comes up to your chin, "Where do you want me?"

You look into his eyes, unsure how to ask him for what you want. Tangerine smiles, his thumb touching your lip. He's gentle, his eyes softer now, "Peach," he leans in and kisses just behind your ear. You shiver. "It's okay. Tell me where you want me," he smiles against your skin.

"Inside me," you say, your voice small

Tangerine hums and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, "Where inside you, luv? I want to hear you say it for me."

You feel your cheeks warm and you stare up at him. "In my pussy," you say and Tangerine's eyes light up and he smirks.

"My pleasure," he says and shifts his hips until you feel his cock press against your pussy. He feels you tense as your hands tighten around his shoulder.

"Hey, it's just me," he says, pushing in slower now. He looks concerned as one of his hands finds your hair and pushes the strands away from your eyes.

Yeah, that's the issue, you want to tell him but you just nod, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Look at me," he says as he pushes inside you fully. You gasp, arching into him and your breathing becomes harsh. He's so thick and long. Tangerine doesn't move and you let out a whine, your eyelids fluttering. "I said, look at me. I won't move until you look at me, darlin'," he whispers sternly.

When you finally look at him he smiles, "Do you trust me? I'm not gonna hurt you—promise."

You nod, biting your lip. Of course, you trust him. "I trust you," you answer breathlessly.

"Good girl," Tangerine praises and kisses your forehead. He starts to move his hips, pulling in and out of you with torturous strokes. He feels so good.

As he fucks you, he leans his forehead on yours, occasionally whispering praises into your ear as he tells you how pretty you look with him buried inside you.

"So fuckin' pretty with my cock inside your pussy, hmm," he grunts, continuing the pounding of his hips. "You close, luv? Already?" He teases you with a smirk and kisses your lips. You let out small moans, skin warm and sticky as you nod.

"Good," he smiles and uses his thumb to rub your clit, adding pressure as he fucks into you. "So good for me. All for me, hmm?"

"Y-yes," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Open your eyes, Peach," he demands and you do so instantly. "I want to look into your eyes when you come apart around me."

With that, the tension breaks inside you. Your body feels weak from the pleasure and your chest rises and falls rapidly once your high finishes. You let yourself relax into the mattress for a moment, ignoring the sudden stream of thoughts—good and bad—that race into your mind. Tangerine's lips touch your forehead again and then he pulls out, finishing on your stomach with a grunt.

You blink, feeling the bed dip and then his warmth disappears. You panic a little but you're too weak to move. If he wants to leave, let him, you convince yourself as you stare at the ceiling. However, when you feel something cold and wet across your stomach, you flinch and scramble to sit up.

Your eyes are wide and Tangerine pauses, removing the washcloth from your skin. He frowns a little, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly. You stare at him. He's still shirtless but he's pulled up his trousers.

"You aren't leaving?" you ask, looking around the room and you suddenly feel very bare.

Tangerine's frown deepens but he doesn't speak for a moment as he washes away his cum from your skin and, after discarding the washcloth, he reaches behind him to hand you his shirt. You accept it without thinking and put it on, wrapping your arms around yourself as you continue to stare at him.

He shifts, sitting beside you with one leg off the bed. He still hasn't answered and you start to feel an impending pit in your stomach.

"Why would I leave?" he asks calmly, his voice doesn't have a hint of concern in its tone.

You fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt, looking down. Your hair, now half-dried, is a mess from the pillows and you push it down and around your ears in an effort to compose yourself in front of him. "Well, I- I just assumed that you would—"

Tangerine tilts his head. "You think I would fuck and ditch, did ya? Ya think so low of me, Peach?" It feels like he sounds almost amused.

You shake your head but your nerves don't stop. "I mean, what do you expect me to think, Tangerine?" you look into his eyes and continue, "You come in here, all pissed at me—you yelled at me earlier and made me feel all shitty about myself—and then out of nowhere you kiss me and then we—"

"Fuck." Tangerine finishes bluntly.

You narrow your eyes at him. "Yeah, that," you let out a breath, "So, please, tell me. What am I supposed to think? What do you want from me now? Because I can't be one of your fuck toys, Tan. I refuse to be that girl. I- I care about you—" you feel your emotions get caught in your throat and you feel your eyes sting. Furiously, you wipe your eyes with your hands, refusing to cry in front of him.

Tangerine hasn't said a word. He's looking at you but you can't read his expression. You hate it. You shut your eyes, ready to call it quits, and tell him to leave, but then you feel the bed dip again and you feel his hands cup your cheeks. Your eyes snap open.

"Don't cry," he whispers, his thumb sliding under your eyes and catching your tears, "Please, don't cry because of a stupid bastard like me," he cracks a smile, hoping you'll smile too but when you don't and he sighs, "Okay, I was a dick, a real fuckin' dick, and you didn't deserve any of that. I'm sorry."

You nod, still listening to him, "You really were a dick," you whisper.

Tangerine chuckles and nods too. "Yeah. I was," he pauses and moves his thumb across your cheeks as if admiring you some more, "Do ya really believe I'd fuck ya for this to be a one-time thing, luv? That I'd just throw ya away after?"

Your cheeks feel warm. "I- I don't know,"

"You do know. You think I would do that to ya," Tangerine says, his voice low.

"I mean—that's what you do don't you? I've known you for years, Tan. All those girls—"

Tangerine suddenly laughs and his hands drop from your face. "Peach, you aren't those girls," he says, suddenly serious, "I wasn't just making it up when I said how hard it is for me to listen to you in my ear all the time. Not because you're annoying—which sometimes you are but that's beside the point—but because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for years. You're all I goddamn think about. Do you understand how hard that is for me?"

You just frown, shaking your head a little. "No. This doesn't make sense. Why now—why not yesterday? Or months ago? Or years ago?"

Tangerine runs a hand in his hair and lets out a breath. "Because I didn't want to but I snapped, I snapped, okay? I'm not fuckin' proud of it. I yelled at you and I felt so bad after I didn't know what to do with myself anymore—

—you're always there for Lem and me, and I realized, after that fuckin' earpiece broke, that I hated not having your pretty voice in my ear anymore. It felt like I'd lost you—do you have any idea how scared that made me feel, even when I knew it was irrational and that you were completely safe?" His words come out jumbled and strained. "I fuckin' hated it, I hated feeling like that so I snapped," he finishes.

You stare at him, his words hitting you hard. You've never seen him like this and it scares you, but it also turns you on some more. Why does he have to be so fucking hot? "And I'm sorry. I am. I would never throw you away. I don't want to throw you away after this—especially after fucking you—that's the last thing I would want! I– I-"

You stare at him some more, your eyes wide, "You what—?"

Tangerine pauses, "I love you," he says, articulating every word so you hear him clearly.

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"As in love love?"

"Fuckin' hell Peach, ya want me to scream it at ya or somethin'? I'm in love with ya. I love ya more than anythin' I fuckin' have. You're my everything. I love you so damn much."

All your anger, doubt, and shame instantly vanished into thin air. He loves you. All this time he'd loved and he was just shit at expressing his emotions? You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as happiness overwhelms you.

"Are ya laughing at me?" Tangerine's voice cuts in the air and you focus on him. He looks surprised and hurt.

Your smile falters and you shake your head. There is so much you want to tell him that you're at a loss for words. He looks so pretty like this, sitting in front of you, and your hands find his cheek instead of using words.

Your fingers skim the bandage that's still wrapped around his ear and you want to ask him if it still hurts. You want to ask him so many things. He's staring at you, chest heaving, and you don't think as you kiss him.

It's softer than the previous passionate kiss you'd shared. Only, Tangerine reacts with as much eagerness as earlier. His hands find your back and he presses you against him, your lips sliding against yours. It's intense and lovely all in the same.

"I love you too," you say quietly between kisses.

"Say it louder," Tangerine suddenly hums, his eyes shut in pleasure. You think he needs you to talk louder because one of his ears is bandaged and hurt.

So, you do as he asks and it earns you another kiss, however when Tangerine mutters, "I wanna hear ya say it again," you know he heard you fine. His voice is so love sick you just grin and wrap your arms around him, your hands bunching in his curls.

"I love you, Tangerine," you say breathlessly, "I love you."

"You have no idea how happy ya just made ma, luv," he responds instantly, running his hand over your cheek as he looks into your eyes. "God, I'd die for ya," he mutters and you frown, slapping his arm a little.

"Don't talk about you dying, you git," you reprimand, and Tangerine smirks.

He kisses your neck and with a teasing tone he reassures you, "Ya have nothin' to worry about, luv. I'd much rather live for you. You have all of my heart, darlin'. It's all yours," he guides your hand to press your palm against his chest and you feel how quickly his heart is beating.

"This beats for you."

You smile and kiss his lips once more as you bring his other hand to your chest too. "And I'm yours," you whisper. "Only yours."

And until then, you'd never seen Tangerine's grin widen as widely as it did when you said those words.

373 notes · View notes

acciopietro · 2 years

Note

Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?

combining with request #2: Hey 🧍🏻‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)

a week’s isolation - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.

word count: 3,878

tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!

a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.

Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.

A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!

“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”

“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”

“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”

Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.

“Y/N? You have a question?”

“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”

“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”

“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”

“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”

A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.

“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”

Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”

All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”

“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”

“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.

“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”

“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”

“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”

You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”

---

THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.

“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”

“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.

“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”

“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”

Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.

“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”

“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”

“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”

Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you.

“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.

And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you.

One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused.

Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.

By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.

The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”

“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”

“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.

You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed.

Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.

“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”

You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”

You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.

You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything.

“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”

“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”

“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”

“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”

“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”

“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”

Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

“How so?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”

It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.

“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.

“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”

“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”

He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.

“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.

“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”

Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”

You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”

“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips.

“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”

“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”

“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.

“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.

“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”

You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.

“Yes.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.

He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.

“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically.

“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.

Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.

Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.

“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit.

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.

“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.

“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”

“Just do what?”

You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.

“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.

“Well, I don’t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"

And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.

“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.

Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.

Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”

Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.

When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.

“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.

“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”

“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”

“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”

translation:

“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning

“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.

“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love

taglist:

@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777

a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry.

4K notes · View notes

prongslvl · 1 year

Text

TAKE A BOW — count vronsky

PAIRING alexei vronsky x fem!reader

SUMMARY a letter of invitation that causes vronksy turmoil in the arms of his affair, leading him into madness.

a/n: my first request! also my first time writing for vronsky, so if my characterization seems off i am so sorry! i also tried to make my writing sophisticated (?) to fit the vibes of the movie. thank you for the request, reader! happy reading.

you were never one to believe in baseless rumors, especially when they came from mouths you had no interest in or connections with.

it's been a month or less since alexei vronksy, the man who asked for your hand in courtship, was the city's topic. the relationship between you and alexei was quite known because the man himself announced that your hands were his to hold. that's why the women at parties gather around you, either asking questions or expressing their sympathies. it only made your heart shatter and your head dizzy.

you followed the advice of your father to stay at home and try to contact the count. your mother tells you to ignore their words.

you tried, you really did.

eyes closed from the sympathetic yet mocking eyes of the people, ears shut at whispers, and mouth closed to refrain yourself from lashing out on an aristocrat's wife.

you knew there was nothing left to do to stop all of this when your father himself, who also helped with looking for answers with his men in petesburg, revealed that these lies that ran through your mind were indeed factual. it took several days of weeping, anger, and devastation before you eventually calmed down and collected yourself, to say the least.

your family was respectful enough to leave you alone with your endeavors, with maids and butlers taking turns to give you a little bit of nutrition every day. they report to their master how his daughter was stuck in her bed, lost in thought, and refusing to consume anything.

how could you, really?

the man who swept you off your feet came back home to you in the form of a rumor that was later revealed to be true; an affair with a married woman. your father knew karenin through business, and you can only recall his stoic expression from when you met him as a child.

alexei has always been a man of escape; he finds ways to relieve himself of the pressure of being a count, an army officer, and the child of a countess. he told you countless times,

"you are my escape; you are my happiness." the same words he spoke to you as he slid the gift into your hand he brought for your birthday.

it became a habit to look at your hands, specifically the finger where a ring from vronsky lies. everytime you remove it out of disgust and hatred, your pathetic little love-sick heart desperately looks for it after. it was a cycle—a cycle your mother knew you'd be stuck in forever if she didn't interfere.

when you finally gathered up the strength to dine with your family, who acted as if nothing had happened, they carried on with their usual conversation. they didn't take notice of you before your mother suddenly brought up your brother's upcoming wedding anniversary. she reminisces about the grand wedding when her eyes land on you. it wasn't hard to understand what she was doing; even with your dazed state, you were able to get the idea.

apparently, a man in yaroslavl wished for your hand in marriage way before alexei did. you only had a bit of memory of the aristocrat; you were too busy fawning over count vronsky to remember.

"he is a good man. his father was of great help to us through the years. he'd be more than thrilled to be wedded to you." your father says it, and your mother nods along with a caring smile.

"but my heart doesn't yearn for him, father. how can i wed a man i barely know?"

"we are not forcing you to marry him right away, darling." your mother placed down her utensils as she spoke, saying, "feel free to go at a pace you deam correct." your mother was quick to reply, holding your hand. at this point, you have nothing but yourself to lose. all of your decisions up until now were only based off of count vronsky and regret is an understatement.

"i'll think about it, mother. thank you to both of you." your voice was meek, strained from all the tears you'd shed for the past week.

nothing could've prevented him from seeing your name with another man, much less being supposedly about to be wed to one. vronsky's calloused fingertips carefully caress the name of the women he bestowed his life and soul to and whom he also betrayed by receiving this letter from the love of his life.

arms snake around his torso, a slim figure resting against his back. he could feel her breath against his bare body. "you're taking quite a while to get back; is something the matter?" he folds the letter immediately, almost crushing it between his palms in anger. without hesitation, vronksy removes the same hands he desperately craved throughout his journey.

he felt anguished by the memory of you. the thought of your smile directed at some bastard aristocrat made his vision blurry. he saw you as a challenge, a spite against your father, who wronged him long ago. "you were nothing but entertainment," he tells himself. '"but how can mere entertainment is causing him so much pain?"

a click of a door made him realize his current position on the cold floor of the hotel; he was on his knees, holding the letter for dear life. the silence in the room made it clear that anna had left. who would want to stay with a man she sacrificed everything for, only for him to grovel at another woman?

at that moment, it didn't bother him. everything that happened in moscow, that led to petesburg was gone like the wind. your name was a mantra inside the army officer's head, as if repeating it over and over again would make you appear in front of him.

vronsky glances at the letter once again, his eyes scanning for when and where this matrimony will begin. it was back in moscow in about a month, when you'll be forever stuck with a man who isn't him. when he finally got up from the ground, put on his uniform, and bought the earliest ticket to moscow, it was like anna never came into his life.

he could feel the distasteful eyes of men who used to laugh next to him and women who followed him around like a shadow. now that he was out of the hotel where he stayed with anna, it made it obvious for him to realize how fast the news got to you and how long you've been planning this marriage. he doesn't know if he was angry at you or at himself. but one thing alexei knew was that this wedding couldn't happen.

alexei wasted no time getting to your home, getting on his horse as soon as he left the train station.

he rang, knocked, and even shouted your name. it took a few more screams before you finally appeared before his eyes.

you gasp as he kneels to your feet, grabbing onto your dress with his fist. no words can describe what you feel at the sight of him trembling and practically digging his fingers into your dress at how tight his grip was.

"please, don't do this." alexei's voice whimpers, looking up at you with the same eyes that captivated you in the first place. "i'll do anything that you wish. "i've created a mistake that has hurt you—hurt us, so please..." he took your silence as a chance to stand up on his feet and caress your cheek.

"leave him," he finishes, tears stained and weak.

his words felt like knots in your stomach, but it wasn't butterflies that caused it. it was different from what you've always felt when he gently cups your cheeks and looks at you with such intent that any lady would be weak in the knees.

the calloused hands that lay on your skin felt like poison. these same hands that grab on to you so dearly and so desperately are the same ones that held that women. you didn't feel anything but disgust.

"what you did didn't hurt you, count vronsky. you hurt your mother, your men, the people who treated you as a friend, and..." your lips tremble as you continue, "and the women who actually loved you. not temptation nor a challenge. i loved you like my other half."

alexei's eyes wagged at the word 'loved', preparing a response, but your words cut him off before he could blabber on.

"but you have proved me wrong." he could see the eyes that held love for him fueled with anger. you removed his calloused fingers from your face, creating a distance between the two of you.

"please, my lady, you are—"

"you're happiness?!" his voice somewhat triggered you to shout, with veins popping out of your neck at how loud you were. the people who tried their best to sneak glances at the commotion finally had the reason to stop and look at the two of you.

"how many times have you told that woman the same thing, alexei!?" a hand lands on your bare shoulders, and you see your fiance with a worried expression on his face. "i no longer have a reason to let you take my hand, so please, count vronsky, muster up all the pride that you have left for yourself, and leave."

you intertwine your hands with your future husband, who looks down at you with a worried smile and then a scowl at the dazed man. as you were about to close the door, a strong force stopped you.

"i will not allow this, never." vronsky's voice was mixed with loathing and somberness, the two combinations that covered his heart as he stared at the hands that used to hold his.

"i believe you do not have a say in this." your fiance retorts.

the blonde man scoffs, "my very being is my right."

"and i'll use my every being to get rid of everything that you have, up until you come crawling back to me, just like you always do."

his tone, sweet yet laced with venom, made your grip on your fiance's hands tighten. alexei tries to touch you once more, and your instinct to step back comes over you. a bitter laugh came from his mouth, and his eyes fixed solely on you as he slowly left. you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding as you followed his figure disappearing from the distance.

#alexei vronsky #count vronsky #count vronsky x reader #alexei vronsky x reader #anna karenina #anna karenina fanfiction #atj #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #vronsky x reader

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gratelove · 1 month

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You Know You Can’t Resist Me

Tangerine x Reader

Warnings: 18+, p in v, cursing, rough, fighting, blood

You’re set on a mission to retrieve a briefcase for your boss. Little do you know someone else is sent to do the same thing. Someone you have way too much history with. Someone that you know you can’t resist.

You push through the crowded train car, trying to find the package you were sent to retrieve. You were hired by an anonymous billionaire to take out the White Death’s son and bring back a briefcase. You were an assassin and thief for hire, so you never asked many questions. You did the jobs and got paid big. That’s all you ever cared about. The train was way more populated than you had expected, but thankfully you knew what the White Death’s son looked like. Everyone in this business does. The White Death is the most well known criminal there is.

You make it to the next train car, continuing to look through a sea of heads, hoping to spot him. You then see a guy sitting by himself in a booth with large, pink, bug eye glasses on. He is wearing a furry blue coat and looks to be asleep. The glasses are starting to fall off of his face and you see a recognizable tattoo on his right temple.

“Bingo,” you say to yourself and walk over, taking a seat in the spot next to him. You look around to make sure no one is watching. You pull out your dagger and put it to his neck. “Hey, wake up asshole.” The guy makes no movement. “Hey,” you push on his shoulder. The glasses fall off his face to reveal blood pouring down his cheeks from his eyes. “Oh, fuck. Who got to you first?” You ask yourself out loud and put the glasses back on his face. You stand and open the cabin head doors, hoping to find the case in there.

“Looking for this?” You hear a British, male voice behind you. You spin around and whip your dagger to the mysterious man’s neck. Your eyes widen in surprise. “I thought it was you, sweetheart. Almost didn’t recognize you with clothes on.” A smile appears behind that too familiar mustache. You then look to see he has a silver briefcase in his hand.

“Tangerine? What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since Spain.” You and Tangerine go way back. You’ve done multiple jobs where he just so happens to be after the same thing, but always for different people. You’re never on the same side, always at odds, and somehow you two always end up getting a little too friendly, but not this time. This time your on one missions and one mission only. You won’t let him distract you from that.

“Well, it looks like the same thing as you, love.”

“Seems like it. You still with Lemon?”

“Yeah I am. Actually, he’s in the next train car.” He nods his head in the direction of Lemon.

“Oh good, you can give me the briefcase and then go finish sucking each other’s cocks like you do. Don’t forget to tell him I said hi.” You smile at him, reaching for the item. He pulls it away slightly.

“Not gonna happen.”

“You forget I’m the one with a knife to your neck.” You remind him as you motion your eyes toward the dagger at his throat.

“You forget that we’re in a train car full of people.” Tangerine quickly reminds you.

“Well, I’m not leaving without the briefcase.”

“It looks like you are.” You quickly put your dagger in its sheath on your hip. You squint your eyes in concentration, thinking about your next move. “So, what’s it gonna be, doll?” You smirk and put your hands on his shoulders. You lean in close to his face. “We’re getting to it already, huh? I thought there’d be a little more foreplay.” You let out a small laugh at Tangerine’s words as you lean even closer. You both start tilting your heads in opposite directions, as if to kiss, and as you see his eyes flutter closed you lift your knee right into his groin, using the hands on his shoulders to push him into it. Tangerine groans in pain, falling to his knees on the train floor. You chuckle and grab the briefcase from his hand.

“Is that good enough foreplay for you, sweetheart?” You mock his nickname for you and the look on his face lets you know he is fuming. “Thanks for this by the way.” You pat the case and spin around, jogging through the aisle to reach the next car.

You know he won’t be far behind you and the next car you enter is an empty bar. You turn and look through the small window to see Tangerine is already up and heading your way. You think quickly at where to hide the case. Your eyes dart between cabinets and you decide on one right under the bar top. You slide it behind several alcohol bottles. You grab a bottle of vodka and then swiftly close the door, and just in time for Tangerine to enter the room.

“There you are. What took you so long? You need a drink, baby?” You pout your lip out at him as you pour the clear alcohol into a shot glass and hand it to him. He slaps it out of your hand and it spills on the carpet floor.

“Where is it?” His eyes burns holes through you. He is infuriated, and you find it incredibly hot.

“It’d be no fun if I just told you,” you say and take a shot. The alcohol burns as it runs down your throat and you throw the shot glass to the ground. Tangerine reaches over the bar and puts his hand around your throat, pulling your face close to his.

“Y/N, where is it? I’m not fucking around.” His grip gets tighter around your neck.

“Neither am I.” You rear your head back, and smack it right into his nose. His grip loosens and he stumbles back. He looks up at you and reaches his hand to his face. His gaze turns to his hand and he rubs the red liquid from his nose between his index finger and thumb. Tangerine laughs and wipes the back of his hand across his face, removing the small amount of blood coming from his nose. He suddenly pulls the gun from his waist and points it directly at your forehead. “There he is. I thought you went soft on me, baby.”

“Let’s dance, sweetheart.” The minute those words fall from his mouth you grab the gun and twist his wrist. You leap over the bar and your foot meet his chest. He falls back, but quickly recovers, lunging at you. He takes a swing that you barely dodge. Then another comes that you’re not prepared for. It connects with your mouth and you feel an instant sting to your bottom lip. You have the familiar taste of copper in your mouth and spit. Blood lands on the floor and your head whips toward him. “You done yet, love?” Tangerine asks. He is sweating and his curly brown hair is sticking to his forehead.

“We’re just getting started.” You lunge at him pulling out your dagger. You slice toward him cutting his shirt and exposing his chest. He grabs your arm and puts it against the bar top, hitting your hand against the edge so you’re forced to drop your dagger. He then pushes you until your back hits the train car wall. He has you pinned with his legs pressing against yours and your wrists held tight. You’re both breathing heavy and you feel his warm breath hitting your cheeks. You are flushed and wet from sweat. Tangerine makes eye contact and holds your stare. He leans in so close that your lips are almost touching.

“I love you in this position,” he whispers against your mouth. You try hard to not get hot and bothered by his words. He’s so close and you can’t help but feel the need to kiss him. You smash your lips against his in a rough and hungry kiss. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and you moan. His grip around your wrists loosen and he moves his hands up your arms, down your breasts, and finally stops at the bottom of your skirt. You feel his hands start to run up your thighs and you get the instinct to push him off. You shove his shoulders and he looks at you with confusion.

“No, not this time. This always happens, but not this time, baby. I’m here for one thing only,” you say to him, and really try to stick to the promise you made yourself when you realized he was here. He starts to laugh at your words.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want me.” He pushes you up against the wall by your shoulders, and once again has you pinned. You try to push your hands against his chest and it’s a short battle before he has your hands pinned above your head. “Stop resisting. You know you can’t resist me. Just like I know I can’t resist you.” Just his words make you wet and you hate yourself for that. You know he’s right. This happens every time you meet him at a job. You wish you could control yourself, but when he’s around, all you can think about is him fucking you. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me now?” He takes both your wrists in one hand as his other hands finds its way back to your thighs.

“I’m never a good girl,” you say to him and he smirks are your words. His smirk alone makes you drip.

“I know, sweetheart. That’s my favorite thing about you.” He breathes as he runs his fingers over your clit through your panties. You shutter at the feeling and a distant sensation tingles through your thighs. He pulls your underwear to the side and runs his index finger between your folds. “You’re already so wet for me. I knew you wanted me,” he breathes. He finds your entrance and slowly pushes two fingers inside you. You gasp and spread your legs open so he has better access. He starts by slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. You throw your head back against the wall and your eyes flutter shut. He picks up the pace and you feel your legs start to get shaky. The sensation suddenly stops and you’re lifted up off the ground. He’s carrying you over to a booth. He sets you down on the edge and gets on his knees. He pushes your legs open by your knees and rips your panties down your legs. “Oh my god,” he whispers and you look at him staring between your legs in awe. He licks his lips and wraps his arms under your thighs, getting a tight grip on your body. He lowers his face in between your legs and you feel his warm tongue run down your center. You shiver at the feeling. His tongue starts to move faster up and down you. He does this several times before stopping at your clit. He pushes two fingers, roughly back into you and takes your clit between his teeth. You moan loudly as his tongue swirls around your sweet spot. Chills rush up and down your body. You can’t help but squirm as the sensation intensifies.

“Oh my fucking god,” you scream and grab handfuls of his curls. You tug on his hair and his grip tightens around your thighs in attempt to hold you still. “Tan, I’m gonna cum. Oh my fucking god, I’m gonna cum.” You throw your head against the seat as your eyes roll back in pleasure. You feel a wave of release wash over you. Tangerine laps up your juice. He lifts his head, flicking his hair back from his face.

“God, you are so fucking sexy, sweetheart.” He wipes his mouth. You lift yourself up and reach for the zipper of his pants and waist no time pulling them down. You see him bulging through his boxers, and are eager to feel him inside you. You pull those down swiftly and he grabs your wrists, pulling you up. He hoists you up onto one of the tables. His large hands wrap around your hips and he lines himself up with your entrance. You feel him slowly enter you and you can’t hold back the moan that comes out as he stretches you. You wince a little as he fully enters you. “You okay, love?” He stops moving. You bite your bottom lip.

“Mmhm,” you nod. He grabs your face, crashing his lips into yours. You being to move in sync and he slowly pulls out of you, and then shoves back in. You gasp mid kiss and Tangerine rests his forehead against your. You can feel his wet hair against your just as wet forehead. He repeats the motion again, making you moan louder. You throw your arms around his neck. He picks up pace and starts pumping into you. Your nails dig into his back and he goes deeper and harder with every thrust.

“You feel so tight.” He groans and grips your waist again, squeezing hard. Those words make you even more hungry for him, if that’s even possible. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist as he pounds into you. Your moans soon become screams of pleasure. Your whole body is numb with sensation and you dig your nails deeper into his skin. “God, you’re gonna make me cum.” He groans into your neck and starts to suck on your sensitive skin. You bite his shoulder to try to suppress the overwhelming sensation. This makes him let out a loud moan. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He warns and his pumps pick up pace.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum too.” You moan in his ear. His head is thrown back with one final thrust and he suddenly pulls out. He cums onto your bare thighs and groans, his upper half falling limp on top of you. You both are a mess of heavy breathing and sweat for a pause. Tangerine then lifts himself up, placing an arm on either side of you.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says and you giggle.

“Yes it fucking was.” He leans in and gives you a long kiss.

“God, I needed this.” You lean in and give him another kiss in the lips. You don’t know the next time you will see him after this, so you take in what you can.

“You know, once I catch my breath I’m gonna kick your ass. That briefcase is still mine.” You smirk at him. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and smiles at you.

“We’ll see about that.”

#bullet train #tangerine #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fanfic #aaron taylor johnson #Aaron Taylor Johnson fanfiction #Aaron Taylor Johnson smut #tangerine smut #bullet train fanfic

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growup-thatbeautiful · 1 year

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bullet proof… i wish i was

Tags: Kid fic, Canon Typical Violence, Ex-husband Tangerine, Ex-Assassin Reader, Getting Back Together, Soft Tangerine, Mutual Pining, Tangerine Bullet Train, Tangerine x Reader, Tangerine x You

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Blood, Violence, Heavy Cursing

Summary: You and Tangerine have been separated for a few years for the sake of your daughter, Jovie, but when trouble comes, there's only one person to turn to.

Word Count: 8k

A/n: if you want to be added to a taglist for this universe, let me know and i will happily oblige! enjoy my tangerine brainrot :))

Bullet Train Masterlist

chapter one: you have turned me into this

Your heels tap against the marble flooring as you make your way through the crowd of guilty people, the chandelier above you casting an ethereal glow over scared faces and expensive clothing. You keep your head down and hope that none of them are looking at your face too closely. The steel countertop of the bar is cool underneath the tips of your fingers when you order a drink and take a careful sip, your eyes flitting around the room for a certain face. Once you have him in your sights, it doesn't take much to convince him to come over and say hello. The way the silk of your dress contours perfectly around your figure can't hurt.

"Hi," you say, your voice floating through clouds and shaking the walls. Or is it just you who's shaking? The man doesn't answer and instead chooses to signal for the bartender, who nods and starts fixing a drink.

"The usual," the man croaks, his voice weak and failing. It makes you want to go home to the family waiting for you, into the arms of someone who loves you. There's a reason that you can't, but you don't remember it. You just know what you have to do now.

“So, angelface, are you going to tell me how you got here? I think I would remember inviting someone like you.” The man doesn’t recognize you, which is good. None of this would work if he knew who you are and what you’re here for.

“I have an invitation,” you lie, glancing around you and shifting your weight. If he’s paying as much attention to your form as he seems to be then he’s going to notice immediately how obvious you’re being.

“Strange, I didn’t take you for a liar.” He runs a greasy hand along the top of your arm and leans in closer to you, a sick smile on his face.

“I didn’t think you were smart enough to notice. Color me impressed, Sir.” You plant a hand on your hip and twirl a finger through your hair, grinning at him like you’re remotely interested in his sad eyes.

“Thanks. Look, hun. You’re way out of your zone here. This isn’t the path for a pretty girl like you.” He brings his hand up to your face, stroking a sweaty hand over your cheek. Like that’s ever calmed you down.

“Oh, sure it is.” you grab his wrist. “There are plenty of pretty girls getting up to no good. And those are only the ones that I know about and the ones you decide are good enough for a second fuck. But there’s a little more to the story this time. See, I’ve always loved my job, but it doesn’t really allow any room for what I need. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard, but I’ve been trying to change that if you would let me. I have a feeling that you’re going to listen to me.” You can feel the bones under his wrist. The way their ancient architecture creaks and groans under strain.

The beautiful snap of his wrist. Pain lit up in his eyes. Surprise written on his face. “Now. You’re never going to underestimate an angry woman or a protective mother again. I recommend you start listening to me closely and looking into my eyes instead of somewhere else.”

You wake up with a sob. Those memories have haunted you since the moment they happened, an error in judgment, an eclipse against the rest of your life. The things you did to protect the little girl sleeping soundly in the room next to you.

It’s half of a memory, not even getting to the worst part of that evening. Or the nights you spent afterward, cradling yourself against the cold spray of the shower and insistently scraping your skin against a washcloth to get the blood off.

It isn’t the violence that haunts you. God knows you’ve seen enough of that to last a lifetime. No, you don’t bat an eye at the blood that was shed that night, that’s never bothered you.

It’s what came afterward. The fighting, the leaving, the tears that you don’t usually shed. You had put your daughter, Jovie, in the backseat and taken her away from one of the two people who loved her to the end of the earth. It’s not like you had a choice, or at least that’s the easier way to think about it. For Jovie’s sake, you had to get out of that life, and you couldn’t have done that any other way.

But the way you hurt Tangerine back then still hurts you every time you think about it. It’s almost unbearable, to know that you’re the reason why he lives alone in a house that was meant to be filled with pictures of you and Jovie that now has impersonal empty white walls.

With a sigh, you throw the sweat-soaked sheets off to the side and walk into the bathroom that’s adjacent to your bedroom. Your hands shake when your turn the sink on you run your sweaty palms underneath the cool water, and you splash some onto your face. From experience, you know you probably won’t get back to sleep anytime soon tonight, so you might as well get some work done. Maybe with the extra time, you can pick up Jovie early from school one day and take her to the ice cream parlor she likes. There’s no better way to spend your time than with her anyway.

You slip some socks onto your feet and make your way across the hardwoods into your kitchen, where your laptop is waiting at the table. Instinctively, you go to the kettle sitting on the stove and start boiling some water, your mind on autopilot. Next, you grab a cup and some sugar, get some milk from the fridge, and try your hardest to calm your heartbeat. The whistling of the kettle is a soothing balm against your racing thoughts.

You don’t know how many times you’ve had the same dream, but usually, you make it further before you wake up. Maybe it’s finally starting to go away, but you doubt it. You’re honestly not sure that it’s something you’ll ever stop terrorizing yourself over.

The kettle’s whistling reaches an insistent point and you carefully pour the tea into the waiting cup. Once it’s cool enough to move, you settle into the kitchen table that’s closest to the window and open your laptop, where emails and research await.

Right when you’ve finally gotten into a good rhythm of your work, a noise from the hallway interrupts your thoughts. The hinges of your front door creak and strain, something you’ve been meaning to fix for a while, but right now you’re happy that you haven’t. Slowly, you reach for the gun that’s sitting behind the plant on the window and load it methodically, glancing over towards Jovie’s room and praying that she’s still asleep. The floorboards creak underneath the person’s feet and you steel yourself for what’s coming, whatever it is.

“Do you ever go anywhere besides your kitchen table, love? Should I be worried about your work addiction?” You see a familiar silhouette against the refrigerator light holding his hands up in the air.

Lowering the gun and putting it off to the side, you say, “Sure. Just let yourself right in. I’m sure Jovie would love to find you here in the middle of the night.”

“Jovie’s still awake?” Tangerine asks hopefully. You roll your eyes against his response, but there’s no actual malice in your actions. It’s endearing, how excited he gets to see her, even when you know he’s been on a mission for at least a week.

“No, she’s asleep, but you can go see her. If you wake her, you’re going to deal with it in the end, though, because she’s supposed to be going over to your house tomorrow anyway,” you warn. You don’t think it sends the right message, though, because he grins and raises his eyebrows at you.

“You still have to deal with her in the morning,” he grins, taking off down the hall. You know better than to try and stop him when he’s trying to go see Jovie, especially when he’s been gone.

He’s never told you, but you know that he misses her when he’s gone, but you imagine that it’s worse than how you miss her. When you’re gone, you know you’ll come back safely most of the time. Sure, what you’re doing for a living is technically illegal, but you’re not in immediate danger as frequently as he is.

So, when he comes over in the middle of the night asking to see Jovie, hardly able to stand with bloodshot eyes, you give him time with her for as long as he needs.

You remember how it used to be, when you were both working. It was hell, trying to balance everything; going on jobs and finding someone to watch Jovie, spending as much time as possible with her when you weren’t on a job, and trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with Tangerine.

At some point, it all just collapsed in on itself. You had to get out of the job, and the only way to do that came with consequences that you’re still facing today.

You don’t think Tangerine can look at you without seeing the person that snuck away in the middle of the night with his daughter. And you can’t blame him one bit, even if he won’t say it to your face. You know if he did that to you, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. Maybe he’s just a better liar than you or a better person. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, sitting at your computer and waiting for Tangerine’s telltale footsteps, but eventually, he comes back and sits down next to you. Silently, without looking up from your laptop, you push your tea across the wooden surface towards him and he accepts it gratefully.

“You still make your tea like shit,” he complains, grimacing at the taste. “It’s like drinking fucking sugar water.”

“Then stop drinking it, Tan,” you sigh, but there’s a fondness that you can’t stop from creeping into your voice. “Just because you like being dark and broody doesn’t mean we all do. Some of us like being happy.”

“I can be perfectly fucking happy without your sugary excuse for caffeine,” Tangerine defends, leaning back into his chair. “Now do you want the information I got you, or not?”

You nod and pull up the folder you’ve been keeping information for your current job in. It’s scarily scarce, and this is one of the hardest assignments you’ve been given in a while. Gathering information on The White Death was hard enough when you could openly travel the world, and now with Jovie, it’s even harder.

Ever since you stopped going on actual jobs where you were part of the physical fight, you’ve been gathering information for the assassins like Tangerine and Lemon before jobs. It comes with perks, like the ability to work from home most of the time, but you can’t deny that you miss the excitement that you used to face almost daily.

For the next hour, Tangerine tells you everything he learned on the job and you carefully take notes. It’s a system you worked out as soon as you realized that the two of you would have to relearn how to coexist with each other for Jovie’s sake. In exchange, you give him everything you have on whatever his next job will entail, because, as scared as he is that he’s not going to come home one day, you’re terrified every time he leaves that he’s going to decide that it isn’t worth it. He’ll realize when he wakes up one morning that he could be anywhere in the world with anyone he wants, and you’re just not worth the effort.

Not that you would ever tell him that. Instead, you keep him through the flimsy excuse of work and information, hoping that, along with Jovie, it’s enough to keep him by your side.

Because you’re unexplainably selfish when it comes to him. Yes, you’re the one who left, but you can’t bear to think about him being happy with someone else.

So, for as long as he lets it continue, you’ll sit at the kitchen table for him in the middle of the night and listen to him talk, his accent lulling you to a sense of false domesticity that will shatter when he gets up to go home.

Tomorrow morning, Jovie will wake up and tell you all about how Tangerine visited her in the middle of the night, and he’ll be gone again, back to his own home where you thought you would raise Jovie with him.

But that’s something to worry about tomorrow. For now, you can sit here and take notes with an excuse to stare at Tangerine while he talks.

And what a sight he is, with his hair falling in front of his eyes, his blue-grey eyes shining in the lowlight of the moon shining through the window. His ringed fingers are drumming against the table as he talks, blood underneath his nails. Before he came in, he must have taken his suit jacket off, because he’s left in a blue pinstriped vest and a white undershirt, both speckled with blood. It outlines the broad expanse of his shoulders and the chain around his neck glints in and out of your sight.

“Do you want to spend the night?” you interrupt, shutting your laptop. Upon seeing the confused look on his face, you start rambling. “I know you probably want to get home- you’ve been gone a while- but it’s late and I’m sure Jovie would love to have you here in the morning. That way you don’t have to come get her later.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he agrees. “And I really don’t want to drive even more tonight, so I might take you up on the offer.”

“Okay,” you say, hiding a smile behind your hand. “You can shower in the guest room, I’ll get sheets on the bed.”

“Don’t go to the trouble, love. I’ll be happy with whatever.” You shake your head and get up, heading for the closet where you keep extra bedding. When you hand a pair of clean, white sheets with red polka dots, he takes them from you with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You lead him to the guest room, flipping light switches on and making sure the bathroom is adequately stocked. “I’ll be right back,” you say, heading to your room and rifling through one of your drawers until you come up with a maroon t-shirt that’s been in the back of your drawer for ages. It’s worn and faded, with holes in the collar and a white stain on the hem. You don’t know if Tangerine has even noticed that you’ve had it all this time, but you haven’t been able to convince yourself to give it back.

Back in the guest room, you hand him the t-shirt and he silently hands you his suit vest and collared shirt, which you take into the laundry room and spray with something to get the stains out. It’s a routine that you two perfected a long time ago, before things were so messed up, so it’s nice to see how some things still stay the same. The sound of the shower starting lets you know that he’ll be out in a few minutes, and a familiar sense of dread fills you. What happens now? Do you tell him goodnight and wait to deal with it in the morning or are you supposed to sit up with him and exchange polite conversation that will only hurt you in the end.

It ends up being neither. You’re sitting back at the kitchen table, pretending to look at your computer, when he shuffles down the hall, wearing boxers and the t-shirt.

“Is this mine?” he asks, gesturing at his shirt. “I’ve been fucking looking for this.” You know he hasn’t because he never liked this shirt, but your ears burn red at the accusation, however well meaning.

“It might be,” you deflect. “Do you need any food?” Tangerine moves to sit across from you at the table. His hair away from his face when he leans back and closes his eyes. He doesn’t look convinced at your defense, but he lets it slide with raised eyebrows.

“No, I stole some crisps on the way home.” You’re not surprised.

“You have a talent, Tan,” you tease lightly, shutting your computer. “You need to teach Jovie one of these days.”

“She can do better than petty thieving, have higher hopes for our girl.” Our girl rings through your mind. You doubt he even knows the impact of what he says, like he usually doesn’t.

You don’t really know what to say, so, “I’m sure she’s got your knack for finding something worthwhile to do,” is what you end up replying.

“A man can dream,” Tangerine sighs. You realize how late it is and how tired he must be, which you can see by the darkness underneath his eyes.

“As much as I would love sitting up with you, I think it might be a proper time to go to bed,” you admit softly. He looks at you with a strange look in his eye and nods slowly, matching your actions when you stand up.

“Goodnight, Tangerine.” You’re standing across from him, unable to cross the distance between the two of you, both physical and mental. It would be so easy, so instinctive, to fold yourself into his arms like you used to all those years ago. It’s alarming how deep the desire to do it runs through you, and you chalk it up to the nightmare that you and earlier.

“Goodnight, love. I’ll see you in the morning.” Those words, from him, are achingly distant to what they used to mean, but they fill the crack in your heart with a blooming flower of some unnamed emotion.

It stays with you when you crawl into bed and it has you looking forward to the morning, whatever it brings.

The sound of singing wakes you up much more gently than the nightmare did. It’s loud and boisterous and completely off-key, and you recognize it immediately, just like you would recognize anything about him.

You force yourself out of the warmth of your bed and throw on the first clothes that you find, a pair of black leggings and a deep green sweater with countless holes. A look in the mirror tells you that the bags under your eyes reflect the late hours of last night, but you don’t feel like doing anything about it right now. It can’t be worse than the other states of disarray Tangerine has seen you in before.

The bedroom door closes shut quietly behind you as you walk down the hall, and the sight that you’re met with is both concerning and heartwarming.

Standing at the stove in his now spotless suit from last night is Tangerine, his hair in its usual slick back style. Your kitchen is a mess, with flour all over the cabinets and countertops and a towel is thrown over his shoulder. He’s bent over the stove, watching a pan intently as smoke rises to the ceiling.

Jovie is sitting at the kitchen table watching, her brown curls a messy hall around her head. It’s the same as her father’s, something that he takes great pride in. She has your eyes, but hers are full of hope.

You make your way over to where Tangerine is standing and lean against the counter across from him, watching with amusement as he fiddles with your burner. “Bastard,” he mutters under his breath, trying again to light the stove. “Fucking bastard.”

“Let me help you,” you laugh, sidling up next to him and pushing the knob in before turning it. “It gets stuck sometimes, you just have to force it a tad.”

“S’that right? Well, someone’s going to have to fix that. I wouldn’t want the world deprived of your cooking,” he deadpans, a glint in his eye.

“Fuck off,” you say under your breath, glancing at Jovie to see her utterly occupied with the spoon and bowl. “I haven’t poisoned anyone yet with my cooking.”

“That was on purpose,” he defends easily. “And I don’t think they’re quite the brag you think it is, love. Jovie-“

“-come on, don’t bring the poor girl into this-“

“-how do you think your mom’s cooking is?” His grin is wide and dagger-sharp as he looks at Jovie, who’s staring wide-eyed and helpless at the wills of Tangerine’s smile.

“Mommy makes dinner all the time,” she says, looking at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you sing, smiling at her and sticking your tongue out at Tangerine. He frowns at your childish display and turns his attention to Jovie with soft eyes.

“I beg your pardon, Jovie, but why don’t you tell Mommy the truth?”

You sigh, having accepted your dare a long time ago as someone who’s talents lau outside of the kitchen. “Go ahead.”

“Sometimes your food tastes yucky,” Jovie says slowly, her head tilted to the side as she waits for your reaction.

“Well, I’m trying my best,” you defend, but you don’t take any of it personally. You’re happy, at least, that Jovie’s being honest with you, which is more than a lot of parents can say. This day was bound to come.

“I’m sure you are,” grins Tangerine, giving Jovie a cheesy thumbs up before returning to his cooking. “That’s why I’m going to handle breakfast this morning.”

And he does, without complaint, grinning and cracking jokes the whole time. It feels like he belongs here, sandwiched in your tiny kitchen with Jovie sitting at the table and laughing.

He brings two plates full of various breakfast items and a bowl for Jovie with grilled tomatoes, her favorite. You eat in comfortable silence, filled occasionally by Jovie’s chatter.

“Can I have that?” Tangerine asks, looking hopefully at you. He’s pointing towards your tomato, which you really had planned on eating, but you give in to his pleading eyes.

“So now you’re a gentleman?” you tease, shoveling your food onto his plate.

“Love, I’m always a gentleman.” He takes your food happily and shares with Jovie, talking with her about school and her friends while bringing you into the conversation.

It’s so easy to forget, in moments like these, why you ever left, but things can come crashing down when Tangerine has to leave.

“We should be off,” he admits softly. “I wouldn’t want to take up more of your time.”

“Okay,” you agree, but your smile feels wrong and tight. You want so badly to tell him that you’d rather be here than anywhere else as long as he’s here. “Jovie, baby, are you ready to go to Daddy’s house?”

“I need Murphy to come with me,” Jovie says, and you smile at her before going to her room to grab her favorite stuffed bear. It’s something that Tangerine got her on one of his trips, this time to New York. The stuffed bear is wearing a red guard’s uniform and a top hat, affectionately missing one shoe with faded colors. It’s laying on her bed, shoved beneath her pillows and blankets, and you double check the rest of her room to make sure that there’s nothing else she’ll need.

“Here’s Murphy.” You hand her the bear and Jovie accepts it happily with a hug and a pat on the head. She gives you a hug and a messy kiss on the cheek before going over to stand with Tangerine.

“Jovie-love,” Tangerine says, calling your daughter by his favorite endearment, “Say another goodbye to your mom, you’ll see her again in a few days.” Jovie nods obediently and looks at you again.

“Bye-bye, Mommy.”

“Bye, Jovie. I’ll see you soon, Tan.” Tangerine nods his goodbye to you before taking Jovie’s hand in his own and leading her down the hall and out the front door. You see them out the window as Tangerine buckles Jovie’s seatbelt and taps her on the nose with a soft smile.

You watch his car drive away until you can’t see it anymore.

Days without Jovie go by uneventfully, with not much distinction between the hours, and the next few are no exception.

But now, you have more than Jovie to look forward to. You have Tangerine too, however short your interaction may be. Because he’s always been a bright spot for you, even when you don’t get to bask in his sunlight every day. You’ll take whatever you can get, however small, because anything is more than you deserve.

Especially because you’re the one who ruined all of it in the first place.

After a long day of interviews and field work, you just want to go home. Jovie’s with her babysitter Mary because Tangerine had to take care of something with Lemon, which is an unfortunately common occurrence.

The drive home is painful and irritating, and it seems like everything is trying to push you over the edge. You have to keep reminding yourself that Jovie is waiting for you at home; sweet, loving Jovie whose face lights up when she sees you walk into a room. She’s back at your flat now, from when Tangerine dropped her off earlier today, which is good, because you don’t know what you would do if she wasn’t there. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to have much of a conversation with him because everything had been rushed.

Finally, finally you make it to your flat, where you can’t seem to find a parking spot quick enough to satisfy your desire to be finished with today.

When you walk through the door, you’re met with a silence that puts you on edge. There’s no blaring kids television program or the sound of Jovie playing with her toys, or even the soft lull of Mary reading her to sleep.

“Jovie? Baby?” You walk faster through the apartment, paranoia taking over. When you turn the corner, a gasp lodges itself in your throat and your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

It’s a cinematic scene. Your big-eyed Jovie, standing, covered in blood. The homey glow of the broken lamps cast shadows across the mangled corpse in front of her. Jovie isn’t moving, simply standing there, red spreading across her truck pajama pants.

“Jovie, honey, come here.”

“You always say not to get my pajamas messy.”

“I know, love, but this is more important right now. It’s okay, I understand.” You hold out your arms, knees on the ground, soaking in the pool of blood. “Please, baby, just walk towards me and everything will be okay.” She dutifully takes a step, walking straight into the mass of blood.

“Shit, Jovie, stay there, I’m coming to get you.” The blood is warm against your feet as you pass through it. She looks at you with her big eyes and you feel the tears threatening to overflow. You don’t have time for this now; you can always cry about it later in the shower.

“You said a bad word. Daddy says bad words sometimes when he thinks I’m not there.” Despite wariness, Jovie climbs into the waiting arms, holding on. She leaves ripples in the growing mass of blood when she walks.

“Yeah, that sounds just like him. How about we go into the kitchen-“

“For juice pops?” interrupts Jovie, oblivious to the violence around her. You wish that you feel surprised at the continued glimpses of the fight. A broken plate on the floor, a red smear on the white cabinets, and a drawer pulled out of the island.

“For juice pops,” you confirm, opening the freezer for an, ironically, red popsicle. “What color do you want?”

“Blue,” she says decidedly. You grab one of the first ones you see and unwrap it with your teeth, handing it to her. She takes it happily and you push her up higher onto your hip.

“How about we call daddy? I think he can help us.” The thing is, you know how to deal with this on your own. You’ve talked about it with Tan more times than you can count, but this is so much harder than planning for it. “Can you go grab your backpack from the closet? Mommy’s going to go get her own bag and we’ll call him from the car.”

She mumbles okay as you put her down and she heads dutifully down the hall to her room. You would rather be close to her, but time is essential at the moment. The only thing running through your mind is getting Jovie somewhere safe, no matter how you do it.

You rush down the hall and grab the gray duffel bag from the corner of your closet. Quickly, you go through the contents and make sure that you have everything you might need. Yours and Jovie’s passports, some first aid materials, a few extra weapons, and a change of clothes are the main items that you have to make sure are in the bag.

Once you’ve double-checked everything, you throw the duffel onto the bed and grab the extra bullets that you keep in your top drawer, shoving them into your back pocket along with the small gun that you keep in the bathroom.

“Jovie, honey, are you ready to go?” you call, waiting for a reply. She yells a muffled response back at you, which you take as an okay. You don’t really have enough time to contemplate it anyway.

As fast as you can, you scoop up Jovie’s bag from her arms and grab one of her hands in yours. She’s clutching Murphy close to her chest, the bear squished tightly against her. The hallway seems to be clear when you check it for any threats, and, thankfully, Jovie stays silent until she’s safely buckled into her seat. Part of you hopes that she can tell how serious the situation is, how dire it is that you make it to somewhere safer.

The slam of the car door rings in your ears as you pull out of the carpark, as does the heavy sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mommy? Is Mary dead?” asks Jovie, staring at you from the backseat with eyes just like yours. You grip the steering wheel tighter between your fingers and let out a slow exhale.

“Yeah, baby. Mary’s dead.” You don’t know what else to say, so you let silence fill the car. After you’re far enough away, you pull the car to the side of the road and turn the lights off. To anyone passing by, they won’t see you unless they’re looking.

“What are we doing here?” Jovie’s voice is high-pitched and scared, and you brace yourself for the feeling of tears pricking your eyes. When Jovie cries, usually you’re able to be the calm one, but you don’t know if you can be that person right now.

“We’re just resting for a minute.” The words are hard to get out and you lean forward against the steering wheel, taking a breath with your head in your hands.

“Because it’s dark out?” Any other time, you would happily answer all of Jovie’s questions and more, but you need to think right now. But you also don’t think that it’s a good idea to shift Jovie’s mind to anything that could lead to her thinking more about what happened.

“Jovie, honey, do you think you can let me call Daddy? We need to make sure that it’s okay for us to go over to his house.” Jovie nods and looks out the window quietly, tracing the passing houses with her finger.

You pull up your phone and select Tangerine’s name from the top of your contacts, but you don’t connect it to the car speaker. Jovie’s been through enough. While you wait, you pull back onto the road and start heading in the direction of Tangerine’s house.

It feels like the dial tone rings forever while you wait for him to answer. It goes to voicemail and you bang your hand against the steering wheel, biting back a curse and some tears. The beep for a voicemail sounds and you start talking before you can consider anything else. “Tan, we’re heading to your flat now. There’s-there’s a problem. I have Jovie with me now, just- please be home. Please fucking be home, I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Tangerine, and I don’t know how Jovie’s going to cope with this. I came home and there was blood on the floor, and Mary was on the floor. I don’t think we can go back there for a while, maybe ever. I have some things with me, and I have my gun, but I- I don’t think it’s safe still. Just, please answer me whenever you get this. Please, Tan.” You end the call and throw your phone to the side, running a hand through your hair.

When you look back at Jovie through the rear view mirror, she’s fast asleep, her head tucked against the top of her car seat. Your heart melts at the state of her. The curls on her head are rowdy and unruly, and you realize now that she’s still in her pajamas. The blue truck patterned pants are stained at the ankles with deep blood, and you have to fight not to pull over again and clean her up.

From its spot in the passenger seat, your phone rings loudly, and you reach across for it with one hand on the steering wheel. “Hello?”

“Love, are you almost here? I fucking swear, I’m about to drive to you myself. How is Jovie doing?” The tension and the anger in his voice somehow make yours melt away a little. It feels like you can breathe, knowing that he’s there waiting for you.

“I’m five minutes away. And Jovie’s asleep right now.”

“Fuck,” he swears. “Mary’s dead?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that. She doesn’t have any family, and as far as I know Jovie was the only one she sat for, so that’s ideal I guess.” It’s easier like this, to remember how you’re supposed to respond in situations like this. He’s always made things so much easier for you; your focus pinpoints on Jovie’s safety with the help from his voice.

“I’ll get someone to go over there and clean up. I’ll have things ready for you and Jovie when you get here.”

“Okay,” you agree quietly. “We’re pulling into your neighborhood now.” Like clockwork, Jovie's head snaps up when you pull into Tangerine’s driveway. You’ve never made it to his house without her waking up at the very last moment. It’s endearing on good days and frustrating on the rest, but now you’re just happy that she’s still with her normal routine.

The car rolls to a stop in front of the house and you park the car before stepping out and unbuckling Jovie. Both of the bags are carried in your arms, along with Jovie’s little hand in your own. You stop on the edge of the driveway, looking at Tangerine. You honestly don’t know what to do now that you’re standing in front of him, yearning for the safety of his arms but not knowing if you’re allowed.

“Come here,” Tangerine says. You don’t move. There’s an edge to his voice that you haven’t heard before. Something consequential. Something desperate. “Please.” He says it so quietly and with such little conviction. Like he knows you’ll say no.

Jovie goes first. And you have no choice but to follow her little footsteps until your in his arms. Once you’re there, you can’t remember why you ever wanted to be anywhere else. Slowly, like he’s going to let go at any moment, you wrap your arm around him and clutch the back of his suit in your hand, pulling yourself into him.

He’s so warm and solid against you, his suit jacket soft and welcome against your cheek. It makes you think of how things used to be, when you could come home together to this very house and let yourself bask in his presence.

Those days are gone, but the ghost of them remains in this depraved picture of a family hug: Josie’s blood splattered feet, your shaking hands and blood-dyed shirt, Tangerine’s immaculate suit and slick back hair.

Eventually, you have to let go and walk inside, dropping your bags off at the front door and crowding Jovie into the living room. Tangerine tells you that you should go wash up, and dimly, you agree, walking absentmindedly to the bathroom and stripping down.

It’s not until the warm spray of the water is hitting you that you realize you’re in his bathroom, the one that you used to share when Jovie was a baby.

Instinct had taken over and sent you right back to the past, when you were Tangerine's wife and Jovie’s mother at the same time. Strange, how different things are now.

Now, you’re washing blood off, which isn’t necessarily new, but you’re alone and thinking about the similar blood that covers your beautiful Jovie.

You’re wearing his shirt when you walk out. It used to be your favorite one, worn thin and soft from use, light blue fabric falling to your thighs. You always forget just how tall he is until you’re forced, in moments like this, to remember.

“Jovie’s asleep. I didn’t put her in her room because of the windows, so she’s in the room next door on the couch. Lemon’s on his way over,” Tangerine explains softly, coming over to hand you a towel for your hair, an old habit that neither of you even acknowledges.

“Thanks,” you reply just as quietly like somehow you’ll wake Jovie up from here. “Is she okay? Did you wash her feet off?” It almost seems trivial, to be asking if your daughter didn't go to sleep with blood-covered feet, but it matters to you.

“Yeah, love, I did. Are- are you okay?”

You let out a laugh that sounds too much like a sob and sit on the corner of the bed. “I came home to find our daughter surrounded by blood, which we have a plan for, a plan that I didn’t follow.”

“You made a judgment call. There’s nothing wrong with that, we have to do it all the time,” he comforts. Before you can reply with more negativity, he comes over and puts his hands on your shoulders, cupping your neck. Carefully, he tilts your head up to look him in the eyes. He’s towering over your sitting figure, but it’s far from intimidating. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in his presence, in his comfort.

He’s always been a source of comfort for you, even when you’re not with him. He’s a safety net to fall into during times like these, and you’re falling hard.

“I think it’s my fault,” you whisper, shutting your eyes. “I should have been there sooner. She’s going to have nightmares now. Tan, what if I’ve fucked her up? This is why I stopped, and now it doesn’t matter, she’s going to have these memories of blood and pain and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

He waits patiently for you to finish before shaking his head against your thoughts. “We knew something like this could happen. It’s as much my fault as it is yours, if it’s your fault at all, You’ve tried your best to protect her from this as long as she’s been alive.”

“I could have done more.”

“So could I, but we didn’t. However,” he continues, “Jovie’s okay. She’s safe now. You know that, right? M’not going to let anything happen to the two of you.”

“Thanks, Tan,” you whisper. There are so many more things you want to say, so much more negativity flying through your head, but it’s easier to let him take a little bit of the burden, like you know he wants to.

“Of course, love. We’ll figure this out together.” Slowly, he kneels down on the floor in front of you so you’re at the same height, bringing your heads together. You close your eyes and get lost in the feel of his hands against you, his breath against your own, his presence all around you. A part of you in the back of your mind reminds you that this could be your normal.

You pull apart and Tangerine wipes the tear from your eye with his thumb, so gentle. “Who did this to you?” There’s an edge to Tangerine’s voice that you’ve never wanted to hear aimed at you. But you don’t think it’s you that he’s mad at.

“It could have been a lot of people,” you start.

“You fucking know who it was. Tell me.” He’s losing patience now, wanting to help in the way he knows how. There’s no way for him to know the way that he’s already helping by being with you. His presence is a comfort, a safety that you can’t get if he’s out there looking for someone.

“Probably White Death’s guys,” you admit, thinking back. You’ve been careful, but there are always people who will talk. “They’ll do whatever to keep their names out of people’s mouths.”

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hands on his hips. The dying light from the hallway casts shadows against his silhouette, the shiny silver signet ring on his pinky and the warm metal against his chest glinting along the hardwoods. “Why would they leave Jovie alive?” It’s a stupid question, one that both of you already know the answer to anyway, but you know why he’s asking. Sometimes it’s easier for other people to say the hard things. It’s not like you’re upset about Jovie being alive, you’re so utterly grateful, but it can’t be for no reason.

“Because they know who Jovie is. They want to scare us because there planning for something worse, something we aren’t expecting.”

“Mommy? Daddy? I’m scared,” Jovie calls from the other room. “There are monsters underneath the bed.” It’s something she’s been scared of for as long as you can remember, but you can’t help the spike of fear that courses through you. You’re not alone though, because Tangerine looks at you with the same panic in his eyes.

“We’re coming, love,” he replies, and you follow him through the door. Jovie’s sitting up in the bed, surrounded by blankets that build up around her and holding her stuffed bear close to her chest.

“Do you know which monster it is this time?” you ask softly, crawling next to her. Dutifully, Tangerine checks under the bed carefully and gives an exaggerated thumbs up that makes Jovie’s giggle beside you.

“It’s Lenny,” she whispers into your ear, and you nod solemnly at her.

“That’s a serious monster problem. Do you think Daddy’s going to have to move out of his house?” For as long as she’s been scared of the monsters under her bed, you and Tangerine have tried to twist it into something better. That’s when you started asking her what the monsters’ names are and what she thinks they're doing under her bed. Usually, you’re able to get her to a point of calm and, on the rare occasion, to a point where she’s no longer afraid of a certain monster. So far, you and Tangerine have been able to convince her that the monsters Polly and Patrick are protecting her, but Lenny has been a challenge since the beginning.

“I will not be moving, ladies. I don’t think Lenny’s here tonight, Jovie-love. And if he is, tell him to piss off because I’m too tired to fight a monster.” For emphasis, he plops face first down on the bed and starts snoring loudly.

“Tan, language,” you chastise lightly, sending a half-hearted glare in his direction. It’s a fruitless task, which you learned a long time ago, but you won’t stop trying, more for your own sanity than for Jovie’s sake.

“Yeah, Daddy, language,” Jovie mimics, crossing her arms over her chest. You laugh and nudge Tangerine, who looks less than thrilled.

“Right, you two are a pair,” he groans into his hands, peeking through to wiggle his eyes at Jovie. “But I think it’s time for my ladies to go to sleep.”

“Thank you for saving me,” Jovie adds sweetly, snuggling further underneath the blanket. Your heart melts at the way she holds her teddy close to her chest. “Will you always come for me?”

“Jovie, baby, there could be dragons and mountains and oceans between us and we would still find a way to you, okay? Daddy and I will never stop looking for you if you’re away from us. Never. Do you understand?” You run a hand over her hair and tuck a stray strand behind her ear.

At that, Jovie opens her eyes and looks at you, blinking slowly.“But you and Daddy don’t love each other.”

“Oh, baby,” you sigh. You can’t look at Tangerine next to you, you can’t bear to see the look on his face. “I’ll always love your dad. I love that he’s the person I get to raise you with. I love that he’s there when I need him. We just…weren't able to love each other together. It’s like that sometimes.” You wish it weren’t, but that’s not a fight that you want to have again.

“Jovie-love, your mom and I have loved each other since before you were born, but it’s easier for us to love each other from separate places,” Tangerine adds, smoothing the side of Jovie’s face. His words ring a painful truth that you’ve known for years.

“But we’ll always come together to be with you, baby. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Promise?” she asks, holding up her pinky. You smile and take it in your own, and Tangerime dutifully does the same.

“Promise,” you echo, holding onto her hand. She nods her acceptance and you let go, as does Tangerine. “Now, it’s time for bed. We’ll be here in the morning, so you just come and wake us up, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy. You’re both going to be here?”

“Yeah, love. We’re having a little sleepover for tonight until your mom’s house is better. Does that sound fun?” Tangerine asks, tucking Jovie further into the blankets and glancing over at you.

“Yes,” Jovie agrees sleepily, snuggling further into her blankets. “Sounds fun.”

“Good,” you smile. “Goodnight, Jovie.” With that, you slowly make your way out of the room, Tangerine on your heels.

Once you’re out of the room and back into his bedroom, you sit down on his bed and he sits next to you, shoulders against each other. “You can sleep in here, I’ll sleep in the living room,” he offers.

You shake your head and respond, “No, I couldn’t do that. It’s your house, Tan.” And you don’t want to slip in the bed you used to share without him,

“It’s alright, love, really. I don’t use that couch enough.”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch in your own house,” you argue back. “It’s rude.”

“Look, you’ve been through a lot today. I’m not going to make it worse by giving you a sore neck and back tomorrow. I know you well enough to know that it would happen, so don’t pull any shot with me,” he warns, and you don’t have a lot of defense against that.

“Fine, I’ll sleep in here, but I’m absolutely not going to have you sleep on the couch. We’re both adults here, we can share a fucking bed for one night.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “If that’s what it takes.”

There’s space in between you when you lay down, but he’s closer than he’s been in a long time.

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memphisnovels · 6 months

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Evermore

Chapter 20. Cherry

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi friends! Apologies for the wait on this chapter but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <33

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, some spice (only a little: like half a chili pepper), cursing, jealous Pietro.

The sound of running water filled my ears before I turned off the bathroom tap, drying my hands and face. When I put the towel down Pietro was leaning against the doorframe signature smirk across his lips.

“What?”

He shook his head, pushing off the wall to approach me. His hands braced on the counter, and he pulled us both forward so that I was pressed between him and the vanity. I could feel his breath on the side of my face as he leaned down toward me. He pressed a kiss to my cheekbone before turning my face by the chin to look at him. “This is all I can think about.” Before I could respond he was planting a scorching kiss against my lips, pressing me more firmly to the bench. The warmth that was always emanating from his body pressed into my back through the fabric of our clothes as he kissed down my neck, nipping at my shoulder. I leaned my head to the side giving him better access. Pietro’s hands squeezed my hips, one moving to the front to fiddle with the hemline of my t-shirt. My heart was racing as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, smoothing across my stomach and up my ribs to rest just below my bra. “Is this what you want?” He murmured against my ear as I threw my head back. “You want me to touch you?” I felt incapable of words then. Pietro turned me to face him swiftly before lifting me and slipping me onto the bench behind us, his body pressed to mine as he stood between my legs. “Tell me what you want, Prinţesă.” In a moment of confidence, I lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it across the room and grabbing his hand to place it over my heart that was thrumming in my chest. He moved impossibly closer, his hand sliding to cup my breast over my bra, his lips were on me again almost instantly, trailing wet kisses down my collarbone and sternum.

“I want- I want…” He spread my legs, falling to his knees between them and that was when I woke up, launching upright in bed and clenching the duvet to my chest. “What the fuck?” I muttered to myself running a hand through my hair. I could not believe I had just dreamed that I must have been going insane. Try as I might it seemed impossible to part with the images that had invaded my slumber, a cold shower didn’t even do the trick.

I resolved that perhaps a run was in order to clear my head. Dressed and prepared to head off, I yanked the door to my room open rushing swiftly into the hall only to walk directly into someone. The collision almost had me stumbling but two warm hands holding my upper arms righted me. Pietro smiled sweetly at me and apparently that was enough to set my heart racing. “Good morning, Nadia, wherever are you off to in such a rush?” I swallowed hard as I looked at him, his hair was damp as though he’d just gotten out of the shower, he wore a blue and white crewneck sweatshirt, and it was enough to make me lightheaded. I was irritated, to say the least at my body’s ridiculous reaction to him.

“I… was going to go for a run.” It was quiet and didn’t sound anything like me. He furrowed his eyebrows a little.

“Is everything alright?” I nodded quickly, side-stepping him with a clenched jaw. The soft look in his eyes was too much to bear right now. “Liar.” He snickered, following closely behind me. “What’s wrong?”

I shrugged, not looking back at him but apparently that wouldn’t fly with him. He took ahold of my wrist gently, spinning me to face him and taking a step closer. I sighed exasperatedly. “Nothing’s wrong, really, I’m just tired.” I managed a little smile to appease him, though it came easier than I’d expected. It faltered, however, when he moved ever closer. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the corner of his lips upturned in the whisper of an earnest smile. He leaned down and kissed me softly, just once before pulling away. I leaned up, chasing his lips with my own and kissing him again.

“So, I’m assuming we’re still on the same page about the boyfriend, girlfriend thing?” My smile returned, brighter now as I nodded at him. “Good, glad we cleared that up.” His lips were on mine once again and I breathed a laugh against them. “You’re going for a run?”

I said yes.

He hummed. “Okay, I’ll come with you.” I tensed slightly, images of him pressed against me flickered through my mind. “… Or I don’t have to if you don’t want?”

God why was he so fucking considerate?!

“No, I do want you to!” I almost cringed at my words. Pietro raised an eyebrow at me. “I do want you to come with me.”

“You’re being very strange.” He hadn’t let up on me. From the door of my bedroom and the duration of our run he’d pestered me, encouraging me to tell him what was bothering me. “Please, draga mea.” My darling. I only ran faster. A streak whirled past me before stopping in my path. Pietro crossed his arms over his chest, watching me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Tell me what’s going on.” He spoke firmly.

My hands fell over my hips, and I narrowed my eyes at the man before me. “I told you nothing is going on.”

That little smart-ass smirk made a home on his lips, and he took a step closer to me. “And I think you’re full of shit, so let’s try it again.”

“Or what?” I bit back. “What will you do?”

My sass had his smirk doubling in size, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before flickering down to my hands that remained settled on my hips. He crossed the space between us, stopping right in front of me. “What would you like me to do, Prinţesă?”

The moment he spoke that word my heart skipped, mind unable to stop thinking about his lips all over me. I dug my fingers into my sides, attempting to steel myself.

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Par for the course at this point, and you’re the one who wanted to be my girlfriend so...” He shrugged, eyes dipping to my lips momentarily. I couldn’t handle this proximity. There was the slightest sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hair had become tousled by the wind, falling a little messily around his eyes. “Tell me.” He urged yet again.

“Jesus Christ, Pietro! I just had a strange dream, alright?!”

He looked indescribably pleased with himself. “Okay.” He nodded. “Was it about me?” The tone he took was nothing if not teasing, an attempt to rile me up, lighten the tension but my brain seemed content to short-circuit the moment he’d spoken those words. My unwitting hesitation certainly did not go unnoticed by him and before I could defend myself, he was speaking again. “Oh my god, it absolutely was!” He was positively beaming at me then.

“No! No, it had nothing to do with you, idiot!”

“Was it dirty? What was I doing in the dream? Was I as handsome as I am in real life?” I groaned, pushing past him and picking up my pace again. “You’re going to have to run faster than that.” He appeared before me again, running backward so he could continue to taunt me. “Walk me through it, play-by-play, spare no detail. Was it the first time you’d dreamt of me? It must have been some dream for you to be acting so weird after.”

I shook my head, settling on ignoring him now. This only seemed to please him though, there was no winning here. He put his hands out to stop me once more. I rolled my eyes heavily, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m getting sick of this conversation very quickly.”

“Okay, okay, just one more question and I’ll drop it.”

“Fine! What?” I asked exasperatedly.

“What were we doing in your dream?”

His voice dropped as he spoke; I swallowed heavily feeling a little light-headed. This was not okay, I wasn’t about to let him have all the power so I shifted gears, letting my weight fall to one hip and closing the distance between us, moving to my tip toes so I could brush my lips over his. His breathing stuttered a little and I could feel his heart racing as my hand landed on his chest. “I could tell you. Or…” I placed one small peck on his lips, pulling back just a little to see his eyes closed, lips chasing mine. “I could show you.” His lips parted and his hands found my hips.

“Nadia.” He leaned forward to kiss me, but I pulled back out of reach, prompting his eyes to open. He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “What-”

“One more question and you’ll drop it, right? Isn’t that what you said?” A look of utter betrayal and indignation crossed his features then, but I was running off before he could utter anything else.

I was laughing the whole way back to the compound, ignoring the streak the shot passed me partway back. When I arrived, Pietro stood on the grass, waiting with his arms crossed. “That was not very nice.”

“Well, you were the one who wanted to be my boyfriend.” I taunted, feigning a pouty face at him as I walked by.

“Oh, I see, you think you’re very funny.”

I walked into the kitchen with Pietro hot on my tail. The smell of cinnamon and freshly baked goods overtook me the moment I stepped into the room. Vision stood behind the counter, a baking tray in his hands. “Good morning, Nadia and Pietro.” He placed the tray down to reveal cinnamon rolls as he poured frosting over. I furrowed my eyebrows watching the strange man intently. “Would you like to try one?” He offered, looking back up at me and placing one of the desserts on a plate which he inched toward me.

“These are insanely good, Vis,” Sam spoke from the table, throwing the last bite of his roll into his mouth. I hesitantly approached the counter, inspecting the food before picking it up. It smelled divine but the idea of eating something baked by the peculiar humanoid creature before me was a little off putting. Before I could take a bite Pietro leaned over me, demolishing half the roll in a single mouthful. I narrowed my eyes at him as he grinned back, licking the icing from his lips slowly.

“You are pushing it,” I warned the silver-haired man who merely snorted in response.

“Ah, young love.” Tony sighed entering the room and stealing a cinnamon roll from the tray.

I bit into mine soon after, shocked by the explosion of flavor on my tastebuds. “Jesus that’s good.” I stuffed the cinnamon roll into my mouth before Pietro could steal anymore. “Do you even eat; how do you know how to bake?”

“I have no need to consume nutrients in the way humans do, though, I can simulate the ‘eating’ action if it would make you more comfortable.” There was silence between us for a moment as I stared blankly at him, unmoving. “And I used the internet to learn the recipe for these.”

“Okay.”

I turned around stiffly, wandering over to the table where Natasha sat, Pietro heading off to pester his sister. Approximately the second I sat down Nat was laying out possible options for what I would wear to the gala.

“There’s a strip of boutiques about a 30-minute drive from here, we can head over later today to have a look.” I nodded, taking a sip of my juice. “Also, I invited Wanda,” Natasha spoke so quickly that her words almost jumbled into one. I choked on my drink, coughing violently, and taking another sip to ease the discomfort. The look I gave her would have had a lesser woman cowering, but she didn’t even flinch under my glower. “Oh, do not even act like that, Nadia. I know you too well to be fooled by this whole act, you don’t hate her and I’ve had enough of the division, the girls need to stick together.”

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall back with an exasperated sigh. “Why must you force the high road on me so often.”

…

The dress I selected was crisp white satin, one shoulder, with a slit that rose up to the apex of my thigh. Natasha shoved a pair of matching elbow-length gloves into my hands and would not hear any protest on the matter. Wanda and I had exchanged barely a sentence with one another on the drive here, it was strange. I didn’t really know what to say to her, how does one begin the journey to the high road? She fiddled with a sage green slip still on a hanger as I took a seat on the plush round ottoman that sat by the fitting rooms. I had felt her glancing at me from time to time as we waited for Nat to finish trying on her pile of dresses.

“Full disclosure, I know about you and Pietro.” I looked over at her then. “He didn’t tell me; I just know him too well and I might have dug around in his head a little to confirm my suspicions. Anyway, the point is, I know that you don’t exactly like me, but I think you’re good for him and his happiness is the only thing that matters to me, so I just wanted to say I’m really happy you have each other.”

“Trust is not something that comes particularly easy to me, and we did not start on a very positive foot. I don’t dislike you, Wanda, but I also don’t trust you.”

She nodded a merciful look in her eyes. “I understand, and I don’t blame you.”

“But… I am willing to start anew. What is the expression? A clean slate?” Her eyes lit up at my words, the corners of her lips upturning. “I cannot promise that I will ever trust you,” I added. “But we can try to start over if that’s what you want.”

Her expression was soft, gratitude and relief shining in her eyes. “Hi, I’m Wanda.”

I almost laughed at the gesture. This was pretty ridiculous, and I could not help but think back to the day in the shipyard. The debilitatingly traumatic memories she’d forced me to relive, the feeling of the cold concrete against my palms as I begged to leave the mind prison, she’d locked me in. The thought made me hesitate, a voice in the back of my head screaming at me to turn my back and continue the cold shoulder routine. She’d proven she couldn’t be trusted, why should I give her another chance? However, despite that, despite my reservations and distrust I silenced the voice, swallowing heavily and meeting her eyes once more. “Nice to meet you, Wanda, I’m Nadia.”

“Oh my god, you guys have got to see this dress!” Natasha called from the fitting room.

Some of us elected to stay in the city for the gala, rather than travel from the compound on the night of the event. I had no strong opinion on either option as long as we got this night over quickly and as painlessly as possible. I’d attended these fundraisers before, the cause was good and completely not what I took issue with. The part that I loathed was being forced to schmooze with the New York elite as they pretended to care about the poor and disenfranchised. The whole thing felt disingenuous, and I’d rather steer clear of it altogether, but I would have no such luck. Unfortunately for me being a public figure came as a package deal with this whole Avenger thing. I’d managed to mostly avoid it until now.

I sighed exasperatedly as I sipped from the champagne that Natasha had poured for me whilst she did my hair. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’ll be nice to have a night out, and you love the city.” I met her eyes in the mirror before rolling mine heavily.

“Why are you so set on this?”

“Because I think it will be a nice change of pace for us all. A chance to let our hair down and have a moment of normalcy.”

“In other words, you’re doing this to avoid thinking about something else… someone else?”

She pulled my hair a little harder than necessary, causing me to scowl at her reflection. She didn’t even pretend to be innocent as she glanced up to meet my eyes for a split second. Her face pulled into an expression of distaste. “And I thought you didn’t understand people.”

The corners of my lips upturned, and I shrugged a little. “I don’t, I just know you.”

She shook her head, remaining quiet for a long while. I watched her as she continued pinning and fiddling with strands of my hair. “Fury said they got a ping off the quinjet. It gives a radius of where its last location was. It could be a lead.”

“But?”

“He left for a reason, Nads, I’m not sure going after him wouldn’t be purely selfish.” I nodded slowly, taking a beat to process her words. I didn’t really know what the solution was, what would make her happiest in the long term because part of me wanted to tell her to throw logic to the side and go after him but the other part of me agreed with what she was saying. Going to find him when he obviously wanted to be alone may not have been the best course of action, but in the same breath I didn’t want her to get stuck in time; unable to move forward because she was too caught up. “So maybe we just wait him out? Circle a date some time from now and if there’s still no word from him by then we go find him.” She placed a hand on my shoulder for a second, still looking down at my hair, but I knew she’d heard me. “I heard you and Wanda talking at the boutique.” She unraveled the strand of hair she’d been curling. “It was nice what you did, very unlike you, but nice.”

“You don’t think I’m nice?” A cheeky grin spread across my lips as I met her eye in the mirror.

She breathed a laugh. “Truthfully, I think that you’re a little sweetheart who likes people to think she’s heartless. That being said, clean slates aren’t really you’re thing.”

“No, they’re not.” I watched her as she began to pin strands of hair back into a curly updo. “Perhaps I’m going soft.” I teased.

“Or someone has proven to you that it is okay to be a little more open.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Okay, enough of the mushy, deep, and meaningful shit I beg it’s beginning to make me sick.”

“Yeah, definitely not getting soft.” She hummed gesturing that she was done with my hair. I checked her handy work in the mirror nodding approvingly at the hairstyle. “Jesus, you look good, it’s really very difficult to get ready around you when you look like that.”

“Oh, shut up, look at yourself, woman.” She glanced in the mirror nodding as if she saw my point and smoothing her hands down her black dress. I giggled at her antics, adjusting the buckle of my shoe and doing one final check of my outfit before approaching the door.

When the elevator doors opened the first thing I saw was the back of his head, silver hair neatly styled atop. The second my heels clicked against the ground he spun around to face me, stiffening almost instantly. My heart rate spiked as his eyes traveled down to my feet before dragging ever so slowly back up my form, before finally meeting my gaze, eyebrows raised, and lips parted. He looked like something out of a dream; literally. He was in a midnight blue tuxedo that fit him like a glove. I’d never seen him so dressed up before I realized. I liked it… a lot. Words did not come easily to me as I watched him approach at a glacial pace.

“I don’t think I should kiss you right now.”

“Why?” The word was out before I could stop it, breathy and quiet.

His lips upturned at my tone, though that glint remained present in his eyes. “Because if I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

I couldn’t bite back the smile that was forming across my lips. My fingertips slid down his forearm, intertwining with his as I moved to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I like you’re suit.”

The drive to the venue consisted of both of us stealing glances at each other and smiling at our laps like school children. As much as I found it absurdly childish behavior – I couldn’t seem to stop. “So, what exactly is a gala?” He finally spoke up.

I rolled my eyes at the reminder. “It’s like a charity, fundraiser thing.”

“Is that not a good thing?” I shrugged at his words. “Why do you hate the idea so much.”

“In theory, yes, it’s a good thing. In practice, it’s an antiquated ceremony for the wealthy to talk about how good of people they are.” One side of his mouth lifted with amusement. “And besides, I hate most things, so it’s not exactly a high bar.”

“Not me though.” He teased, rolling his head on the headrest to face me. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t hate me… you like me too much.” My eyes rolled again, though a little smile broke out across my lips.

The chandelier hung in the center of the room painted the walls in a yellow glow. Pietro scanned the quickly filling room as we entered, though he seemed more interested in the art that hung from the walls rather than the company. I turned to him then. “If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need hard liquor.”

He laughed at my words. “I’m going to use the toilet; I want to know if it’s as fancy as the rest of this place.”

I shook my head, breathing a laugh as I split from his side and approached the bar. “Scotch on the rocks please.”

The bartender nodded, beginning to pour ice into a crystal glass.

“I just worry about the detriment to the city, isn’t giving the money just encouraging laziness that leads to homelessness in the first place.” I scanned the men who stood just a few paces from me. Balding, middle-aged, Rolex on their wrists.

I sighed heavily, turning back to the bartender. “Actually, could you make it a double?”

A breathy laugh filled my ears, prompting me to glance toward the man who’d just stepped up to the bar, placing his drink down beside me. “My sentiments exactly.” He added, beginning to fold up the long cane that was in his hands. I didn’t recognize the dark-haired man peering in my direction from dark red lenses. Well, likely not actually looking, I realized putting together the context clues. I chose to hum dismissively in place of an actual response. He smiled toward the ground, evidently not put off by my cold countenance. “Not a fan of these events I take it?”

“Oh, no, I love nothing more than listening to self-important old men speak.”

The man laughed again. “I’m guessing you’re Nadia?” I narrowed my eyes at him, leaning back a little in my seat and crossing my arms. “I know Tony Stark.” He clarified. “He told me to look out for you. Well, not look, but you know what I mean.”

The corners of my lips tugged upward just slightly, a very minuscule laugh falling from me. “Oh, so he warned you about me?”

“Not exactly, he might have mentioned you were something of a cynic.”

I rolled my eyes, thanking the bartender when he placed my drink before me. “Some say cynic, I say realist.”

His smile brightened. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Good for you.”

Truthfully, I was expecting him to walk away at that, yet he only laughed again. I did not understand what it was about me that made others think I was interested in chit-chatting. Perhaps it was my sunny disposition, or perhaps I smiled too much. “Okay, so Tony wasn’t bluffing.” He sat down beside me. “So, realist, why are you here if you hate it so much?”

“Because I was told by a very scary redhead that I didn’t have a choice.” He snickered at my answer. “I don’t exactly hear you jumping to the defense of this particularly cruel breed of torture, so why are you here?”

“I guess you could call it networking. My law partner and I are here on behalf of our firm.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest and turning in my seat to face him. “Why are you still talking to me?”

His eyebrows rose slightly, and a startled chuckle fell from his lips. “Maybe I’m a masochist… or maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

“Yes, she has a very nice voice.” Pietro appeared beside me, eyeing Matt, with a tight smile across his lips.

Matt tilted his head in Pietro’s direction, lips upturned as he sipped his drink. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Matthew Murdock.” He held his hand toward a very tense man at my side. Pietro reached across me, his cologne overtaking my senses along with the warmth radiating from him, our eyes met for just a moment as he took my drink and downed it before turning back to Matt and finally shaking his hand. I looked between the two, mildly amused by the bizarre interaction.

“Pietro Maximoff.”

I raised an eyebrow at the way his voice sounded but he ignored the look. “Nice to meet you, Pietro. Nadia and I were just discussing our shared dislike of these events.” Matt said, gesturing around the room.

“Is that right?” Pietro’s hand moved to grip the back of my chair. “Well, apologies for interrupting such a fascinating conversation but I need to borrow Nadia.” Before Matt could respond, Pietro was heading toward the staircase.

I excused myself, attempting to contain my amusement as I followed the silver-haired man. He continued walking ahead of me until he reached a room off the hall of the second floor, where he pushed the door open and waited for me to enter. The room appeared to be a small lounge of some kind, with book-lined walls and a sitting area consisting of a chaise lounge and armchairs. I walked into the room, turning to watch him enter and close the door behind himself.

When he looked at me again his eyebrows were raised, and his mouth was drawn into a tight frown.

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

I sat on the arm of one of the armchairs. Easily one of the worst parts of this whole human empathy thing was caring so much what other people were upset about. I couldn’t deny though that when it was Pietro, I couldn’t stop caring. “Why are you acting strange?”

“Oh, I’m sorry were we not just in the same room? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’ve already got yourself an admirer.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Obviously. He was clearly flirting with you!”

I rolled my eyes at his words. “So?” I shrugged.

“So?!”

“I wasn’t flirting with him so what does it matter.”

Pietro’s jaw clenched and he paced before me. “It matters.” He shook his head; I could practically see the steam emanating from his ears. It made the tingling that was present in my belly intensify. “And you know what? It’s because of this damn dress! You look fucking devastating, of course, he’d flirt with you.”

I breathed a laugh. “Something tells me the way I look didn’t have much to do with it.”

He sent a sharp glare my way, evidently not amused. “You think this is funny?” He raised an eyebrow, stopping before me.

“Yes. Very.”

The air between us was electric as he moved closer, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “I don’t think it is.”

“Who knows Pietro, maybe it’s my dazzling personality, or innate approachability, it’s one of life’s mysteries I suppose.” I knew I was pissing him off, but that only made me want to keep going. “Why are you so mad?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re my girlfriend so I don’t particularly like the idea of some guy thinking about you in that way.”

“And what way is that?”

His chest grazed mine as he took a step forward. “The way I think about you.”

“It doesn’t matter how he thinks of me, Pietro.” The muscle in his jaw feathered but I continued before he had the chance to protest. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t think of him in that way. I don’t think of him in any way.” He didn’t seem completely satisfied with this, so I decided to give a little more of myself, lay myself slightly barer before him. “How could I? when you already occupy so much space in my brain. It’s hard to even consider other men when I’m already completely obsessed with you.”

My thumb brushed over his cheekbone, bringing him down to press my lips against his, punctuating my words, branding us both with them. We were sharing the same air as we stood there, bodies not completely flush yet warmth travelled across my flesh. “You drive me insane, Nadia.” He clenched his hands at his sides, taking a step back from me.

I asked him what he meant.

“Don’t you understand that what you just said is exactly how I feel about you? Do you know what it does to me when you tell me that you feel the same way?” He shook his head. “It’s maddening.” I swallowed heavily, watching him run a hand through his hair before turning back to face me. “And don’t think that I’m completely over the flirting thing, I’m still annoyed.”

“Oh my god, Pietro.” My hands fell to my hips. “Grow up.” The moment I’d spoken I could practically feel the band of tension begin to snap, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he moved toward me once again.

He scoffed. “Say that again.” My heart was racing, lips curving upward a little. A quiet laugh fell from me.

I repeated myself and the air between us was pure electricity.

“You know what, Nadia? I might feel better if you told me about your dream.” It all happened very quickly, I moved to shove him in the chest, a vexed expression on my face. However, before my palms made contact, he’d snatched my wrists up and pressed them against the wall above my head. My back was flush with the cold surface, the air momentarily knocked out of me. His maneuver was not particularly forceful, but the underlying context had my chest rising and falling a little faster. I glanced up at our hands, watching his fingers intertwine with mine. His lips ghosted over mine and I found myself unwittingly arching toward him, bringing a soft smirk to his lips. “Is it still funny?”

“A little.” I breathed out, still taunting even when my body felt as though it was burning up. The laugh that left him was dry, frustration evident in his tone.

When he kissed me, it felt like life or death. Like my air supply was his as well and we both needed it to survive. I pushed my body toward his and soon he got the message, moving closer, using his chest to press me flush to the wall once more. I gasped slightly against his mouth as our bodies melded together. It was bizarre, the way I felt like I was melting into him so easily, but my muscles still stiffened, my body was defensive at the touches even when they weren’t ones that I disliked. My heart was racing, thumping so hard against my chest I could feel it in my ears. The first real tug of my arms against his grip had Pietro loosening his hold and setting my hands free. One went to the back of his head, threading through his soft, silver locks, the other gripped his shoulder. I could feel one of his hands at my ribs, sliding down to my hip. It was like everything shut off for a second when his fingers slid into the slit of my dress, grazing over my thigh. I tensed so completely that Pietro pulled back, for a second the air felt too thick to swallow. He whispered an apology to me, attempting to move his hand from my leg but I caught it before he could, placing my own over his and bringing it back to my thigh. I clenched my jaw, forcing my eyes to open and let the light in once more. He was the first thing I saw. I pressed my forehead further against his, gazing into his eyes and reminding myself that I wasn’t in danger, he wouldn’t hurt me. My heart returned to the pace it had been earlier, one of keen anticipation rather than discomfort. The tension in my muscles eased and he was waiting patiently for me to make a move, an indescribable softness in his blue eyes and then it was Pietro, and I was still a little afraid, but I was okay.

“I meant it the other day when I said that I wanted you to touch me.” I dragged his hand higher up my leg, the silky, white fabric of my dress sliding upwards, revealing more of my flesh to him.

“Fucking hell.” He breathed, head dipping toward the crook of my neck, not quite touching it though. He lifted my leg to sit over his hip and I wrapped my arm around the back of his neck. When he lifted his head, his nose grazed my cheek before he planted a small kiss against my lips again. He pulled away to gaze into my eyes, leaning against me. I looked right back, seeing myself reflected in his bright, beautiful eyes. It was there; right there, that I realized it. I was completely and utterly fucked.

#pietro maximoff x ofc #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj smut #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers smut #marvel avengers #marvel smut #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro x reader #pietro marvel #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver imagine

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ineffablemurderhusbands · 3 days

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Ok, so I realized there is not much Aaron Taylor-Johnson fic available (if there is I'm not finding them, please send it my way) so I decided to write a self-indulgent one. Since he has carte blanche do cheat per my opinion, I wrote a little smutty smut that probably no one will read but I'm anouncing here anyways:

Self-Indulgent Affairs

#aaron taylor johnson #smut fic #one shot #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #kraven the hunter #bullet train #tangerine x reader #anna karenina #tangerine

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sebsbarnes · 5 months

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co-workers || tangerine

tangerine x female reader (assassin)

summary: "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."

warnings: language, violence, fighting, injuries, blood, weapons

word count: 3.4k ; angst, fluff

tangerine masterlist

rocking back and forth on your heels you patiently wait for the bullet train to zip into the shinagawa station. the platform was moderately busy, people dressed for various occasions. some in sophisticated work uniforms, kids bopping along with their school bags, and some dressed for a night out. you, however, were not.

sporting a black jacket, long sleeve turtleneck, leggings, sneakers, and a black bag you could've faded into the growing dark sky but here you are illuminated by the neon lights of the platform begrudgingly watching the bullet train's head lights fly past as it rolled into the station.

you were ordered to be here by your employer at the request of the white death. something about his son and a briefcase of money that needed some extra eyes watching over. apparently, the white death had some gut intuition about the two unnamed men he had hired for the job and wanted your skills onboard. your employer gave you very little detail about what to expect, no description of the briefcase, a grainy photo sent via email of the white death's son who had horrid face tattoos in your personal opinion, and when asked about the men already tasked to the mission your employer replied, 'eh two guys both kind of weird' and left it at that.

you boarded the train and stood near the doors, tight lipped smiling at those who walked by, waiting for the entryway to be clear. kneeling you pulled a small revolver out of a false bottom in the bag and slipped it into an inside pocket of your jacket, next pulling extra rounds and stuffing them into the other available pocket. you fumbled with a small piece of crumbled paper telling you to go to car three and a seat number that the son should be at.

quietly making your way to car three you re-patted your now stuffed pockets, adjusting your jacket and hair to relieve any sort of budding nerves. that is until you noticed the two kind of weird guys your employer told you about.

"well, can spot that fitted suit from a fuckin' city away" the two men stood in front of you who were deep in conversation snapped their necks towards you.

"well darling, and i'd spot that shit box dyed hair from the other side of the fuckin' earth" you couldn't help your arm raising to touch your long, and well dyed hair, at tangerine's rebuttal.

you tried to hide the laugh that threatened to break through as the three of you stood quiet for a few seconds following his comment. lemon broke first pushing past his brother to embrace you in a hug, "haven't see you in a minute, was beginning to get worried."

the three of you knew each other quite well, hell, the three of you lived together for a while. you had been under tangerine and lemon's employer for a long time but shit happens and it was best you found a new employer. lemon was more talkative and affectionate of the two, constantly talking your ear off and giving you hugs whenever he saw you, strictly friends though. tangerine, well, not affectionate and not talkative. it took a while for tangerine to mutter more than five words to you for the longest time. being outright friendly just isn't his nature and you can't fault him for that. the twins cared about you deeply, you knew lemon did within a week. tangerine took more time. it wasn't at the flip of a switch, it was gradual, perhaps may be even more natural.

it was a culmination of things that made you realize the rough man cared and appreciated you. like how after a job the three of you would go eat, you would jokingly (but also quite seriously) say how you were still starving. tangerine would slip you some of his food, 'not that hungry' he'd shrug. or how on missions he unconsciously used himself as a shield for your protection. or when he would come back from being out, holding a plastic bag in hand. 'saw these figured you might need 'em' plopping the bag in front of your seated position at the kitchen table and continued walking before you could comment on the new clothes that replaced the ones recently destroyed on a job.

or how days before you left the previous employer, you, tangerine, lemon, and an additional guy were assigned to a job that did not go so smoothly. it really was no one's fault, no one could've predicted how many men were hiding in the warehouse. each of you sported numerous injuries and lost many weapons but still completed the job. you and the other assassin were alone sitting on the floor when he suddenly started berating you. saying how shit you were as an assassin, spewing hatred and profanities amongst other vile things. you had no energy to fight back, 'maybe you're right' is all you could muster before getting up and searching for a secluded place to sleep for the night. you had awoken from your sleep hours later to the sound of a gunshot, wandering until you found someone.

'tangerine, what was that? i heard a gunshot' you asked the man who was promptly walking away from scaffolding towers.

he looked at you quizzically wiping his hands on his trousers, 'i think you might have been dreaming darlin'' all you could do was rub your head in confusion, 'let's get you back to bed, love.' the next morning only three of you returned from the mission.

"i've missed you, lemon," you smiled pulling away, holding his shoulders to look at him.

you and tangerine exchanged small nods, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips. you turned towards the figure seated beside the men stepping to stand in front of who you assume to be the white death's son. to say something seemed off was an understatement. you gently grabbed the ends of his open jacket bobbing his head back.

"what the fuck?!" you jerked back dropping your grip as his body slumped forward. an older woman a few seats up shushed you.

"what the fuck?!" you whispered harshly at the twins, bug-eyed gesturing rapidly at the dead body in front of you.

"ask fuckin' percy over here," tangerine pointed to lemon.

"i'm not percy?! okay yeah i lost the case but i didn't kill the kid."

"well lemon, if you didn't have the brilliant fucking idea to stash the case, we would've been sat our squeaky fuckin' asses down in the seat not havin' to get up. young. sweet. not all there." tangerine hissed back, poking at lemon's forehead to emphasize.

mildly entertained by the twins infamous banter you sat down watching the two go back and forth before tangerine swiveled towards you both hands flat, palms up, pointing at you, "and no disrespect love, but why the hell are you here?"

"to babysit essentially. i'm here to make sure you two do your job and by the looks of it you done fucked that up. what an honor it will be to be ripped limb by limb by the white death with you idiots."

the three of you sat deliberating what the hell to do next and tried figuring out who else is on this train taking interest in the briefcase and the son. tangerine cleaned up the boy's face with his handkerchief and adorned his face with momonga glasses to hide the fact that he's well...dead.

the twins decided it would be effective splitting up and checking the train cars for the briefcase.

"ill stay here," you spoke as the two men grabbed their things to investigate the train.

"what?" tangerine asked eyebrows knotting together.

"i'll stay here. i'll see if anyone comes back for him," gesturing towards the limp body, "besides, my mission is a bit different. i'm not supposed to be seeking danger. if it comes my way then i can step in."

tangerine smooth out his moustache inhaling deeply seeming to oppose you being here by yourself.

"okay well, right then." lemon nodded stalking off down the train.

tangerine hesitated looking down at you in the seat.

"i'll be okay."

that is until ten minutes later a man sat across from you, "hi. there's a gun under this table."

"shhh," you hissed, "this is the quiet car babes."

the man in the hat and glasses took a moment to look over your shoulder at the sign, you took this opportunity to grab his hand, that held no gun, underneath the table yanking his body forward, table smashing into his shoulder.

"who the hell are you." you questioned, still holding onto his hand.

"ladybug. johannesburg, remember? your buddy shot me after you baited me to the parking garage?"

"so you're after the twins?" you asked ignoring what he said.

"the twins have a briefcase i need. i'm really not looking for trouble here miss, i just want to get the hell off this train and go meditate." he sighed taking his free hand through his longer hair.

"so you took the damn briefcase." you released his hand and brought your foot up to kick him in the groin. while he was hunched over in pain you stood up launching towards him to put him in a headlock, "where's the case."

"look lady," he sputtered, "i really don't want to hurt you."

ladybug punched your forearms to loosen your grip and when you didn't budge, he turned his head to bite your wrist.

"what the fuck!" you yelped springing back. he took this moment to sweep your legs out from underneath you. you hit the floor with a loud thud, the ache in your shoulder radiating down your arm. he leaned over your body giving you a weak smile and in return you kicked him in the face, blood instantly pouring out of his nose.

"shit balls!" he exclaimed. you clamored to your feet and started running throughout the bullet train. ladybug's steps got closer and closer and that's when you felt a burning hot sensation on the back of your shoulder. your movement immediately stopped, groaning as you reached for the knife in your back pulling it out.

"prick." you hissed turning around to face the man. your arm swiped in front of his face, the blade making a whooshing noise in the air. you managed to clip the side of his cheek.

thankfully the car the two of you were now fighting in was not occupied. he gripped your arm throwing you against the wall and stalked towards you. you stashed the blade in your pocket, shrugging your jacket to the ground, opting to fight him with your fists. you dodged the first hit and returned him a hit in the jaw. he staggered and taking advantage of his lower stance punched you in the stomach.

"i don't like hurting women." ladybug exasperated as the two of you continued fighting, punches being thrown, skin being split, bodies flying across the car.

"seems like you're in the wrong line of work, dumbass," you gripped the back of his head slamming his face into the top of one of the seats. the crack you heard made you wince. ladybug's forehead was split, blood running down his face into his eye.

it was obvious his physical state was weakening. he swallowed deeply, eyes flickering to a spot beyond you. before you realized what was happening, ladybug was running towards your jacket where the knife was. he managed to grab it and came barreling towards you. once again the battle was back on. the knife dancing between you two as its ownership changed frequently. you and ladybug were a panting mess with new cuts decorating your bodies. this old piece of shit wouldn't let up. you were becoming exhausted and you needed this to end somehow. the two of you were both on the floor, the blade in your hand. you knew you didn't have enough stamina for another round of fighting, the cuts scattering your body were aching, the large stab wound to your shoulder was now numb. instead, you sliced the closest things to you that would cause the most damage.

his achilles.

ladybug screamed out in pain, shaking hands wrapping themselves around his ankles in some attempt to soothe the sheering pain. you stood, looking over the man, the blood from the knife dripping onto your shoe. you stepped around his cradled body, making your way up the train. tangerine hasn't come past yet meaning he is still ahead. the door swished open but you'd only make it one step in before crumbling to the ground.

immediately you started hyperventilating from the intense pain that seemed to hit every nerve in your body. blinking rapidly as you scooted yourself against the wall. then you felt it. a warm sensation running down your skin, your clothes feeling wet. blood. your body was shaking, open lips huffed out puffs of breath. slowly and carefully, you looked back at ladybug.

your gun in his hands.

he must have grabbed it when he retrieved the knife in your abandoned jacket. fucking stupid.

ahead in the train tangerine heard a faint noise, but nonetheless he knew it was a gunshot. he slicked back his hair and removed his gun from his waistband. he carefully entered each train car, observing anything out of the ordinary. the door in front of him opened and his step faltered when he saw a black sneaker, and then a leg, and then the body as his eyes raked up the slumped figure.

he dropped to his knees, gun now on the floor, "hey tan," you croaked.

"bloody hell," he sighed, his eyes darting across your entire body.

"stop checking me out i don't look my best," you tried joking. tangerine didn't seem amused as he noticed your torn clothes, bloody face, your hair matted with blood.

"that old bag of bones can really fight. but he took a cheap shot when my back was to him," you finally answered. you lifted the hem of your shirt to show tangerine the bullet hole in your lower stomach above your hip.

"jesus," he muttered swallowing thickly. he seemed stunned to see you in this condition. he also seemed lost on what to do. his eyes wouldn't stop looking you over, his hands unconsciously went to your face brushing your hair out of your eyes.

"tangerine stop fucking staring at her we need to help her," lemon had found the two of you. his voice booming causing tangerine to snap out of his daze.

lemon pushed him to the side, immediately coming to your aid. he worked with what he could find. your shallow cuts weren't important. the wound to your shoulder would need stitches later on. the entrance and exit wound of the bullet was causing the biggest issue as you had lost a decent amount of blood from it. lemon continued to do his best as you sat there eyelids half open.

tangerine was silent, more silent than ever before, as if he were stuck in a trance. you slowly moved your fingers towards his hand that was resting on the floor. two of your fingers wrapped around his pinky jerking him out of his trance. this somehow sparked something in him as he shot up from the floor, grabbing his gun making sure it was loaded and set off on a mission you could only assume to be to find ladybug.

your lips pulled down in a frown as he left. you wanted him here. his presence, his touch, his whatever. any semblance of that cocky man you wanted next to you for comfort. you knew you were going to be okay, you were weak right now but the thought of him beside you somehow made you believe you would feel stronger.

lemon let out a soft chuckle as he finished securing cloth to your wound, "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."

you slapped his arm, "fuck off."

lemon and you agreed you need to rest, he helped you to sit in an empty seat, propping you against the window.

"alright, now, if anything serious happens i will text you alright. in the meantime, sit here and wait till we come get you, you hear me?" lemon demanded.

sometime had passed and you noticed less and less people on the platforms boarding the train. it was too quiet. your stomach was telling you something was off. you winced in pain as you gripped the armrest to stand up. a bit wobbly but you managed to put one foot in front of the other. as you continued you heard voices close by. the doors to one of the cars was open by bags tripping the sensors. you saw a young girl in pink standing looking scared and him. the greasy haired prick who shot you. he still had your gun in his hand pointed at someone.

tangerine.

"fuck." thankfully you held onto the knife and before he could notice you moving towards their train car you brought your arm over your head, swinging forward, releasing the knife. it lodged itself below ladybug's collarbone. he yelped out in pain stumbling a bit and that's when his finger hit the trigger.

"you bastard," tangerine hissed as the bullet hit his leg.

you took this opportunity while the men were distracted and ran towards ladybug. you propelled yourself onto him, spinning and wrapping your legs around his neck, you removed the blade from his chest and stuck it in the base of his neck.

"you don't touch him," you spit at the man as he crumbled to the ground.

the girl was long gone. now facing tangerine you noticed all the bruises and blood on him, drenched in sweat. his curly hair now laying across his forehead. his jacket long gone leaving him in a white button down that was criminally low on his chest and a vest. you couldn't help but check him out.

he started to say your name but you cut him off, hugging him tightly around his neck, knocking the wind out of him. he hesitated a moment before firming wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your hair. after a few minutes he pulled back, sliding his hands to your waist to look at you. you held onto tangerine's elbows as his eyes wandered your face.

"darlin'," he started, "i'm- i'm sorry i didn't do anything when i found ya."

you chuckled through your nose, "tan. i'm fine."

"you're injured n' i didn't do anything except fuckin' look at you." he shook his head in disgust.

"tangerine," you said firmly placing your hands on his chest, "stop. i am fine. i am okay. we all react differently to seeing our friends hurt."

"friends, " he half laughed, "you realize i don't see you as a friend."

you paused, hands loosening their grip on his arms. god, you were dumb to think you were even friends. you're coworkers, hell at this point maybe even acquaintances, its been five months since you lived with them. all you could mutter was a shaky 'oh.'

tangerine laughed, "you know love, you can really be dense sometimes."

your mouth formed an 'o' trying to figure out what to say next, "dense?"

"love, i've wanted you the moment you almost sniped my head off in vienna." tangerine chuckled, moving hair out of your face. you couldn't look at him instead you toyed with his open shirt, fingers brushing against his hot skin.

"i guess i am kinda dumb right? should've put the pieces together when you killed anyone who was mean to me." you smiled.

he leaned down gently placing a kiss on your lips. you immediately kissed back, tasting the metallic flavor of the blood that was on his lower lip. your nails ran across his scalp sending a shiver down his spine. tangerine gripped your lower back harder, minding the wound, to bring you in as close as physically possible.

tangerine pulled away from the kiss, bringing his mouth to your ear, "by the way darlin', you spinning around on his neck and what you said was really hot."

"then i suggest we get the fuck off this train soon and i'll show you the move personally."

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dilf-lover99 · 1 year

Text

And I Love Her | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Reader

Summary: The 3 times James tries to get the girl and the 1 time he finally does. Or In which James Potter is hopelessly in love with his best friend.

Warnings: so. much. pining., idiots to lovers, miscommunication(s), a dash of angst, some heavy kissing, james potter being the literal definition of boyfriendism

Word Count: 4.8k

a/n: hi ! james potter won the poll and i am so completely okay with it. i really intended for this to be angst but he's just SO boyfriend. this may be my favorite thing i've ever written and i really hope you enjoy it too ! p.s. i missed u guys lots and i'm so grateful you've stuck around after months of crickets from me. love u love u love u<3

(y/n).

Depending on who you asked, it was only a name. The name of a classmate, or a friend, or yourself, but only a name nonetheless.

Unless you asked James Potter.

It wasn’t only a name. Not to him. To James, it was everything.

Because it was your name.

Your name that hastened his heartbeat with every mention.

Your name that sent a salient stream of blood rushing to his cheeks, tinting them a lucent shade of scarlet.

Your name that, once mentioned, seemed to follow him everywhere, as though the wind itself would begin whispering it, rustling alongside the branches of the whomping willow tree before floating its way over to his ears, sounding sweeter than any melody he’d ever heard before.

To state it simply, James Potter was irrevocably, inconceivably, in love with you.

But saying it that way didn’t seem like enough.

He didn’t just love you with his heart, for his heart could stop beating. And he didn’t only love you with his mind, for his memories could fail him one day. James Potter loved you with the entirety of his soul, with every fibre making up his being. Of that, he was certain.

What he wasn’t certain of however, was how to bare his infatuated soul to you.

After all, how exactly does one tell his best friend he’s besotted with her?

He tried the gentle approach first.

The train back to Hogwarts was filling up quickly. Stories of his peers’ summer holidays flow obstreperously through the air as James’ eyes remain glued to the door of him and his friends’ usual compartment.

“Ease off it with the evil eye, Prongs. She’ll be here.” Sirius’ teasing voice breaks James away from his thoughts, which were unsurprisingly fixated on you.

He doesn’t bother denying it, well aware he’s been staring daggers at the door since he stepped foot off platform 9 ¾, anxiously awaiting your appearance after spending the entire summer holiday apart from you.

“Leave him be, Pads. He misses her.” Remus interjects kindly, not lifting his eyes from the well-worn pages of whichever book he’s decided to burrow his attention into for the ride back to Hogwarts.

“Well he can join the bloody club then, can’t he?” Sirius starts, intent on ignoring Remus’ suggestion, “I’ve just about fallen for her myself after spending my entire holiday listening to this git recite his bloody sonnets for her,” he continues with a not-so flattering mimicry of a lovesick James, “It is the east! And (y/n) is the sun. O Romeo!” He throws himself dramatically to the floor on his knees, clasping his hands above his heart.

Peter watches the spectacle with a grin, covering up his chuckle with a cough after James sends him a look of warning. Before James can defend himself against Sirius’ melodrama, the door to their compartment slides open, revealing a beautiful and slightly out of breath you.

And suddenly you’re not the only one who’s out of breath.

You’ve gotten even prettier over the summer, somehow. If somebody had asked James before, if he thought you could possibly have gotten any more beautiful, he’d’ve laughed in their face, telling them tales of how your beauty could put Aphrodite to shame. But now? Now his heart was beating so violently in his chest he was almost certain it was attempting to escape, trying to take its rightful place upon your sleeve.

“Sorry I’m late, I nearly broke my neck out there!” You stop briefly to catch your breath, the jog on your way over winding you more than you’d care to admit. “Someone ought to tell those first-years there’s enough seats on here for the lot of us. I’ve just been walloped by a bloody eleven year old! Cheeky little-” You cease your rambling amidst your confusion at the sight before you, Sirius on his knees at James’ feet.

“Have I interrupted something? Perhaps a proposal of sorts?” You jest, your amusement growing at the wide eyed look on James’ face as he scrambles to stand, coming to greet you properly with a hug that doesn’t last nearly as long as you wish it would.

“No!” He protests instantly, amidst wrapping you in the soft embrace.

“Cor, I’ve missed you.” He mumbles after pulling away, leaving a hand on your back as he gently guides you to your seat beside him, hesitant to do so, as once you’re sat he’ll no longer have an excuse to touch you.

“I missed you more!” Your enthusiasm brings him optimism, there’s a chance she means it the way you do, he thinks, there’s a chance-

“And what of me?” Sirius and his bloody interjections. James has half a mind to lock him out of the ruddy compartment and leave him to fend for himself amongst the overzealous first-years.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” You feign confusion, though not very well, James can see the brilliant smile forming leisurely upon your lips. What I would do to those lips, his thoughts are running rampant after a summer spent away from your presence, too caught up to hear the jokes you and Sirius are trading back and forth, and that laugh! His internal monologue continues, ’s like a proper bloody song. Just ask her, right now. If she says no you can play it off as a joke. It might sting a bit, but surely it’d be better than keeping it all locked away.

“Will you go to Hogsmeade with me? Just us two? We’ll have a lovely time, I swear it.”

He knows what he was hoping you’d say, something along the lines of ‘Yes, James, I’d love to!’ but he wasn’t expecting it.

He also wasn’t expecting your given response.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Jamie, thank you! D’you see that, Sirius? A helpful suggestion. You ought to try one of those sometime.” You’re back to chatting with Sirius and Remus as Peter leans over to James, whispering an explanation to his visibly confused friend.

James had caught you mid-complaint about how you’d forgotten to bring the dittany leaves you need to make the special healing chocolates you gift Remus after a particularly bad full moon. After Sirius’ not-so-helpful suggestion to try substituting them with pot leaves, you gladly welcomed the chance to pop over to Hogsmeade with James and buy some more.

You’d mistaken his date proposal for a shopping trip.

Marvellous.

This is going to be the year that James tells you how he feels. He’ll make sure of it.

If for no other reason than this was your seventh and final year at Hogwarts together. His stomach churned at the mere idea of allowing you to slip through his fingers for good; you acting as the coarse sand to his adamant hourglass. He wouldn’t have it.

So he’d try again.

In the few weeks since you’ve returned to Hogwarts, your time’s been consumed by studying for your N.E.W.T.s. You’re also determined to acquire a spot in the internship programme at St. Mungo’s. The sheer amount of time you’ve spent there with your boys over the last few years has more than prepared you for a future as a healer if you end up enjoying the work.

“Alright, who was the first witch to extract floo powder?” James has spent the last hour and a half quizzing you on all matters Herbology, if it were anyone else he’d’ve been bored to slumber by now. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was you.

The two of you were sat outside together on a blanket, taking full advantage of the uncharacteristically sunny day. James is leaned comfortably back against a tree as you sit across from him, simultaneously taking notes and answering each of his questions without pause.

“Ignatia Wildsmith. Ravenclaw. Come ‘ead James, I’ve told you to stop going easy on me! Every seventh-year applying will know all of these.” Bloody lucky I love her so much, James thinks to himself, I thought that was a hard one.

He’d like to laugh your nerves away, crack a few jokes and tell you that you may be going a bit overboard. You’re going to get the internship, and not just because you’re brilliant and perfectly qualified, but also because your Herbology professor had written a glowing recommendation letter singing your praises.

But he can’t find it in himself to mess around when you’ve got that adorable little wrinkle between your eyebrows displaying your worry, and your lips have turned down into a delectably kissable pout. It takes nearly everything in him not to brush it away with his own lips.

“(y/n),” He starts, wetting his lips with his tongue as he desperately attempts to keep his thoughts from overtaking his voice, “It’s going to be alright, I promise. You’re more than ready for this. Why don’t we try taking a little break?” His heart feels as though it’s leapt into his throat when you glance at him and send a delicate smile of gratitude.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. We’ve been at this for hours, you must be exhausted of me by now.” You smile, more cheerful this time as you realize a break is precisely what you need.

James can’t contain the laugh that escapes him.

Exhausted? Of you?

The absurdity of thinking he could ever grow tired of you was an inherently laughable concept to him.

He’s nearly clutching his stomach when he finally manages to compose himself, making heart-stopping eye contact with his equally amused and puzzled best friend.

“Are you mad?” James’ dimpled smile sets a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter in your stomach, “I’d spend all my hours with you if I could.” He means it with every atom that makes up his being, he’s meant it for years but now he’s actually saying it to you.

Your smile grows wider with each word he speaks, your own thoughts matching the underlying sentiment of his articulation more than he could ever know.

“I-” He pauses, inhaling deeply and squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an effort to maintain his courage, “I love you.” You did it, he thinks to himself proudly, you actually bloody did it, Prongs! He exhales shakily, reinitiating eye contact with you as a small smile begins to blossom on his tender lips.

“James,” Your voice holds an underlying tone of sadness that causes an adorable crinkle of confusion to settle between James’ eyebrows, “I love you too.” You smile tightly, almost as though it’s causing you discomfort to do so.

“You do?” James is more perplexed now than he had been when you’d explained to him in painstaking detail the intricate relationships between each member of Fleetwood Mac the first time the two of you listened to Rumours together.

“Of course I do,” Your smile stretches intimately, the somber quality of your voice never wavering, “You’re my best mate, after all.”

Best mate? James thinks, is that really all she sees?

Had he not been so caught up in his own racing thoughts, he may have picked up on yours. He may have realized that his situation was holding a gargantuan mirror up to your own, casting a perfect reflection of the feelings within.

Best mates, you internally chastise yourself, that’s all he sees.

A proper bloody mirror.

“It was completely humiliating, Pads. She might as well’ve called me her bloody brother.” James has been yammering on about what happened that day for the past three weeks. Three weeks. Sirius is going positively mad, somehow having become James’ sounding board to rehash his complaints every time he remembers the encounter.

“I mean, how am I supposed to tell the girl I’d like to spend the rest of my life with her now?” James is pacing back and forth agitatedly at the foot of Sirius’ bed, as the aforementioned boy lays back uninterestedly, wishing his duvet would come to life and swallow him whole in an effort to escape the worlds most redundant conversation.

“She’d probably tell you that sounds lovely. Make you her future child’s godparent.” Sirius jokes dryly.

James abandons his invisible footpath, a wave of panic comically widening his warm hazel eyes substantially.

“She what?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Prongs! I can’t take any more of this,” Sirius sits up agitatedly, now far beyond his capacity for James’ lovesick commentaries, “Just go tell her. Right now.”

“Are you mad? Have you not just heard everything I’ve said?” James would normally find humour in Sirius’ lackadaisical attitude, but confessing his feelings for you was an entirely serious matter with no margin for error.

“Oh I’ve heard it, Prongs. For the past three weeks. And the entire bloody summer. And every single year before that.” He moves to stand in front of James, his agitation fading into sincerity, “I know how you feel, Prongs. But does she?” James swallows thickly as Sirius continues, “I don’t mean just telling her you love her, I mean telling her how you love her. As more than a friend. Maybe she feels the same way.”

James takes his time considering Sirius’ words. He’s tried to tell you, clearly, but he assumed that you’d only seen him as a friend. But what if you hadn’t? What if Sirius is right, and you told him you loved him as a friend because you’d assumed that’s what he’d meant when he said it?

“I’m a proper git, aren’t I?” James concludes aloud.

“Most certainly, Prongsy. It’s why I keep you around,” Sirius’ playful mood returns swiftly, “Makes me feel better about myself.”

You’re talking softly with Remus in the library, voices low enough not to disrupt your peers but just detectable enough for James to catch your words when he finds you, internally preparing his declaration of unwavering devotion for you.

“You’re not going out with him, are you?” Remus’ hushed voice holds a curious tone.

“Of course not, Rem.” You smile softly, “Could you honestly imagine that? Him and I dating?”

James’ eyebrows furrow together in confusion, he presses himself slightly against a nearby bookshelf in an attempt to hear your conversation more clearly.

“No, I guess not,” Remus chuckles faintly, “It would certainly make things awkward if they didn’t work out. Being friends and all.”

“No kidding.” You chuckle good-naturedly.

James feels like a bag of cement has been poured down his throat, constricting his lungs and settling into a block of concrete in the pit of his stomach.

Sirius had been wrong. You didn’t love James as more than a friend, in fact, you’d practically laughed at the thought of it. In his hasty escape from the scene of the melancholic crime, James neglected to hear the rest of your conversation with Remus.

“He’s a lovely lad, truly,” You smile genuinely, “Any girl would be lucky to call Amos Diggory her boyfriend. We’re just better as friends is all.” You trail off, leaving out the part where your heart already belongs to another shared friend of yours and Remus’.

It’s not like it was ever going to happen anyway. Your love for James Potter was entirely unreciprocated.

Wasn’t it?

James is avoiding you.

As painful as it is to spend each never-ending moment of spare time away from you, James can only think of how much more agonizing it would be to spend those moments with you.

To fix his loving gaze on your sparkling eyes, only to find them filled with affections one would hold only for a friend.

To accomplish the feat of bringing a luminous smile to your delicate lips, only to remember those lips would never brush tenderly against his own.

To be so close to the girl he loves, only to be denied her heart in equal measure.

It’s easier, in a sense, to push you away.

It’s only temporary, just until he can stomach the thought of spending the rest of his life as your best mate and nothing more.

But it’s been weeks, and the idea still makes his head feel like it’s underwater, like he’s fighting to reach the surface but his leg’s been caught on a viciously determined blade of seaweed.

Still, he’s convinced himself that this is his best course of action.

Unbeknownst to James, however, you’ve been going stark raving mad.

You’ve hardly spoken to him in weeks. When you think about it, you’ve barely even seen him, save for a few quick glimpses in your classes and across the dining tables in the Great Hall.

You’ve tried to talk to him, clearly something is bothering him. Maybe you’ve said or done something to upset him without realizing it. But he’d brushed you off before you could even get out the words ‘are you alright?’

You’d asked Remus, Sirius, and Peter about it, each of them giving you vague semblances of justification that fell entirely flat, a few “He’s just busy with quidditch”s and a couple of “Must be studying today”s. You’ve grown tired of the excuses and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it yourself.

You’re leaning picturesquely against the wall outside of the lad’s changing room when James finally sees you again. His curly hair is spilling droplets of water from the shower he’s just taken, successfully washing away the evidence of his quidditch practice.

You’re beautiful. That’s all he can think as he finally allows himself to take you in fully for the first time in weeks. He feels like he’s been holding his breath since he saw you last and now he can finally exhale, a sense of euphoria filling his chest as his lungs deflate mercifully.

“Hi.” You state gently, a delicate smile painted daintily across your lips.

“Hi.” James echoes once he’s relearned the inhale-exhale repetition of breathing again.

“I waited for you,” You start after a brief silence, “Which- You can see that, obviously.” You chuckle a ebullient breath that causes a small smile to form on James’ face, Merlin, I’ve missed that, he thinks as you continue. “I just, um- I thought maybe we could talk?” You’re fiddling with your fingers, a nervous habit of yours that James has long since memorized by now.

He instantly reaches for your hands, tenderly taking one in his own and carefully intertwining your fingers together with his. The action is like second nature, he hardly thinks twice about it.

You smile visibly at the act of comfort, if he’s upset with you and that’s the reason he’s been avoiding you, it makes your heart skip a beat that he’s putting it all aside to calm you down when you’re anxious.

“About what?” He tries, though you both know that’s not going to work.

“Nice,” You smile teasingly, “Want to give it a real go this time?”

James swallows something akin to a lump in his throat, averting his resplendent hazel gaze from your eyes to land somewhere along the floor as he overthinks which approach he should take.

He could try honesty. Yes, he thinks, because that would go over proper well. I’m avoiding you cause I’ve been gutted since I heard you’re not in love with me. Surely she’ll find that real mature, Prongs.

He could also try lying his arse off. And that would work, he sarcastically chastises silently, Me? Oh nothing’s wrong at all. Just tired, y’know? Practice and homework and the like. As if she’s ever believed a lie you’ve told her before.

He finally chances resuming eye contact with you, heartbeat hastening expeditiously as his hazel orbs lock onto your patently awaiting eyes. You should be looking far more frustrated, James wouldn’t blame you if you were. You have every right to be upset, and yet you’re not.

Instead, you’re you.

You, who’s calmly awaiting a response, fingers still gently intertwined with James’.

You, who’s looking at him with soft, sparkling eyes, eyes that are silently promising him no matter what he says, everything is going to be alright.

You, the girl he loves more than anything in the world.

“You.” He states after an implicit eternity.

“Me?” Your features mix together to create a perfectly darling display of confusion that, even despite the circumstances, causes a modest smile to tug upwards at the corners of James’ mouth.

“I’ve been avoiding you.” He conveys, sounding as though he’s just revealed to you a hidden secret you’d’ve never otherwise been able to uncover.

You can’t contain the short laugh that escapes you, a smile taking its rightful place on your face. “Yeah, ‘m not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but I managed to put that one together.”

James can’t subdue the traces of guilt that seep onto his face.

“I was hoping maybe we could talk about why. If I’ve done something to upset you-”

“No!” James cuts you off, “No, love, you haven’t done anything. Nothing you could control anyway.” His voice is less than half of its usual volume at the last sentence he utters.

Your face is back to holding that adorably confused expression that James so desperately yearns to kiss away.

“I have to admit, Jamie, I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.”

James sighs, finally releasing the hand that’s been holding comfortably on to your own and running it through his leisurely drying hair. He releases a sigh of distress and squeezes his eyes shut firmly in an attempt to figure out the best way to explain himself.

“If you’re not upset with me, then why have you been avoiding me?” You’re trying to put it together on your own as James is proving to be no help, “Wait a mo! Is this some kind of prank or something?” You smile, though you’re not entirely certain you’re correct yet, “Are you trying to get back at me for dying your knickers pink? Because that was an accident!”

James can’t help but smile at your incorrect deduction. Merlin she’s adorable he thinks, how am I supposed to tell her now?

“Yes!” James concludes untruthfully, “You got me. Just a prank. Might’ve gone a bit too far with it though. Sorry ‘bout that, love.”

He brings you into a hug and, after going weeks without it, it feels like home.

You feel like home.

You’re hugging James, after having just gone weeks without it. And you just know.

You have to tell him.

You have to tell him, right now, that you’re in love with him.

And so you do.

“I love you.” You state breathlessly, pulling away from the warm solace of his embrace and looking bravely into his glimmering hazel eyes.

James nods his head mechanically, as if he’s agreeing to your suggestion on what to have for dinner and not taking in the confession of eternal love you’ve just spouted.

“Yes, I love you too,” He smiles a tight, strained smile, “Mate.” He punctuates his final word by bumping his fist gently into your shoulder.

Oh, you think, I’m going to have to spell it out for him, aren’t I?

“No, James. I love you,” You take a step closer to him, not breaking eye contact despite the nerves that are jostling around your insides like a violent sea in a raging storm, taking a deep breath before exhaling somewhat expeditiously, you continue, “Like- Like, I’m in love with you.”

The first thing James feels in that moment are his eyes widening emphatically behind his round-rimmed glasses, his dark lashes making direct contact with the top of his eyelids. He’s certain he must have heard you wrong, that or he’s understood you wrong.

The second thing he feels is hope. What if he hadn’t understood you wrong?

The third thing he feels is his heart, beating faster than it ever has before, so fast he thinks it might be ready to do him in for good. Surely a heart shouldn’t be beating that fast.

“You’re in love? With me?” James speaks disbelievingly, though he’s unable to hide the traces of optimism he’s feeling as a modest smile begins to form on his face.

You nod your head assuredly, a genial smile of your own starting at the sight of his, “Yes, I’m in love with you. Madly, in fact.”

You’ve spent months, years even, deliberating on how you would tell James, if you would tell James. You’d spent countless hours wondering how he would react and what would happen after all was said and done.

You’d planned to tell him all about that. About how long you’ve felt this way, when it started and why it’s taken you so long to tell him, how you were too afraid of risking your best friend should anything have gone wrong.

What you hadn’t planned on was what happened the second you got the last word out.

James eagerly presses his plush lips onto your own, savouring the long overdue sensation of your mouth against his. He tenderly brushes your bottom lip with his tongue once he feels you respond to the kiss with equal fervour. Enthusiastically, you grant his tongue access into your mouth, pulling him closer to you by the roots of his damp hair.

James lets out a low groan at the contact, pulling you flush against his body by your waist, his hands hungrily gripping onto you for dear life as, somehow, the kiss deepens even further.

When the need for oxygen outweighs your mutual need for each others lips, you reluctantly part the slightest of distances, foreheads resting tenderly against one another.

“I’m in love you too. So bloody madly.” James whispers contentedly with a lovesick grin.

You’re each donning smiles brighter than you can ever recall before.

The moment you’ve caught your breath you’re back at it again in full force, gripping at each others clothes and tangling nimble fingers through the other’s hair. James pulls back when your beaming smile makes it a little harder for him to kiss you, returning a smile just as wide that compels you to pull him back in for another kiss, or two, or three.

When the two of you finally feel satiated enough, James pulls back again, a noticeably farther distance. He’s still smiling but it isn’t quite as bright as it was a moment ago.

“What was all that about in the library, then? With Moony?” He asks you the question that’s been clawing at his insides for the last few weeks.

You pause, visibly confused as you shuffle through the files of your memories until you land on one a few weeks ago with Remus in the library. The two of you were discussing a friend who’d asked you on a date. You’d declined as politely as you could, valuing his friendship but knowing your heart had long since been beating for James.

“What about it?” You smile confusedly.

“Well, you were talking about me, weren’t you?” James looks down to the floor, expression now almost devoid of the happiness that had previously overtaken every inch of his face.

“What?” You laugh briefly before it registers, not just his words, but the reason he’s been avoiding you for the last few weeks.

“Wait- James!” You tilt your head into his line of vision, gently cradling his face with your hand as you turn his head to face you fully, “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You thought.. Oh, Merlin.”

You pull him into a hug, holding him tight enough to convey just how wrong he’s been.

“I was talking about Amos Diggory.” You state with a gentle exhale, something between a laugh and a sigh, pulling back you rest your arms at your sides. “He asked me to dinner.”

James doesn’t hide the relief that courses through his body, despite the slight scoff of jealousy he lets out at your final sentence.

“But,” You wrap your arms back around him in reassurance, looking up into his eyes that are once again sparkling with happiness, “I’ve been a tad busy, being in love with my best friend and all. So I told him no. Obviously.”

“Right, obviously.” James replies with a cheeky smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re a git, you know.” You roll your eyes, the action a mixture of lovesickness and frustration. “You could’ve just asked me then. Instead of hiding in the books like a proper stalker. And then avoiding me. For weeks,” You’re smiling, but you know you’re still getting your point across, “You git.” You punctuate your final word with a gentle swat to James’ chest, smiling adoringly when he grabs that hand and brings it up to his lips, placing a tender kiss to it before dropping your intertwined hands back at your side.

“I know,” He admits apologetically, “I’m sorry.” He’s smiling breathtakingly, “Still love me?”

You can’t find it in yourself to be upset with him, because in some roundabout way, it’s what led you to this moment right now, where you can reach over and kiss him if you want to.

And you want to.

Pulling him into you by the fabric of his shirt, you plant another kiss upon James’ lips. The passion and tenderness in the kiss meld together just as perfectly as your lips do.

“Yes.” You mumble happily when your mouths finally break apart. “Always.”

5K notes · View notes

imyourbratzdoll · 3 months

Note

Tangerine smut please?

hi! sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy this request!

summary - a handsome stranger makes you cum on the train.

warning - smut, fingering, public stuff.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips (deactivated)

The day started off perfect, you decided to wear your new outfit that consisted of a black long sleeved shirt underneath a cropped green button up and a matching short skirt. You made yourself the perfect coffee and headed to the train station before finding the perfect seat inside. You drowned out the rest of the world, your head buried in a book. Until you are suddenly pulled out of it by three men sitting on the seats beside you, your eyes widen when you make eye contact with a very attractive man in a blue suit.

You try to ignore them by focusing on your book but their constant whispering pierce through your concentration and you nearly drop your book as you hear a voice. “Excuse me, love.” You look back up and notice the handsome man now standing over you. You can feel yourself pulse between your legs and it’s confusing because you’ve never reacted like this before. “Do you mind if I sit here? You see, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are and my brother is being a pain.” You blink, slowly nodding and sucking in a breath as he slides into the seat next to you, his scent causing you to become dizzy with lust. “Thanks, love.”

You try to go back to your book, but you can’t and you can feel him staring at you once in a while. You begin to squirm in your seat, his thigh brushes against you causing a whimper to escape before you can stop it. Your face flushes, eyes wide and you try to hide.

Tangerine smirks. “Do I make you nervous, love?” You ignore him, scooting closer to the window, feeling embarrassed because you want to jump him. “You know, I know something that will take those nerves away, love. Do you wanna try?” You look at him, chewing on your bottom lip as you stare at him with wide eyes. “But you’ll have to very quiet, I wouldn’t want to punish you for being a naughty girl.” You feel yourself throb, nails digging into your palms as you hold back a whimper at his words.

“O–okay…” Your breath hitches as his hand makes contact with your thigh, sliding up it until it disappears underneath your skirt. He leans closer to you, blocking anyone’s view of what he’s about to do to you.

“No knickers, love? It’s like you knew you were going to be a slut today.” His fingers make contact with your clit, rubbing it nice and slow, watching you shake and whimper softly from his movements. “Good girl, you’re being nice and quiet for me.” He leans closer, sliding his fingers up and down before he begins to slowly push them inside your sopping cunt, curling them upwards, watching you struggle to keep your mouth closed. “Keep reading your book, love. Wouldn’t want anyone to catch us.” Tangerine feels you squeeze around his fingers at his words, he grins. “You wanna be caught, love? Want to be caught being a naughty slut, huh?”

You lean your head on his shoulder, shakily opening the book, unable to focus on the words as his fingers continue to thrust and curl, your hand moves to his thigh and you grip onto it, digging your nails into him as he continues to fingerfuck you. “O–oh…”

“Shh.” His moustache tickles your ear as he whispers into it. His fingers begin to hit the spongey spot deep inside of you, causing your eyes to roll back and you to arch off the chair, biting down onto your bottom lip hard enough to cause blood. Tangerine watches as you cum, juices coating his hand before you sink back down into the seat, soft whimpers escaping you. “Good girl.” He gently removes his fingers from your drenched cunt, lifting them to his mouth, eyes connecting with yours as you watch him suck the fingers that were just inside of you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath as the man winks at you, sliding a piece of paper with his name and number on it before he stands. “Call me when you need to get off again, love.” With that, he leaves, disappearing down the train. You stare at the piece of paper, feeling yourself begin to throb again at the thought of him touching you.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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pretty-little-mind33 · 9 days

Text

Labyrinth

Tangerine x single mom!reader

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

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: protective!tangerine, mentions of coercion and kidnapping, cursing, crying

@kpopgirlbtssvt hi lovie!! here it is! hope you like it <33 xx

April, your almost one-year-old, is currently tucked in your arms as you try to console her.

She won't calm down and you've been assuming the train's lights are too shiny for her small eyes since she's been inconsolable for the last hour. "Honey, shh," you try again, caressing her round cheeks.

"Hello." Your thoughts are interrupted by a calm voice as a young girl sits in front of you. Her short brown hair is cut neatly into a bob and she's wearing a pink shirt and skirt. She looks well-groomed. "Your baby is adorable," she comments, glancing at April.

"Thank you," you say, smiling as you bounce April on your lap now—the movement calming her a little as her cries turn into small breathy babbling sounds.

After a moment, the girl continues. "I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but have you seen a silver case somewhere around here? My Uncle seems to have misplaced it," the girl's smile falters as if looking for sympathy, "It's very important to me," she finishes, her eyebrows creasing as her lips downturn into a pout.

You shake your head.

She urges you, "Could you perhaps help me look then?" She leans in closer as she runs her hand under April's chin, her demeanor more insistent now.

Your smile falters and you turn April away, your hand on her back, as your motherly instincts kick in. Something is wrong. "I'm so sorry. I would help only," you begin, holding April closer.

Your answer is interrupted as the girl scowls, "I'll pay you," she says.

Pay you? Your mind races as you wonder why this girl would pay you for your help. What's in this case that warrants such attention? Once you shake your head again, the girl's calm energy vanishes.

"Well, this is a shame, hmm?" her tone suddenly shifts and she smiles cruelly as she crosses her legs. The table that's separating you and her comes in handy as it hides the weapon she produces and presses against your knee.

She angles the gun upwards and you tense your arms around April, holding her even closer. April squirms, sensing your worry.

"Please," you whisper, looking around the train. None of the other passengers seem preoccupied by your predicament. They aren't even looking in your direction.

You want to scream, but you have a feeling if you do so, this girl wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. "Please don't hurt my baby," you say, fear settling inside you.

The girl tilts her head and chuckles. She taps the gun on your knee, making you flinch. "Hmm, you see, you're just the girl for this. Men underestimate girls like us—

They'll never see you coming—a vulnerable little thing like you, with something so precious to lose—you would do anything for your baby, would you?" She smiles at April.

"Please," you sound like a broken record, "what do you want from me?"

"Is your baby's daddy around?"

You want to lie but you're too scared so you shake your head.

"Pff, men—bastards, hmm?" The girl laughs and then she turns serious. "Now listen closely, if you don't want me to blow you and your baby to bits, you'll do exactly as I say," she pauses and her smirk turns sinister,

"Understand?"

* * *

You feel like you're in a trance as your shaky hands hold the gun behind you. You walk into the train car, looking for the men the girl had insisted took her case from her.

You feel a little exposed as the buttons from your chemise have been slightly unbuttoned to reveal your bra and the girl had made you let down your hair.

Go for the sex appeal and you'll have men at your feet, she'd promised.

However, you don't care how stupid you look. All you care about is April. April, who the girl has promised you she wouldn't harm if you did as you were told. April, who had started to scream again when you'd placed her in the seat next to the cruel stranger and who had continued to cry as you disappeared from her view.

Your poor baby.

You try not to cry now. You don't want your mascara to run and ruin your cover. You hold your head up, glancing at all the passengers as you walk by.

Twins. You were looking for Twins—that should be easy enough.

You walk slower, only catching fragments of conversations, until suddenly you walk by two men.

One is adjusting his stripped blue vest, his brown hair messy and his face smeared in bruises and blood.

The other, who looks nothing like the first, is holding onto a silver case. Your breath hitches when you hear the man exclaim, "Some fucker had this in his arms when I bumped into 'im—what are the odds, huh? Maybe it is our lucky day, bruv!"

You pause. They don't look like Twins, but in all honesty that means nothing—they have the case.

You take a breath and shut your eyes, turning around and hiding the gun in the flow of your skirt. You walk up to them, your eyes landing on your target as you 'accidentally' trip and fall onto the man in blue's lap.

"What the fuck?!" The man exclaims. It's an honest reaction to some random girl falling onto you. His British accent is thick and your cheeks burn as you stare into his blue eyes. Suddenly, your entire ruse threatens to crumble as your hands shake. You try to shift and press the gun to the man's stomach—like you'd been told.

April, think of April.

"She has a gun," the other man whisper-shouts and this sets the man you'd landed on into action as he hastily grabs your wrists, his other hand gripping at your waist as he shoves you off of him and corners you in the other seat, you back pressed to the wall as he twists your hand.

You yelp in pain, dropping the gun as your tears now fall freely. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a blow or a hit of some kind as your chest heaves.

None come.

"Her hand is trembling, Lemon." You hear and hesitantly open your eyes. The man holding your wrist has turned to his friend, Lemon, and is showing him the shake in your hand.

Lemon looks you over and settles in his seat again. "Poor bird's shakin' in general," he points out, confusion evident in his voice.

The first man tugs on your arm to pull your eyes to him. You look up, body still pressed up against the window as one of your legs dangles from the seat and off his thighs.

You don't dare move as the man looks like he wants to kill you. "What are ya doin' with this," he snarls, shaking the gun to scare you but then he hands it to his friend. "Who the fuck are ya? Some fuckin' hooker tryin' to play assassin?" He looks you up and down in your little outfit and you feel humiliated.

You shake your head. Assassin. The word rings in your ear. "I'm sorry," you cry breathlessly, "Please. I'm so sorry, please—she has my baby,"

You're a sobbing mess at this point, your voice trembling and hoarse. "She has my baby-"

Lemon speaks up when the man doesn't loosen his grip on your wrist. "Tangerine," he hisses, "she's sobbing. Something's wrong, mate."

Tangerine looks at Lemon sternly and then turns his attention back to you. You feel the tears spill down your cheeks as he stares and then he drops your wrist.

In an instant, you scramble to press yourself further against the wall and sit normally. You hastily button up your shirt, sex appeal be damned.

"Someone put ya up to this, didn't they?" Tangerine asks, his eyes softening just a little as he calms himself down. "Does someone have your baby?" he is trying to make sense of the word vomit that had just happened.

"Yes, s-she took my baby. I- I don't know what to do anymore. Please don't hurt me," you plead. Tangerine's eyebrows furrow. He looks at Lemon and they seem to have a conversation—or perhaps an argument—with their eyes.

"Lemon, my brother," Tangerine says after a moment, Lemon's lips curving as he clearly won whatever had just happened between them,

"And I'm Tangerine," he looks you up and down again. "We aren't gonna hurt ya, darlin'. Promise," he says as he runs a hand in his hair and then down his jaw, "And we're gonna help you find your baby, okay? No need to worry."

You stare at him, you have no desire to question their weird names as you are still a little afraid of them, but you nod anyway. They're your only chance of saving April from the hands of the cruel girl. You tell them your name. You have to trust them.

So, you find yourself in the train bathroom, Tangerine hooking something to your ear. His hands work through your hair as he connects the earpiece to the one in his ear. He looks so concentrated and you can't help but stare at him.

He's handsome.

"I'll be able to hear ya through this, ok?" Tangerine's voice cuts your thoughts and you nod at him. You must still look scared because he adds, "Lemon and I will be around the corner, all ya need is to distract her so she doesn't see us coming, understand?"

You nod again and Tangerine's eyebrow raises. He wants to hear you.

"I understand—thank you," you say, voice still trembling. This earns you a smirk and one last check to your earpiece as his fingertips skim the skin around your ear. He looks into your eyes as he hides the device behind your hair.

"Good girl," he whispers and the words roll off his tongue naturally. They take you by surprise as your heart leaps in your chest. Tangerine clears his throat, not giving you the chance to dwell on them as he opens the bathroom door and sends Lemon a nod to follow you.

You try to keep up the appearance of confidence as you walk back to your original seat, the case in your hand. You've been playing the story in your head; They'd left it unattended. I took it from their seats. You don't know if that sounds convincing.

You check behind you subtly and see that the Twins have stayed in the room between the compartments and are waiting for you to distract the girl. You let out a scared breath that Tangerine must hear because his voice echoes in your ear.

You'll be fine. We're right behind you.

When you see the girl, her back is turned to you, and you see April's small legs hanging from the seat as she sits in the girl's lap. Your heart is pounding as you make your way to them.

April seems overjoyed to see you and your heart breaks when you see the tears-stains on your baby's face. Your expression hardens as you put the case on the table and sit in front of the girl.

"Ah, you found it," the girl smiles, caressing April's hair. "You know, we don't compliment mothers enough. Your baby would not stop screaming—it was becoming annoying. The little rascal did tired himself out eventually because he almost fell asleep."

"She. Her name is April," you say without thinking, jaw clenched. "I did what you asked, can I have my daughter back now?"

The girl looks down at the case but shakes her head, "Mm, no. You may not. I still need your help. Come with me," the girl smirks and stands. She is still holding April in her arms and your breathing has become heavy. You try not to make any expression at all when you see Tangerine and Lemon stealthily approach the girl from behind.

You hear her surprised gasp as Tangerine grips her arm and you assume he presses his gun to her lower back because she suddenly tenses.

"Hand her the baby, now," he says in a throaty whisper. He isn't asking. The girl frowns and her hand clenches around April for a moment.

With the commotion, April wails and without hesitation—and the security that Tangerine won't let this girl harm you—you swoop in and cradle April in your arms.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. Mommy's here, my love," you whisper into April's head as tears freely escape your eyes once again. Tangerine's gun is still pressed to the girl's back as Lemon swoops in and takes the case once more.

You're too busy with April to hear their conversation and eventually, Lemon grabs the girl and ushers her away.

Tangerine remains, his eyes unusually soft as he observes you and April. He walks closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to scare April—he tends to scare babies, especially when he's as disheveled as he is now.

You see him and instantly you walk to him and, holding April with one arm, you wrap the other one around his shoulder as you lean up to kiss his cheek. You seem less terrified now that you have your baby and Tangerine's cheeks flush as he feels your lips against his skin.

He doesn't pull away from you.

"Thank you," you say, your hand sliding down his cheek, lingering there for a moment too long, and then you back away. "I can't ever thank you and Lemon enough," you bounce April on your hip and she giggles. She stares at Tangerine and suddenly reaches out to him with her small hand.

Tangerine's eyes widen and he looks at you for permission. You nod.

He reaches out and April holds out her small hand to wrap around his finger. She makes a small giggling sound again as she babbles—"She's saying thank you too," you beam in amusement, kissing April's temple.

"She's absolutely beautiful," Tangerine says, smiling fondly. You grin, your attention fully on your daughter, that you haven't noticed the way Tangerine's blue eyes stay locked onto yours as he says the words.

April drops Tangerine's hand and you hold her tightly. "Can Lemon and I help ya find your way off this train, luv? Ya do have somewhere safe to go, right?" Tangerine asks plainly, feeling weirdly protective over you and the little baby in your arms.

You think for a moment, still breathless from what had happened. This train doesn't feel safe anymore. You feel so out of your depth. You were supposed to visit some friends, but you'd missed your stop, and anyways none of that matters anymore.

You'd almost lost April and if you hadn't met them—you gaze at Tangerine—you don't know what you would have done to save her.

You shake your head and Tangerine's eyes narrow. "Well, that's a problem, innit?" he says and runs a hand in his hair. He stands tall, glancing over his shoulder to see if Lemon's finished taking care of the girl who'd threatened you and April.

"You wanna stay with us?" Tangerine asks calmly, looking into your eyes. "Lem and I are gettin' off now. We have what we wanted, and we ain't gonna stick around this train to find out what happens if we do. Come with us. We'll keep you and April safe. Promise."

Although his words feel like a pretty, empty, shiny promise, you accept them anyway. You don't have many choices at the moment and Lemon and Tangerine tell you they have what they call a safe house in the area, which sounds better than a cheap motel.

* * *

However, a week later, you still haven't left said safe house.

Lemon had explained that it wasn't safe to travel yet, that he and Tangerine needed more time to settle their affairs before they could easily travel again—especially with April around now. You don't know what that means, only that Lemon and Tangerine often come back from their "affairs" bloodied and bruised.

You'd just finished cleaning Lemon's head wound when you hear April giggling from her play mat in the middle of the living room.

Lemon stands from the couch, his grin widening as he exclaims, "My turn to watch the lil' angel! Tan needs his abdomen wound checked anyway," Lemon wastes no time in sitting next to April and showing her the Thomas The Tank Engine figurine he'd gotten her.

You smile and move towards where Tangerine sits in the armchair in the corner. You turn to him and your eyes widen a little. You're thankful for all the months you spent in medical school before you became pregnant with April because Tangerine looks awful.

His left eye is swollen shut, he has blood dripping from his lip, and he's lifting his shirt for you to look at the deep—while still not deep enough to need stitches—gash near his ribs (which is also black and blue from bruising). He isn't looking at you, a faint tint of pink adorning his cheeks.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, crouching down and rummaging in the first aid kit on the ground.

"Hmm," Tangerine hums, still refusing to look at you.

It must hurt him because he flinches when you apply some alcohol to the wound and bandage him up. You try to ignore that you're touching his chest, or how his skin feels under your hands. It feels entirely inappropriate to ogle your wounded patient.

Again, good thing you never actually became a nurse.

"So, you're a nurse?" Tangerine suddenly grunts, looking at you with lidded eyes as you move up to inspect how badly his eye is hurt.

You shake your head, smiling. "No. April came around in the middle of medical school and I had to drop out," you smile and prod at his cheek, earning a wince and you mumble a small "sorry."

"Ya still know what you're doin', yeah?" Tangerine raises his eyebrow in question and winces again, which makes you chuckle. You apply some ointment to his eye.

"I paid attention in class, yes. I probably couldn't operate on you, but I can mend your black eye," you tease. Tangerine stares at you and he smirks.

"Good," he looks behind you and after a moment, "Lemon stole your baby," he deadpans.

You turn and see that Lemon must have taken April to the room the Twins had designated as hers. On the first night of your arrival, the Twins had gone all out and purchased all sorts of essentials for children and women. It was unexpected and sweet of them—so incredibly sweet.

"She'll be fine," you laugh and then turn to Tangerine again. He's giving you that look; the one he's been giving you for the last day or two.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. "You know, don't tell Lemon, but you're April's favorite," you say as you clean up the materials you had used on his wounds.

"I am?" Tangerine asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," you nod, "she's starting to babble something that sounds awfully similar to 'Tan'."

"Ah," Tangerine seems happy by this development and you smile. There is a moment of silence as you watch him. You're still kneeling next to him and his shirt is still half-bunched up around his torso. Your chest tightens and you hear Tangerine swallow.

"Is April's dad—" he starts and you finish for him,

"In the picture?"

A pause. Tangerine nods and you shake your head. "Nah," you shrug, "Left as soon as he heard I was pregnant. He wanted to continue medical school without any complications. He's probably some fancy doctor or some shit by now, I wouldn't know. I don't talk to him anymore."

"Dickhead," you hear Tangerine suddenly grumble, and then his hand finds your chin. He lifts your head and his eyes lock with yours. "He's a fool for leavin' ya. He doesn' know what he's missing," he says as his thumb caresses your lower lip. "Ya understand? He's a fool."

You nod, entranced as your heart continues to panic in your chest. When Tangerine finally drops your chin, you clear your throat and stand.

He stands too and walks closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls you closer and whispers in your ear, "Ya don't need to worry anymore, darlin'. Lem and I won't let anyone harm you or April. I won't let 'em touch a single hair on your pretty head," he breathes, his voice stern, and you feel his lips against your cheek for a fleeting moment until he moves and disappear upstairs.

You're left standing in the living room, your heart pounding as you replay every word he'd said. Your skin feels warm and clammy.

What have you gotten yourself into now?

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gh0stsp1d3r · 9 months

Note

Spicy wedding night with tangerine. Female y/n lost her vCard to tan when dating. They don’t hook up for awhile before wedding to create tension. Super smutty, passionate, hot.

An- I love this sm anon, I love you for this

𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Warnings- Smut, 18+, Oral (f), cum eating, unprotected sex, P in V

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Those were the simple words that led you both to were you were now, in a hotel, him carrying you over his shoulder as you giggled.

“Tannn.” You hummed, dress being bunched up by his grip.

“Yes?”

“We almost there?”

He took the key and unlocked the door, and he closed it with his foot. He threw you gently onto the bed, you smiled at him, he quickly went down to your level and kissed you. He was now on top of you.

He disconnected his lips to take off his jacket, you stood up and he helped you take off your dress.

Finally after a lot of struggling, it was off, and so was his vest, jacket, and his tie. His shirt still on, while you were left in your bra and panties.

He admired you for a moment, seemingly getting lost in you. All of you.

You rolled your eyes at his gawking, and reached to unbutton his shirt, he quickly unbuttoned them instead.

He started to then take off his pants, you were growing slightly impatient.

You watched with folded arms and admiring his chiseled chest. He noticed your reaction and smirked at it.

His hard on was clear in his boxers. He put his hands onto your waist, and he kissed you feverishly. The cool metal of his new wedding ring hit your waist, making you shiver slightly.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and he was pushing you back onto the bed again.

The kiss was shortly lived, and was interrupted by a call.

idiot brother 🍋

He groaned and you quirked an eyebrow.

“Lemon.”

“Oh. Answer it.” You shrugged.

“I’ve waited too long, love, I’m not stopping for him to ask me the Netflix password.” He chuckled quietly, and his lips were soon on your neck, he threw his phone onto the bed.

You moaned at the feeling, he smiled and then bit into the soft skin.

You bucked your hips up slightly, and he did that multiple times in different places.

He suddenly stopped and he made his way on the edge of the bed. He grabbed your ankles, making you yelp. He kissed your legs, making his way up to your thighs and then between your legs.

He pulled down your panties, putting them aside onto the bed.

He then started to lick up at your cunt, kicking a circle on your clit. He was good with his tongue.

You moaned, gripping tightly onto his hair. You then arched your back off the bed. He continued devouring your pussy, your wetness and arousal tasting amazing to him.

He could tell you were close.

“Tan- Im gonna-“

He didn’t say anything, and you came on his tongue.

The wait for your guys wedding was excruciating. You both agreed to no sex until the wedding, hoping that it would be worth it, and even better.

He didn’t waste a drop, your hips stuttered and you moaned loudly. He then went back up to you, he looked down at you.

He kissed you. You could taste yourself, and he moaned into the kiss as well.

He once again slipped his tongue into your mouth, yours and his fighting for dominance. He won in the end.

Once you both stopped, he was breathless almost. He then unclipped your bra, putting it next to your panties.

Tangerine laid down for a moment, tracing circles by your chest as you both relaxed for a moment.

“I love you.” He mumbled. Your hands ran through his hair.

“I love you, my beautiful husband.” You said with a small smile.

He looked up at you, still laying by your chest. He smiled at the name.

He took off his boxers then, and he aligned his cock with your entrance. He put your legs on his shoulders, making it so he can hit you even deeper as he thrusted in.

He groaned when he bottomed out, kissing your cervix perfectly. You moaned loudly, he went at a slow pace at first.

“Tan, faster, please.” You whined.

He nodded, and his slow thrusts were soon faster ones, ones that had you crying on his cock.

He was entranced by his cock going in and out. And his cock in your stomach. He pushed down on the bulge, making you moan loudly.

His groans grew as he felt himself get closer, clearly you had liked that.

Your tight walls clenching around him, and your moans vibrating around the hotel room. It was a dream to him.

“Can I cum inside?” He suddenly asked, the question making your eyes go wide.

You nodded, the simple thought making you clench harder onto him.

He painted your walls white, and you came at the same time.

He sighed when he pulled out, while you whined at the loss.

“Sh..” He quickly hushed you, he picked you up bridal style and he brought you into the bathroom. He ran a bath and sat down in it with you.

You laid against his chest.

“Mm.. tan?” You mumbled.

“Yes, my love?” He hummed.

“It was worth it.” You said with a small smile, eyes closed.

“What was?”

“The wait.”

He laughed quietly when he realized what you meant.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

#tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #tangerine smut #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson smut #atj smut #atj x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fic #tangerine x y/n #tangerine

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prongslvl · 1 year

Text

DATING HIM - tangerine.

PAIRING tangerine x gn!reader

SUMMARY hcs of what's like to date the man, the myth, the legend; tangerine.

a/n: it's my first time writing hcs for a character so i hope it doesn't look weird or something! i merged two requests together to make it easier for me. happy reading! my reqs are open

the start of your relationship with him, even before the dating, was a rough road, to say the least.

with tangerine's secretive personality because of his job, it caused a lot of arguments. this results in lemon jumping in to save the day— honestly, the two of you owe him so much.

when the two of you aren't talking about jobs, he's usually sarcastic and teasing during conversations. tangerine eventually confessed that he did it to gain a reaction from you.

he confessed his love for you when you got caught in between the chaos of a job he and lemon had; the thought of you dying made him do so because to hell with a normal declaration of love, right?

if you were never involved with anything, it would've taken him at least a month or two to even realize what he feels isn't just "person-who-unfortunately-crossed-paths-with-him" type of guilt but actual infatuation.

angry confession, most definitely. as i've mentioned, you two argue a lot, so in the heat of a argument, he'd go;

"can't you see i'm doing this for your safety?"

"i'm a full grown adult, tan, why are you so worried for!?"

"because i fucking love you, alright? and if see any of those bastards lay a hand on you, i don't know what i'll fucking do to 'em!"

and he wouldn't be embarrassed about it after. you can hear lemon in the background saying, "about damn time!" 'cuz he knows from the very beginning.

tangerine would act differently the next day. "different" means just him being himself with you and finally expressing his true feelings for you openly.

in your case, ever since you met the man, you've been in love with him. at first, it'd be sexual (have you seen that man's walk?) but after getting to know him better, knowing all the bits and pieces of his actual personality from lemon, you'd catch yourself staring too deeply into his eyes.

the only reason you fought with tangerine in the first place was your need to get to know him and also let him know you're a person he can trust. as much as you liked every inch of him, secrets and lies left a bad taste on your tongue.

hanging out with them would be a reason for your involvement in their job. it's one of those cliches where the bad guys target the person close to their target so they can trap them. of course, you kept up your own fight.

when tan saw your injuries, he saw red. he didn't even think about the vast difference in your wounds compared to those of your captors. they'd have several bruised patches on their body, black eyes, etc., while you only had a bunch of cuts and a busted lip. lemon did tell you he was the type to shoot first and come with answers later.

in both scenarios, getting captured or in between arguments, after he confesses, you would be too shocked to answer him right away.

a few weeks into tangerine's unspoken courtship, when you confessed as well, your relationship with him was all like clockwork.

tangerine finally told you everything about himself, lemon, and the life they lived. all secrets were uncovered— he still kept some details, but it was enough for you.

expensive dates are on the table. as much as you refused to use so much of his money, tangerine would find a way to trick you into a fancy restaurant, saying it was for business, but after desserts with no businessmen approaching him, you knew it was all rubbish.

tangerine wasn't the only one who could afford expensive things; as a professional pianist, you also had a bit of money to spend on your boyfriend. when he refuses to buy new suits that are actually on trend, you'd go by yourself and buy them for him—he'd have no choice but to accept the bags of new clothes when they're already nearly placed inside his closet.

you shower him with compliments before he leaves for his job, wearing the suit you bought for him. he'd roll his eyes as he suppressed the smirk on his face. vice versa, he'd give you tons as well on both your looks and performance.

speaking of performances!

someone give this man a perfect attendance certificate; he's always present at your performances, whether you can ask him or not. he uses his "in a relationship with one of your best talents" ticket to get front row seats.

you would glance at the crowd to look for him, your eyes automatically scanning the front rows. you'd see him staring at you as if you'd created everything he's ever known. when he does notice your stares, he'll wink with a sly yet proud smirk on his face.

lemon's beside him, silently cheering you on.

he's the one you see first after going backstage, engulfing you in a tight hug and kissing your forehead.

"how was i?" you'd ask, with him answering with no hesitation. "amazing, as always."

tangerine may or may not have bought a whole grand piano in the middle of his and lemon's house so you can play or practice in their home.

there would be attempts by tangerine to learn how to play the piano with you. you were a great teacher, he reassures you; his hands weren't just made for all that grace.

in exchange, he'd bring you to a local shooting range. he brought his own gun for you to use, placing himself behind you as he guided the weapon in your hands. he purposely breathes on your skin, whispering inappropriate words in your ears as you press the trigger— that earned him a knock on the head after the session was over.

shorter ver hcs !

you didn't like holding grudges, but tangerine was there to hold them for you.

tangerine hates when people touch his hair, except for you, who give the best messages. he told you it was probably because of your profession that you got so good at working your fingers (several very mature jokes were made after that).

in the beginning, he always had his hair slicked back, but now he keeps his hair naturally curly when he's around you.

he nicks it, and you put it back.

lemon refuses to wear a bulletproof vest, saying something about a false sense of security, even with tangerine's scolding. but with you in the picture, he could only grumble to himself as he wore the vest underneath his suit.

he likes giving you forehead kisses or on your head, saving the intimate ones for private.

eye contact. unbreakable eye contact. he stares directly into your eyes whenever you talk or are just face-to-face with him.

your waist as his arm rest. he'd snake his hands around your torso, the proximity between the two of you lessening by the second.

you like fiddling with tangerine's rings, especially when he's wearing them.

you find it hot whenever he rolls up his leaves, and tangerine is fully aware of it.

he doesn't like admitting it, but he easily gets jealous. when another person smiles too sweetly at you, his arm will find its way onto your shoulders, using his height to his advantage. sometimes it would be a fan of yours, so you'd scold him for scaring them away.

as for you, you're open about your jealousy. unlike tangerine, it takes a lot for you to get mad at a person, let alone be jealous. but when they were a woman purposely resting her boobs on his arms or a man getting too friendly with him, you'd shoot them the sharpest glare tangerine ever saw you make. he voluntarily removes himself from the person and tries to calm you down.

when tangerine's angry, he's loud and aggressive. but when you are, you're unnaturally quiet and serious. lemon thinks you're much scarier than his brother.

#aaron taylor johnson #bullet train #bullet train lemon #bullet train tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fic #gn!reader #gender neutral fanfic

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mayfieldss · 3 months

Text

Accident - Tangerine

Warnings; language, sexual innuendos, mentions of blood. A serious overuse of nicknames "love" and "darling". Tangerine is saurr ick coded in this idk what's going on.

Summary; Tangerine walks in on you after a shower and the conversation that follows plays out different than expected.

Tangerine is not expecting anything when he opens the door except an empty room with a bed for him to rest. He knows you're somewhere around of course, you'd parted ways with him shortly after the job, claiming you needed to wash the blood off of you before it stained your conscience. He didn't know if you'd still be in the hotel room, or down at the bar drinking away the memories of the days events. Overall he wasn't expecting what he saw.

"Fuck, shit, oh my god." He finds you scrambling for something , anything to cover yourself when he enters.

"Oh, bloody hell, sorry love. Thought you'd be done by now." He turns his back to you, though he does it slowly, because quite frankly he can't help himself from stealing a glance.

"You presentable yet darling?" Tangerine can hear you stumbling about behind him, a smile creeping onto his lips at the quiet curses that you let slip under your breath.

"Couldn't you just leave?"

"Believe it or not, I paid for this disaster of a hotel room, so I think I've won myself the right to bloody well stand in it."

He listens again, and can just make out a string of names you call him under your breath, "Ya know, that's not a nice thing to say."

"Go fuck yourself Tan." You're pissed, he likes it.

"I think it would be much more enjoyable if you gave me some help with that." He hears you gasp, your footsteps stumbling about until he knows you're in the bathroom and out of sight. He turns around, walking through the room to lay upon the bed. With hands behind his head and his back against the pillows, he waits for you.

When you're finally back within his view, he sighs, loving just how much his smile is irritating you, and even more so the way you refuse to look at him. "I think I liked you better with your clothes off."

"Of course you did." You're packing things into your duffle bag, and as you lean down, Tangerine can't help but notice that the shirt you're wearing is too big for you. Not only is it oversized however, but Tangerine realises it's his.

"You know darling, locking doors is a thing I'm sure you're capable of, considering you got opposable thumbs and all." He doesn't bring up the shirt just yet, perhaps because he thinks you might take it off if he does. He likes the look of you in it for now.

"I hate to break it to you, but this shitty hotel you paid for? Has no fucking locks!" you stand straight as you yell at him and now he has a full picture of you. His shirt hangs loose around you, the buttons done up crooked in your obvious rush to put something over your body, one sleeve keeps slipping from your shoulder, the skin there revealing itself and hiding away again every time you pull the fabric back up. He's obsessed with it, and you.

"Fucking hell."

Tangerine doesn't intend for the words to escape him, but they do, and he's almost embarrassed by it. It takes a minute before you realize what's happening, looking down at yourself and back up at him.

"The shirt's really doing it for ya, isn't it?" You've got your eyebrows raised, and Tangerine grins broadly.

"It really is, love." He pauses, taking you in again, "it really, really is."

You roll your eyes at him, but to Tangerine's surprise, you keep the shirt on, moving to sit on the other bed in the room.

"You know, that's something i don't get." You're staring up at the ceiling, arms by your sides on the bed as you speak. "What is so attractive about sharing clothing?"

Tangerine huffs, struggling to concentrate on his words. "Fucked if i know, but I'd let you have my kids right about now."

A laugh slips free of you, and you turn your head, cheek pressed against the duvet as you look at him. "You'd let me? What the fuck does that mean?"

"Sorry darling, lemme rephrase." Tangerine clears his throat, and you resist the urge to smile. "It would be an honor to father your children."

In an instant, you're laughing so hard you can barely breathe, curling in on yourself, and holding your stomach from the pain of the action. Tangerine watches you all through it, a smirk plastered firm on his face. "You're treating me like the fucking joker right now, it's not that funny."

You ignore him, calming yourself down.

"If you think about it, we'd have some good-looking kids, don't ya think?" His eyes scan over the features of your face, and he knows you're doing the same to him. "They'd be real heartbreakers, I think."

"Are planning out a fucking future with me in your head right now?" You ask, and there's another chuckle of disbelief threatening to break past your lips.

"No," Tangerine is deep in thought, though there's nothing sweet about it. "But I am planning out the next ten minutes with you."

That stuns you into a silence and a thousand thoughts race around in your head. You sit up, the left sleeve of Tangerine's top slipping from your shoulder again. "In my head, the next ten minutes involve alcohol, food, and sleeping in this hard arse motel bed. I think our priorities are pretty different."

Tangerine chuckles, propping himself up on his elbow, staring you down. "Well, our plans have one thing in common." He grins, but you don't share the expression. "The bed's in my fantasy too, darling."

You scoff, standing to move across the room. You'll order room service, you think, and pay for it with money from Tangerine's wallet, just to teach him a lesson. "You disgust me."

You can hear Tangerine standing from his place on his own bed, coming to stand behind you. "Alright, I'll drop the subject. What're you ordering?"

You twist your head back to look at him as you wait for the call on the rooms landline to go through. "Whatever the fuck I want."

The man behind you sighs, though you know he finds humor in the situation. He likes to get you all riled up. "You don't gotta give me the attitude, I get your point. Get me some chips, though, would ya?" His hands move upward to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. Buttons very similar to the uneven ones holding a particular piece of fabric to your body.

You don't respond, but when ordering Tangerine can't help but smile as you inquire about the chips he'd asked for. You don't hate him yet. In fact, he thinks you feel quite the opposite. You find him amusing at the very least, even though he finds you to be the most intriguing person he's ever met. Baby steps, he thinks. One day, you might take as much interest in him as he does you.

"Thank you, love. I appreciate it." He says once you've hung up the phone.

"They're just chips. It's not a big deal." You push past him, bare shoulder brushing against his clothed arm.

"It is when you're as starving as I am." His gaze follows you as you leap back on to your designated bed, sinking into the stiff pillows.

"You were starving for something else a minute ago." You mutter, eyes falling closed as you lay atop the covers.

"I'm always hungry for that, love. Make no mistake." He's removed the vest he'd been wearing, his belt discarded too as he answers the knock on the hotel room door. It's a staff member with what you ordered, arriving abnormally fast.

"You seriously apall me." You groan once the door is closed again, sitting up ready to eat. Tangerine snatches his chips from the tray provided, taking them over to his own bed as he sits down. With his legs over the edge of it, he leans forward, smile present again.

"I'm only joking, darling. Unless, of course, you don't want me joking, in which case I'm totally not."

That does earn a snort from you as you dig into your meal, and Tangerine leaves it at that. It's been an eventful night, and he's blessed enough to be sitting in this room alive. He's gifted even further with the fact that he gets to sit here with you, looking like a bombshell capable of ending every war in the world. Even tired and stuffing your face full of mediocre room service, he can't help but admire you. And that's a dangerous thing. If he's catching feelings, he doesn't exactly know it yet. But he has a suspicion that he might be, and he'll think on that for the rest of the night.

TANGERINE TAGLIST; @swordofawriter

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memphisnovels · 11 months

Text

Evermore

Chapter 1. Dream a little dream of me

Masterlist

Chapter 2

I’m back my loves!

This is a new series that I have been working on for quite a while and I really hope you all enjoy it <3

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

just to preface: The first three chapters are backstory for the OFC and her path to meeting the Avengers and Pietro comes into things in chapter 4. I will note this again at the beginning of chapter 3, it is an optional chapter which furthers her backstory but if you are too excited for Pietro then just reading chapter’s 1 + 2 and skipping to 4 would still be okay <3

Trust me Pietro is worth the wait!

summary: Nadia was raised in the Red Room, raised to be a weapon; a killer. From five years old this is all she knew, until a near-death experience and a chance meeting turned her world upside down.

series warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and injuries, PTSD, angst, trauma, mutual pining, slowish burn, eventual smut, mentions of medical procedures, guns and torture.

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and injuries

Russia, 2006.

Whether it was February or sometime in June I was no longer sure.

The air was glacial around me, and I was sure I was dying.

There was a dampness that enveloped me, something in the stale air that agitated my senses. I laid back against the rough gravel, sweat streaming down my neck even with the snow that dappled my cheeks. It must be February still, this much snow could only mean winter. I rasped a breath out. My eyes were heavily lidded, suit becoming damp with the blood that spilled from my side. I saw a familiar face then, her name was Annika, or at least I thought it was. Dark hair slicked back as she prowled around searching for me. When our eyes met, I hoped death would come with haste, surely it would be merciful. This instead of returning to his grasp. She came to kneel beside me, gravel crunching under her weight. She said my name, but it was distant, her hand came to grip mine. Perhaps there was something in my gaze, something she recognized. That is the only conclusion I could come to as she let her hand drift from mine offering a single nod, but not the slightest of expressions as she spoke.

“Отдыхай сейчас, сестра.”

Rest now, sister.

I would never forget her mercy. My eyes drifted shut as everything became distant, the dreary cold, the aching muscles, the blood that drained from me. Then, there was nothing. Finally.

The smooth, delicate flesh which had seen no hard labor smoothed my hair down, twirling a golden curl between slender fingers. A quiet hum filled my ears, followed by smooth words

Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you’. Birds singing in the sycamore tree.

“Dream a little dream of me.” I murmured; the low hum of an engine filled my ears as I jolted awake. I was confused by the strange vision I had seen whilst unconscious, an American woman who had found her way into my mind’s eye many times before. When I’d told Natasha about her years ago, she’d said perhaps the woman was my guardian angel. The thought made my heart clench, I wondered where Natasha was, if she was still breathing or if she was merely another piece of the past now.

When my consciousness returned fully, I managed to prop myself up enough to take in my surroundings, I immediately regretted it. Surrounding me, atop my legs, by my head were bodies. I suspected we were being taken to a site for disposal, that had been my path, a nameless corpse among the others taken to be dumped in a wide grave. However, by some wicked twist of fate some stubborn part of me seemed unwilling to die. I had planned my escape before, many times over the past 10 years. Yet, now when it was practically in my palms, it was hollow and did not feel as if it were mine. I tore a small shred of fabric from the shirt of once of the corpses, apologizing to the lifeless eyes that watched me as I used it as a makeshift bandage over the wound at the side of my stomach. It hurt, yet I’d sustained far worse. I reminded myself of this as I took the knife from my boot and cut into my wrist, blood trickling down my forearm as I slipped the tip of the blade beneath the skin to locate the chip that would tell him exactly where I was. An ache set into the base of my skull as a ringing noise filled my ears, I persevered, nonetheless. Finally, metal hit metal and I slipped the tracker from my skin. I put the microchip into the pocket of one of the corpses. Even if it was followed it would only lead to a hole filled with dead. I pressed my bleeding wrist to my chest as I dragged myself to the edge of the trailer, tucking my head and rolling. The gravel scraped my flesh, digging into me and engraving new cuts into my body. I gasped for air as I landed on my hurt side, shutting my eyes tightly to block out the still present ringing. Whether there was a part of me that truly wished to live or it was merely stubborn fury that pushed me to get up I was unsure.

The pain seared through me as I watched the car leave the driveway from behind some stray shrubbery. Forcing myself back to my feet I hobbled toward the now empty house. A brief search of the area surrounding the backdoor returned no sign of a spare key and I could feel the blood still oozing from the wound on my side as well as the steady stream on my wrist. I leaned against the wall, steadying myself momentarily as my head began to spin. With a swift movement I shattered the small glass panel of the door, reaching within to flick the lock. Given the distance of this particular house from the nearest neighbor, I was not concerned that someone may be alarmed by the sound, hence the appeal of this property. When inside I made quick work of securing the items I required; pants and a shirt, to allow me to remove my torn, bloodied suit, only keeping my boots and push dagger. I also grabbed some towels. When I’d found each item I moved back to the kitchen, searching for some kind of first aid kit, though there was no sign of one in the vicinity. After rifling through a few more cupboards, I gave up on the errand, not wanting to linger in case the homeowner returned. Makeshift antiseptic would have to suffice, I grabbed the bottle of vodka I’d clocked in a cabinet before carefully moving to sit on the tiled floor. I peeled the black suit from my body, cursing as it clung to my gash. When I was down to only my undergarments, I pressed one of the folded towels between my lips, gritting my teeth around it as I held the other towel just below my wound.

I was unable to swallow the groans of agony that ripped through me as I poured the vodka onto my flesh, blood-stained alcohol pooling onto the towel in my hand. The ringing noise returned, echoing through my ears as the pain intensified, fraying my nerves. When the overwhelming burning subsided slightly, I began to attach a piece of cloth over the marred flesh; it would have to suffice until I could find a needle and sutures. As fast as I was capable in my state, I slipped into the clean clothes disregarding the mess that I’d created in favor of getting out of this house as soon as possible. I only collected the items that were coated in my blood before filling a canteen that I’d found with water from the tap. Before leaving, I grabbed a coat and gloves from the rack next to the door.

The flakes of snow kissed my cheeks as I trudged through the streets, tightening the coat around my body, chin tucked into the soft inside layer. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I planned to do when I got there but remaining on my feet seemed a solid starting point. I managed to find a pharmacy along my way, the faint green cross bringing some relief as I all but stumbled through the door. Old Russian opera hummed over the radio, surrounding me as I scanned the shelves. A young boy sat at the front of the store, completely engrossed in the faded, well-loved comic book he was reading; I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed me enter, regardless of the bell that had rung above my head the moment the door had opened. I glanced at him to ensure he was still ignoring me before shoving a stitching kit and some bandages into my pockets. This was all I needed, though my feet seemed cemented to the floor where I stood. I was unsure whether I was swaying or if it was just my imagination. The room suddenly seemed to be spinning around me. My breath felt ragged, and I could feel sweat on the back of my neck.

“Могу я вам помочь, мисс?”

Can I help you, miss?

The boys’ words barely met my ears. I closed my eyes tightly, releasing a shaky breath and attempting to steady myself against the shelf.

“Нет, спасибо.” No, thank you. I grabbed a pack of throat soothing candies from the shelf, holding it toward him. “У тебя не тот вкус, который мне нравится.” You don’t have the flavour I like. He nodded in response, watching me with what I believed was concern for my welfare glimmering in his gaze. I offered him a smile that was likely not very convincing before turning and making my way from the store. I found a block of public bathrooms to lock myself in as I peeled the layers from my body and began the laborious task of stitching my wound closed. My hands were nowhere near as steady as they normally were, and it was no small task to focus my eyes. I’d stitched up my wounds and the wounds of others countless times, yet now, when time was not on my side, nothing seemed to be going my way. The sting of the needle seemed nothing compared to the collective pains from the day.

I recalled stealing the loaf of bread, so fresh it burnt me beneath my coat where I had stowed it away as I stumbled toward the tracks. The sting of the piping hot dough against my chest was easy to focus on, something to anchor me to reality. I remember that and I remember falling unceremoniously into the empty carriage at the back of the cargo train, the door was so heavy against my frail consciousness I was barely able to pull it closed. Even after summoning the last shred of strength that lingered within my bones, a slither remained present in the door.

I hadn’t the faintest idea how many hours were passing, by what I believed was the third sunset I’d witnessed through the crack in the door I was too exhausted to eat the bread that remained half wrapped beside me. The cool metal of the canteen in my hand the only thing anchoring me to reality. The days had begun to pass by with the same routine, it would begin with a searing agony that would eventually become a dull ache, the violent shaking would follow soon after, though at times they arrived in unison. Sweat would bead on my flesh, making me clammy and overheated as the glacial breeze continued to infiltrate the stale air of the carriage.

When the train slowed to a stop just before the fourth sunset, I decided that if I didn’t pull myself from the carriage now, I’d almost certainly die here.

There were bricks beneath my feet comprising the path surrounded by trees, I studied my surroundings through blurry eyes. Berlin. I had been here recently, but the months still seemed to have passed me by. People were celebrating, they were dancing in the street in colorful costumes and singing jovial songs; I remember now, it was the beginning of Fasching, the beginning of Lent, it was February. The streets still bustled, though no one danced, German flowed around me.

I approached a man who sat reading a newspaper on a park bench, asking him, in perfect German, what day it was. He told me it was the 1st of March and then he asked if I was well. I nodded slowly and turned from him, offering nothing further in the way of conversation. Continuing down the street I attempted to make a plan, I had no contacts here, not ones that existed outside of the red rooms grasp. A woman pulled me from my thoughts, she was not speaking to me, she was on the phone, and she spoke English. I glanced toward her noting the wallet that she slipped into her coat pocket, a small map in one hand. She was British. I diverted my path subtly, adjusting my gloves to ensure that no blood stains were visible. For a moment I just listened, having to close my eyes to focus in this altered state, in my head I mimicked her voice, repeating the sentence she’d just spoken over and over.

“Yes, I’ve just arrived in Berlin, it’s absolutely freezing here.”

Again and again, I said it as I approached her, she was ending her phone call when I finally stood before her. She gave me a friendly smile when our eyes met. “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, I just heard you speaking English, and well, I don’t speak a word of German, I was wondering if you could help me.” I spoke mimicking her accent.

“Oh of course, it is a tricky language! I’m Anna, what’s your name?”

I had found German to be relatively easy to learn, but I disregarded this. “It certainly is, I’m Natalie, I was hoping you could give me some directions to the nearest pharmacy?” She agreed happily, unfolding her map and beginning to show me what roads to follow to find my destination. I hummed along as she rambled, ignoring her words as I swiftly slipped my hand into her pocket, snatching her wallet and slipping it into my own coat before she’d finished talking. “Thank you so much, really, you’re a saint.” I spoke, forcing a smile just as warm as hers to spread across my face. I turned and began to make my way down the street in the direction she’d told me.

“Oh, and Natalie.” I rolled my eyes at her voice, forcing a smile back onto my face as I turned back to face her.”

“Yes, Anna?”

She stepped toward me, her expression completely calm and collected as she adjusted her jacket. “Might I have my wallet back?”

The smile never fell from my face as I regarded her, I was trained to face any circumstances that may arise on a mission, there was no room for error in the red room I had been forged into something of a perfectionist. “I’m not sure what you mean, your wallet?”

“Yes, love, my wallet which you just nicked.” I told her I hadn’t seen her wallet and I even acted mildly offended that she was assert such a thing. “I must admit you are quite an adept pickpocket, if it were just that perhaps I’d assume you were a mere street hustler and leave it at that after regaining my wallet. Though, I’ve been told I’m something of a connoisseur at separating your run of the mill con artist from someone like you.”

The accent I’d employed remained strong as I queried. “Someone like me?” Glancing at her with furrowed eyebrows as if to query her sanity. “Are you alright, Anna, what a thing to accuse someone of. I’ve not even seen your wallet.”

“See it’s that right there that gives you away, sweetheart.” I raised an eyebrow at her gleeful expression. “You don’t even falter when you lie, no shift in your demeanor, no evident tell of any kind. Really that is talent, kiddo. However, you did make one mistake.” I could feel sweat beading on my head and my surroundings were becoming more fuzzy than clear. Forcing myself to remain upright, I only prayed I wasn’t becoming paler before her eyes. I asked her once more what on earth she was speaking about. “You said that you spoke no German and yet you understood the map perfectly. The map which has not one word of English on it.”

Had I shown that I’d understood the map? I couldn’t remember, everything was becoming groggy and distant, I had never once been made before, but now, I could barely hear the words Anna spoke to me. Too weak to run, and too ill to continue deceiving her I simply threw her wallet onto the ground in front of her. “Fuck you.” I spoke letting the accent slip from my words, settling back to my regular speaking voice.

“You’re Russian? Are you working for the KGB? Did someone send you here?”

Suddenly I couldn’t feel my legs and my words became slurred. “Fuck off.” I attempted to leave but I stumbled, catching myself against a wall, the cold bricks pressing into gaunt cheeks.

“Are you alright?”

I pulled the push dagger from my pocket, aiming it toward Anna but evidently the threat was empty as I was no longer able to hold myself up, slumping down to the ground, limbs going limp at my side. My eyelids were inexplicably heavy then, each time I blinked I was plunged into the darkness longer. I could see the woman’s mouth moving as she approached me cautiously though none of her words stuck as the darkness came once more.

Thank you so much for reading - Pietro is worth the wait <3

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