Smau: in which your child has your phone
Warnings: mostly fluff and crack, some sexual language, made the child a daughter idk I forgot sons exists, they're varying ages, and it's kinda linked to the Daddy Daughter series but also not, not proofread
Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna (no special guests)
୨୧ ― The garage door slams shut with a muffled thud, sealing you both in the dark garage. The car is still warm from the drive home, engine ticking as the leather seats creak under Nanami's weight. His tie hangs loose around his neck, silk fabric slithering between his fingers as he cages you against the backseat- his knee forcing your legs apart.
"Seven days…," he grits out, the numbers sharp as his cursed blade… It was rare to hear him talk like that…
"Kento… please don't be mad… w-we ah~," impatient, his large hands shove your dress up your thighs, bunching the fabric around your waist, "We've been so busy with the girls lately." your hands tremble as you run them over the lapels of his jacket.
He catches your wrist and pulls your hand to his mouth. A shiver races up your spine as he kisses your palm, tongue hot and wet as it traces along your skin. His teeth are just as sharp, grazing against your skin in a warning, "I don't want excuses," Nanami growls, the low sound going straight to your cunt, "I want you."
His breath carries hints of bourbon and mint from dinner- restraint absolutely snapped, the kind that’s been simmering all week between packed lunched, overtime with Gojo, and your second grader’s nightmares about how daddy doesn’t come back home from work one day…
Nanami refuses to waste any more time. Like he said, it’s been seven fucking days. He’s missed having you all to himself. The feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him- strangling his cock just how he likes it.
Without hesitation. His thumb hooks into your lace panties, tearing them sideways with a rip that makes you gasp and arch, "F-fuck, Kento-!~"
"Quiet," he growls against your neck, calloused palm smacking your clit once, twice, the crack echoing off the tinted windows, "You've been begging for this all night." The sound of his pants zipper fills the small space, his cock springing free- heavy and angry red with a bead of precum drooling at the tip. "Squirming in your seat. Smirking at me as your heel grazes my thigh."
He doesn't prep you- doesn't need to. Your pussy has been dripping since the appetizers, and he knows, the bastard, smirking as he swipes his tip against your entrance, "Look at you," he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, coating himself, "So wet for me already. You missed my cock so much, hm?"
Fuck, yesyesyes you missed his cock, missed the stretch and burn and ache when he first plunges into you. A breathless, "Yes~♡ " falls from your lips, followed by a desperate moan as his fat cock rams into your soaked cunt without warning- filling you, stretching you out.
You do your best to choke back a scream. You know better, know to keep your voice down in case your girls and Yuji have fallen asleep- the last thing you need is to wake them. But Nanami is merciless, fucking you open, the squelch of your juices loud enough to drown out any other noise in the confined space, his hips snap up- slamming into you as he fucks you against the leather seats.
"I—fu—I've s'missed you, Kento~"
Nanami's eyes soften then, a small smile forming as his hand cradles your face. The pad of his thumb traces the outline of your lip before pushing in, his gaze darkening at the way your lips part for him so willingly.
His grip on your jaw turns bruising, the way his lips smash against yours- it's painful, but the sting is delicious, "You kept teasing me about wanting another kid," he grunts, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your heaving chest.
His wedding band catches the moonlight streaming through the garage window as he grips your throat, not hard enough to hurt- yet.
"Maybe I will put a third in you tonight. Watch you swell up again…" His voice drops, gravelly and low, "You'd look so beautiful like that, again."
You claw at the part of his chest that's exposed, the fabric wrinkled beyond salvation, and moan, "Y'already... nnf... can't handle two—hah!~"
He slams deeper- hand fisting in your hair cutting you off- "Try me."
His Mercedes rattles as he flips you onto your knees, face mashed against the fogged window. His palm cracks against your ass, reddening the skin before he yanks your hips back, spearing you in one vicious stroke. Your tits crush against the seat, nipples rubbed raw by the upholstery as he drills into your g-spot.
Somewhere upstairs, he hears a floorboard squeak… The sound traveling easily through the thin wall that connects the garage to the house. Nanami freezes, cock twitching inside you.
Then, unmistakable in the sudden silence, comes the patter of small feet and excited voices from within the house.
"Daddy and Mommy are home!"
"Shh! Remember what big bro Yuji said? We should be sleeping!"
Nanami’s eyes narrow, "S-shit." He rams home once more, burying his groan in the crook of your neck as he spills, hot and thick, painting your walls white as it floods your womb. His cum leaks down your trembling thighs as he collapses against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade with a defeated thud while muttering, "...they're awake-"
So much for having you to himself the rest of the night…
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Nine months later, Nanami Kento is changing diapers at 3 am, dark circles under his eyes but with a tender smile that lights up the pink nursery.
-tangerine has this habit of crawling back to you.
cw; soft!tangerine, this man yearns and he's not ashamed of that, tangerine being a bit dramatic, exes to lovers (?), title is from do i wanna know by arctic monkeys, kissing many many times, my first time writing for him- please let me know what you think
wc; 1.5k
CRAWLIN' BACK TO YOU
It's not healthy to do this every night, is it?
No, because Tangerine doesn't know how to stop and it bothers him. It bothers him more than Lemon's insistent talks about Thomas the Tank Engine, so this is serious. He's a strong man, but- you sigh in content and he's glad to be witnessing this.
He really should stop watching you sleep.
You look peaceful like this. Happy, blissfully unconscious. Your pretty lips let out tiny breaths and he swears he will collapse. Something squeezes his poor heart. He wants to be closer, you look warm but are you really warm? He wants to drag his fingers on your skin, to touch you like he used to. Stained fingers, red with blood. He washed them before coming here, but it doesn't matter. He'll never be pure enough to touch you.
"Pretty girl," he whispers in the dark. You don't hear him. He gets encouraged by that.
He takes a hesitant step towards your bed.
"Look at you, sleeping so deep," Tangerine whispers again. "Always in peace when I'm not here, aren't you?"
Technically he is here, but you don't know that, and that's all he cares. He doesn't try to be a creep, he's just in love. He swears this is the only reason why he keeps coming back to his ex's apartment. He promises this is the only reason why he lies to his brother as he crawls back to you.
His fingers ache to reach out and touch you.
If he could be a better man, he'd be in your arms right now. He'd be kissing your collarbones and his rings would collide nicely with the soft fabric of your tank top. He's a coward, really. He's glad you're the only one who knows this side of him. It would be terrible for his job options otherwise.
You take another breath. Tangerine watches the softness of your cheeks move when you curl your lips in your sleep. You must be dreaming. He hopes you see him being good for you in your dream. Being the man he never could be in reality.
He really should stop using the keys you gave him months ago.
"I wish I could be-" he starts saying some stupid shit again. Oh, come on. He rolls his eyes at himself. "Pathetic. I'm being pathetic."
"You really are," you turn to your side. Fuck. Tangerine flinches.
"Wha- Fuck me-" he takes a step back. You were sleeping two seconds ago. He's shy all of a sudden as if he's not the man who keeps coming back to his ex after breaking up with her by saying 'you deserve better, love'.
You blink, looking so exhausted as you do that. Leaning on your elbows, you look up to him. His hair is messed up, his blue eyes are wide open. It's a good look on him. Objectively.
"You really did think I wasn't aware of you coming back here every night, didn't you?"
"Um- then why did you-"
"You really are being pathetic, Tangerine," you say. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
"No, of course not-"
"I know you still have the keys," you say. "I knew you'd use them at some point, you never offered to give them back."
Tangerine finally manages to close his mouth. Clever girl, aren't you? He feels poorly, now that he can't call you his.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks.
You blink a few times. "I waited for you to say something first."
"Sorry to disappoint, love," he says, genuine this time. "I've been acting too cowardly around you."
You sigh, you really want to sleep. You wish he could just stop with this pity party and come to bed. Silent promises ring in your head, you want him back. He kept saying he's doing it for you, breaking up because he doesn't want you to get hurt. He swears even telling you what he does for living was the toughest shit he'd ever gone through. Who wants a guy like him anyway?
"Will you please- come here? Let's just talk about this in the morning, I'm so tired."
He blinks a few times. You have a death wish, don't you? Why the hell would you want him to get close if you don't?
"It's 'cause I know you still love me," you answer. Shit, he asked it out loud. "I know you're trying to make a stupid decision for both of us, still, but tonight I want none of that. Come here."
You pat the empty spot next to you and Tangerine obeys. He has no choice, his entire body feels like it's on fire with the distance between you. He takes off his suit jacket, lets himself be bare in front of you just like how you always want him. No unnecessary clothes in bed, you once said. I want to know you're here.
He lies next to you hesitantly. For a brave man, he's acting pretty fearful tonight. You wrap your arm around his chest, your fingers touch his skin as you draw a small circle right there.
Tangerine takes a breath. It's good, being here. He finally feels like he's where he belongs. You snuggle closer to him, always the bold one in the relationship. Many would expect it to be different, he knows, but he feels entirely yours and this is something he can't explain. He'd let you do anything you want, if you want to cuddle him, kiss him in public, or snuggle to his chest like a cat, so be it. He wraps an arm around you.
"Oh," he breathes. You smell wonderful. "My girl."
Fuck, he missed this. He melts right there, how can he be stupid enough to let you go? He turns to his side to hold you better, you put your head to the curve of his neck. His cologne hits you like an old memory, but that's nonsense. You never let him go.
"Missed this," he says. "Missed you."
"You're an idiot."
"That's what I am."
You tangle your legs with his, he kisses his way on your neck all the way to your shoulder. You close your eyes, let yourself be okay now that he's here. He can finally admit that he never left, he couldn't do that if he tried. He yearns for this, for every bit of affection he can have.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He doesn't think he can wait until the morning to tell you this. You must know how sorry he is for even trying to go out of your life, how desperate he's been since the day he told you he wants to break up. How angry he made Lemon (even Lemon) because he's been a restless bastard and he doesn't even know what he's doing. "I'm so sorry."
You lift your head to see his eyes. Under the soft moonlight in your room, they sparkle. Just a deep blue, you've always loved his eyes. He's genuine and he's only a man. He looks like he can beg for forgiveness on his knees.
"It's okay," you say gently. No need for arguments, the bed is warm and he's here. You'll find the right time to talk about this. For now, though, you choose to put your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
Tangerine kisses your head. You like having shower before bed and he can smell your shampoo. He holds your hand under the covers and slides his hips to get closer to you. The pillows are soft and inviting beneath his head, he closes his eyes.
"Will you stay for breakfast?" you ask. He can stay forever if you want. Fuck, yearning turned him into a fucking romantic.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asks instead.
"Yes," you reply, getting closer to his pulse point. You put a small kiss on the tiny spot under his ear. He lets out a quiet hiss when you bite there playfully.
"Or maybe I should crawl back here with flowers in my hand," he says, adjusting his neck to give you more space to kiss. He can feel you smile against him.
"You really should," you tell him. "Later. Not tomorrow."
Your sound unsure. Hesitant with your loving as if he scared you. He did, though, didn't he? Tangerine is a man of sin and he really needs to atone for some of them.
"I'm not gonna leave," he promises. "Not again."
You nod, his loving girl. You could give him hell, but you're exhausted. He tightens his arm around you and lets you settle down on him.
Your breath is nice to feel against his neck. Tangerine relaxes. You fall asleep in the next minute or so, he isn't sure when. He just knows that this feels like home, and he'd been the biggest fool in the history for trying to leave it as if he actually could. He has to get you those flowers just as soon as he can.
This is for @theawfuledges who requested: “ Loved your Kandomere fic! If you’re still taking requests, how about fic where Kandomere or the reader is sick, and the other takes care of them?”
Pairing: Kandomere x Reader
Mmm, I wanted to do something for Valentine’s day, but this is short and sweet, though not nearly as fluffy as I’d like! Hope you enjoy!
It began, innocently enough, with tea. Kandomere rarely branched out from his black coffee, but when he did, he went with - to absolutely no one’s surprise - black tea. Lately, though, he’d been making a cup for the both of you, and while you were no tea connoisseur, you knew what you’d been drinking was no black tea. Indeed, you had found the boxes in the kitchen: chamomile, ginger, hibiscus! You hadn’t even given an inclination that you wanted tea, let alone anything other than what he drank.
You might have asked him about his sudden interest in your tea drinking palette, but it was pushed out of your mind by the next mystery. Or rather annoyance. Tissue boxes. You appreciated them easily accessible! One in every room you spent a lot of time in was fine, bedroom, living room, the bathroom was acceptable as well! But they were everywhere, one on each side of the couch, two in the kitchen, one on your desk, bedside table, and one had even made its way to your workstation at the office!
You finally resolved to ask him why you needed two tissue boxes in the bathroom, 4 feet away from each other, and called to him. And really, you’re only in there to grab your eyedrops out of the medicine cabinet, not knock a tissue box over trying to get them.
“Hm?” Kandomere says from the doorway.
But you’re too busy staring at what looks like the pharmacy’s entire cold medicine section in your bathroom cabinet.
“No.” you say emphatically, turning to him.
“You smell sick.” He states.
“No!” you repeat, “Absolutely not!”
There’s no way he knows your biology better than you, even if he’s been right before, you haven’t had a single sniffle or tickle in your throat all week!
“Not happening! I’ve got the girls’ night this weekend,” you say. “I bet you’re just smelling someone else, lots of people in the office are sick! I’m not getting sick!”
The flat stare he fixes you with absolutely does not dampen your confidence in your ability to will sickness away. There’s no way you’re coming down with something this weekend!
You sniffle miserably from the couch. Which is fine, because you’re never more than a stone throw’s away from a tissue box. There’s a steaming cup of chamomile tea on the table next to you, and you take a sip to wash the taste of DayQuil from your mouth.
You don’t even have the energy to glare at Kandomere when he enters the room, because this is all his fault, somehow! Lowering your immune system, trying to treat your illness before you’ve even got it, that’s gotta be it! But he’s also been at your beck and call, even though you’re not making it easy for him, and you’re sure the bowl he’s carrying over to you has homemade chicken noodle soup in it, so maybe you wouldn’t glare at him anyway.
And when he comes to retrieve your now empty bowl of delicious soup, you don’t hand it over.
“C’mere.” you whine pitifully up to him. “Want you.”
“You’re sick.” he says.
“Missing girls’ night, I want you instead!” you whine again. “Use that special Elfy disposition, right? Elves never get sick.”
“We still get sick,” he says in amusement, “You don’t want me to catch what you have, do you?”
You eye him contemplatively.
“Yes I do.” you say decisively.
All you get is an eye roll and your soup bowl gently tugged out of your hands. You want to pout, and sigh theatrically, but you’re suddenly terribly tired and really, you don’t feel good at all. It’s impossible to fight it, and you lean your head back on the couch. But you still want Kandomere.
“Please?” you say, to no one.
You don’t remember much after that; just a cool cloth on your forehead, warmth pressed against your side, fingers running soothingly through your hair, and words you don’t understand murmured into your ear.
3 days later, you feel great. Kandomere glares at your miserably from the couch as you bring him a bowl of leftover soup.
It is a relief when Neve returns to the Lighthouse. Lucanis had believed she would return, but having her back with the team feels…right. That night he and Bellara prepare a meal they know Neve enjoys, but even that’s not quite enough to thaw the frostiness between Neve and Rook.
Lucanis had seen how devastated Neve was in the wake of the attack on Minrathous. Had thought he could understand it to some degree. And he had understood why Neve blamed Rook for it all too, but then she returned and she’d told Rook that she was back and committed to the cause, but that seems to be as far she’ll go. She’s colder, less trusting of all of them with her return.
Still, he walks the path to her office, painstakingly avoiding Davrin. He doesn’t question Rook’s judgment and Maker knows they need a Warden with blight involved in all this, but did she have to find the most self-righteous one in all of Thedas? When he’s not threatening to kill him if Spite takes over he’s judging his career and calling him a ‘murderer for hire’. He’s a professional; it’s an insult.
Neve sits at her desk, barely glancing up at him when he enters her office. There was never trust between them exactly, but there has always been an understanding there. They both seem to understand each other’s worlds, in ways that are foreign to the others.
“It’s good to have you back,” he says, and he means it.
Her smile is a weak thing like she can barely manage to summon it. “Well, I never could walk away from a hopeless case.”
Because like this is a contract for him, this is a case for her. “How are things back in Minrathous?”
Spite wanders near the window. “Smells like rain and sadness.”
Her eyes are hard. “After the dragon attack, after demons swarmed the streets, after the palace shot at everyone... we're having a ball.”
He winces. “Ah. Sorry.”
She looks confused. “What for? You didn’t attack the city.”
“The Crows are still spread pretty thin with the Antaam still in Treviso, but if there’s anything we can do to help.” It’s a flimsy offer, but he makes it all the same.
Neve looks genuinely surprised. “You don’t have to-”
He holds up a hand. “It could have just as easily been Treviso, so whatever you need, consider it done.”
Neve leans back in her chair, seems to be considering what he said. Then she nods. “I’ll keep it in mind. So…tell me about the newest guests of the Lighthouse.”
“You don’t already have files on them?” he asks teasingly, taking a seat across from her. This at least feels familiar. Spite is even preoccupied with the wisps that float near him.
She shrugs. “I’d like your assessment.”
He doesn’t give her the real assessment, the one about how to take each one of them out as efficiently as possible. It’s not even something he does on purpose, simply the training kicking in. But, he has been observing everyone; he’s always observing everyone.
“Taash isn’t the most thrilled about being here. Harding mentioned something about their mother being the reason, but they know dragons. It ought to make a difference. And Emmrich? Well, let’s just say that much about Rook makes sense having met more of the Mourn Watch. He, Bellara, and Rook have discussions at dinner that I cannot follow, things about the Fade and the Lighthouse. It’s all beyond me.”
“And Davrin?”
“With as much blight as we’re encountering on the regular, it’s probably good to have a Warden around.”
Neve laughs at that, it’s a dry, joyless thing. “You don’t like him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Neve gives him a look that tells him he’s not fooling her. “You didn’t have to. And your tagalong? Any progress on that?”
He sighs. “No. Rook had hoped that Emmrich might be able to separate us…but…it’s not possible. Spite keeps trying to walk through the eluvian though. Emmrich did ward my room so that if I do fall asleep he can’t get out.”
She looks troubled by that but covers it up quickly. “Well, perhaps there’s another answer somewhere out there. Stranger things have happened.”
He’s not terribly interested in false hope or maybes, but he will find some way to fix this, to fix him after they’ve dealt with these gods. “Perhaps.”
Neve toys with her pen. “I heard you were in Minrathous with Rook.”
He nods. “Harding too. Rook…she wanted to help. We, uh, didn’t see you.”
“That was on purpose,” Neve admits.
He’d suspected as much. “Rook wanted to help.”
Neve seems unmoved. “How’s Treviso?”
The question is quick as a knife and twice as sharp. Neve is back, but he wonders if she’ll ever be able to forgive Rook for not going to Minrathous, and by extension him for being the one she went to instead. It should have never been a trade.
He won’t insult Neve by sugarcoating any of it. “Teia and Viago are juggling the response to the dragon with the fight against the Antaam. The other Talons are scrambling. And I don't know what Illario is doing. It’s not Minrathous…but…unless we stop Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain…”
“I know. That’s why I came back, this team is the best chance we’ve got to keep what happened to my home from happening anywhere else.” Neve’s usual aloofness fails then, the emotion seeping into her words. What has happened to her home has devastated her, is still eating away at her. There are no words, not platitudes he could offer to make it okay. He’s never been very good at them anyway.
“I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like some?” he asks, offering what he can.
She shakes her head. “I know where to find it if I do.”
***
Camina spent the last couple of weeks hoping that Neve would simply return to the Lighthouse, but now that she’s back, it’s almost worse than the silence. She’s tried once or twice to check in, have a chat only to be immediately brushed off. Neve had said that she’d had to make an impossible call, as though she’d understood…as though she’d forgiven her. But it’s clear she hasn’t, and Camina is struggling to not view it as a personal failing.
Chatting with Varric about the situation has been less than helpful. He just keeps reassuring her that Neve will come around and that he picked her for a reason, trusts her judgment, everyone else should too. She misses the days when he’d tell her a story about the Kirkwall or Inquisition days, the nostalgia so thick she’s sure half the story is made up. But it seems that confronting Solas has stolen some of that from him. There's something too tired, too sad, too old in the way he talks now for her to believe him when he says that things with Neve will eventually work themselves out.
Neve’s feelings about her are never more apparent than at meals or really any time that Bellara is around, they’ve sunk right back into the friendship they had before. Camina doesn’t necessarily miss the fragility of the early days in the Lighthouse, but she does miss feeling part of something…even if it’s a sort of desperate grasping for meaning. Now, she’s somehow the leader…and she feels the distance more acutely now.
Lucanis finds her in the library. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, he’s up at all hours and one can only brood in the pantry so much without eventually falling asleep. He ambles around the place, a mug in hand, and tonight is no different.
“Rook.” His greeting is less a question and more of an announcement of his presence. He’s too damn quiet, and after the first few instances of her jumping at his arrival, he’s taken to saying her name as he approaches.
“Evening.”
“Business or pleasure?” he asks, glancing at her book.
She closes the book, keeping a finger inside to keep her place. “Emmrich suggested this study of Positional Etheric Deviation.”
“With you, that still doesn’t answer my question.” The tease is gently tipped out with a wry amusement that she’d appreciate if she wasn’t still smarting from his comments in the Necropolis.
“Business. I’m trying to understand the magic behind Solas’s prison. He’s locked in the Fade and we’re in the Fade, but it’s not the same Fade, if that makes sense?”
“It doesn’t, but between you and Emmrich and Bellara, I trust you’ll figure it out.”
She sighs. “It’s…I’m just making up things to do right now. I just feel like I’m lacking direction. The gods have gone quiet, and it’s hard to know what we need to know, what’s important or relevant in a fight that’s not…well it’s not a fight right now, is it?”
He seems to be considering her words but shakes his head. “You’re gathering allies and learning everything you can. That’s important too, and I don’t have much to offer when it comes to magical theories, but the moment you have a target, point me in their direction and I’ll handle it.”
She envies his confidence. “Well, hopefully, I’ll have a target for you soon, until then I’ll just keep solving hauntings in the Necropolis and helping where we can.”
His eyebrows stitch together. “You’ve been back to the Necropolis?”
She nods. “Yeah, Will touched base about some continued disturbances in the Shrouded Halls. Probably connected to whatever the gods are doing to the Fade.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze focused somewhere on the table between them. “Rook, I wanted to apologize again for my comments in the Necropolis.”
The apology is unnecessary; he’s already apologized. So, why is she still bothered about the whole thing? It’s stupid. “It’s alright. I know that it must seem odd to you that a place like the Necropolis is as special to me as Treviso is to you when they are so very different.”
“It’s not odd. It’s your home…it’s part of who you are.”
Well, that’s certainly true. “Yeah, for better or worse. I don’t know how much it counts as home these days, but it used to be at least.”
“And you were really found in a crypt?”
“You walked around a place filled with skeletal constructs and where the rooms rearrange themselves, and that’s what you’re hung up about?”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair and lifting a hand in defeat. “But how did you get there?”
“One of life’s great mysteries. When I was younger, I tried looking, reading every bone in the vicinity trying to find someone, anyone with a connection to a baby placed in that crypt. I never found anything. All I’ve got are guesses, but no answers.”
“Guesses?”
“No one abandons their baby in a crypt as Plan A, Lucanis.” And an elven baby at that, but she doesn’t say that part aloud. Willow had been a foundling too, but she’d been kept by the Watchers who found her rather than given to an orphanage in the city…she never asked, but she could only ever assume that the difference had been that she was an elf. Camina is still trying to figure out how to reconcile being forsaken twice by the organization she’d devoted so much of her life to…only to be welcomed back now.
He nods understandingly. “I didn’t really know my parents. I remember them in snatches, glimpses of memory I don’t even know are real. Sometimes, I worry that I simply dreamt them up when I was mad at Caterina for beating or starving me.”
It takes Camina a moment to process what he’s said, and how he’s said it so casually. “She did what to you?”
He seems to realize for the first time what he’s admitted, and he looks somehow more tired than she’s ever seen him. He pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. “It was all part of Crow training. Very normal.”
Fuck that. “No, that is not at all normal.”
He sighs. “If training wasn’t difficult, we wouldn’t be the best assassins in the world.”
She knows that their lives have been very different, that their worlds are too. But there are some things that are wrong no matter where you are. “So that makes it okay? Don’t you resent her?”
“Not anymore,” he replies simply.
There was nothing easy about her upbringing, but even she knows that’s not what family is supposed to be. “You said you used to go to that rooftop in Treviso when you were upset with her. Was that why you were upset with her?”
The comment had been an offhand one he’d made after she’d followed him halfway across Treviso weeks ago, and she’d just assumed that it was the usual drama between a child and parental figure. She had never guessed that it could have borne out of a need for ra eal escape. She understands less the love he still harbors for her, for the grieving he’s clearly done since she died.
He looks momentarily stunned by her question, as though he never expected her to remember. “Sometimes.”
“What else did Crow training entail?” she asks. She’s simultaneously hungry for more pieces of who he is and terrified of what he might reveal next.
He shakes his head and the bags beneath his eyes look dark as bruises in this light. He needs rest. “Nothing good.”
If his upbringing was that terrible and he was the grandchild of the First Talon, what was it like for others? She can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about this, but part of her wants to push anyway, interrogate his childhood and why he doesn’t seem to hate the woman who raised him. But not if he doesn’t want to tell her.
“I’m sorry.” She wishes she had something more to offer…something more profound to say. She worries this is a misstep. It’s clear she’s seen more than he ever intended to show her, and it would be one thing if it had been shared out of trust, but that’s not what this was. And though he doesn’t move at all, she feels the distance between them grow, letting the silence fill it.
He isn’t looking at her anymore the next time he speaks. “It’s good to have Neve back.”
“Yeah,” she agrees.
“She knows we were in Minrathous.”
They hadn’t been there purely for Neve, but she had hoped that Neve might know that she intends to keep her promise to help Dock Town, even if it’s too little, too late. “Doesn’t really surprise me.”
“She’s taking what happened in Minrathous hard,” he says.
Varric had said the same thing. “I know.”
“We can’t fix it, but maybe we can help her get vengeance,” Lucanis says.
“That’s the plan. For now…”
He stands, starting for the door. “Give her time, she’ll come around.”
She wants to tell him that Neve being back somehow feels worse than the days without word from her. She wants to tell him that Neve’s clear disappointment makes her wonder if she should be leading anything at all. It’s too easy to want to tell him everything, to entrust him with all her secrets. But she doesn’t; the last thing he needs is to carry her troubles too.
“Probably,” she musters up a smile.
She watches him go and wishes she’d found a way to ask him to stay.
You’re hovering atop Tangerine’s face, resting on all fours over his body. Hands situated firmly beside him on the bed, weight anchored on either side of his hips.
He’s underneath you, his hands never seeming to stay in one place — his touch wandering from your thighs, to your hips, to your ass. Every little brush of his ringed-fingers is nothing short of desperate. His tongue curls up against your clit while his lips entrap your folds. Making out with your pussy, essentially.
You shift your weight, resting on one hand as you bring the other to his upper, inner thigh. Your touch is faint as you run up his cock through his boxers — a singular finger grazing up the underside of his shaft, lining the bulge of his chub-on.
“Don’t do that,” he muffles against your cunt’s lips, the soft shake-like motion of his head almost reverberating his words into you. “Won’t last two fuckin’ minutes,” he reiterates, hands squeezing you tighter like he was trying to prove his point — his grip a testament to your physical affects on him.
You slip your hand down the front of his boxers and palm over his cock, your touch soft and faint as you run across him. You pull his dick out from under the band, fingers wrapping around his base to keep him in your hold.
Adjusting once more, you press a kiss into the head of him, the pressure of your lips gentle as you begin to pepper them down his dick and towards your hand still clasped around the base of him. You run your tongue back up his cock, pace unrushed as you streak him with a trail of your saliva, running up to his tip.
You slip him into your mouth, only taking his head as your lips wrap around him, tongue laying flat on the upper side of his cock. You keep him there for a few moments, warming the tip of his dick in your mouth.
He nuzzles his face against you, muffling something incoherent into your folds as he twitches in your hand — coating your tongue in his cum.
Summary: You were living in the city, on your own. It was your dream though, you'd known it was far from home but you needed the space. Well, wanted the space. Didn't mean it wasn't lonely. The one time you actually met your neighbor, of course, you put your literal whole life in danger.
TW: blood, guns, murder, threats, cursing (it's Tangerine), protective!Tangerine (eventually), kidnapping, threats, and all things bullet train.
[[A/N: love a good normal person × Tangerine, and this is the epitome of that. Except you get way too wrapped up in it.]]
"Yeah, I know," you echoed out, fetching your keys out of your pocket -mindlessly walking through the hallway, "-I'm always safe, you know that."
Pressing your phone onto your shoulder, you heard a sort of bang -a heavy thud really, on the wall.
You furrowed your brows, the neighbor on that side was usually quiet. Like unusually quiet. You'd seen him, maybe once or twice in the hallway -he'd never said a word to you. Always wearing a suit and a super serious face, you'd assumed he was some sort of corporate worker with insane hours.
"Look," you spoke, unlocking your handle, "-I have to go, but I'll call you back tomorrow. I'm home already."
Slipping into your apartment, you sighed, pushing your phone into your pocket, dropping your keys, and taking off your shoes by the door. With the familiar thrum of your fridge, you mindlessly wander up to your couch and drop your bag.
It had been a terrible day at work, your boss was... well, your boss. And your work was exhausting, your feet hurt and your brain was working on the migraine of the century-
You just wanted to eat and watch your comfort TV show and turn your brain off -for an hour, at least. If not for the last few hours before you went to sleep, that was dream case scenario. Finally, when your brain was succumbing to the buzz of the voices, your eyes drifting shut, and the couch seemed so fluffy, there was a noise.
At first, you ignored it -figured it was your brain or something out in the hallway.
But then, it came back -a clear, harsh knock.
'2:30 am,' flashed across your screen as you looked at it, and then again, seriously, you thought you imagined it. Because who would that be?
You were fully awake now, leaning up on your couch, staring at your door -waiting, testing if it was real.
Knock.
Huh, you stood up -wiping at your eyes, and slowly slinking to the door.
"Hello?"
You don't know what you expected, but it certainly wasn't what you saw.
It was your neighbor, sweaty with ripped clothes (a suit, you think) -was he ever in anything else? His eyes were lidded, nose bleeding, it stained his mustache, and you were pretty sure there was a knife in his shoulder-
"You 'ave any first aid?" He had an accent, a crazy accent that somehow suited him but you didn't expect at all.
"Are you-" you were in disbelief, "-Are you okay?"
He paused, before retorting -frankly, "Did you hear a fuckin' word I said, love?"
"Sorry, sorry," you swallowed, beckoning him inside, "-I think I have one in my bathroom. Just- Just sit at the counter."
"Right, thanks."
You weren't even sure your feet were touching the ground at this point, but still, you were quick -sifting through your cabinets.
A man is bleeding out in my kitchen, your brain panged, -a man is bleeding out in my kitchen.
Blinking, you mindlessly -in an entirely different way now- but directly made your way to the kitchen. A kit in your hand, you pinched yourself for a moment -this would be one weird fucking dream.
As you said, the man sat on a stool -blood dripping down onto your tile. You briskly wondered how to get that out, before sliding all the supplies across the countertop -the clatter filling the quiet air.
Pulling yourself onto the stool opposite him, you licked across your lips -fidgeting with some packaging.
"You couldn't just borrow some sugar?" you mumbled, taking out an alcohol wipe.
"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frown still present on his lips -it seemed like it stayed there.
"This-" you motioned to him, "-is the first time we've met. You couldn't do a normal neighbor thing? Like borrow sugar-"
"Sorry, love," he rolled his eyes, "-I'll think of it fuckin' next time, yeah?"
"You should," you scoffed, "-I don't think every neighbor would appreciate bloodstains."
"And you do?"
"No," you stressed out, dabbing at a cut along his cheek -not the worst one but the first one you could handle right now, "-I am barely awake right now, and I'm half convinced you aren't even real-"
"Very real," he tsked, less biting this time.
You digested that information, swallowing dryly. A man, in some business, was on your stool, bleeding.
"Honest question," You pursed your lips, before focusing on another cut above his eyebrow. You were blatantly ignoring the knife, you literally had no idea-
"Go ahead," he huffed out, breaths puffing out of his chest.
"How the hell did you get stabbed?"
The man paused, thinking over his answer (why did he have to think?), "Break-in?"
You raised an eyebrow, tossing out the wipe, "You sure about that answer?"
"Better if ya didn't know, love," he mended -blue eyes slinking over your kitchen.
You hummed, picking through the material -thank god you took that sewing class, "Kind of expected that, mysterious suited neighbor."
"Tangerine."
You flicked up your eyes, confused, "Is that... Is that your safeword, or...?"
"Fuckin' hell," he sighed, using a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "-'s my name."
"Your name?" you questioned, tone raising.
"My brother-" he began before shaking his head -solidly, "-Doesn't fuckin matter, are ya gonna get to the knife wound or?"
"Listen," you spoke -a little pressed, "-I'm not one to stitch up wounds, Tangerine. I have to remember my sewing class-"
"You gonna stitch up my fuckin' shirt then, love?"
"Oh my god," you exhaled through your nose, "-no wonder you had to come to a stranger."
He opened his mouth -eager to bite back, but you promptly interrupted him.
"I have no experience," you said, taking the knife handle into your hand, "-but I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like hell."
"Lucky for you, love," he spoke through labored breaths -wrapping his fingers around yours, "-I'm very fuckin' experienced."
And then without hesitation, he tugged it out.
The next few moments were bloody and unreal to you -your hands working quickly but your brain significantly falling behind. You could cross 'stitching up a wound on a handsome man' off your bucket list if it was ever even on there.
Now, you sat on the stool -hands sticky red, and your shirt (one of your better pjs, sadly) stained just the same. With a roll of bandages, you wrapped his shoulder with tedious little movements -eyes focused only on the skin. Only looking up when you'd tied it off, mind finally settling.
"Is that everything?" You asked, careful to not put your hands anywhere except your shirt.
"Yeah," he spoke, softer, "-just some bruisin', I think."
"Let me get you some peas," you echoed, sliding down from your stool -steps slow, you were just tired.
He didn't speak a word, as you dug through your freezer -finding one at the very bottom, of course.
You extended your hand, the cold sensation keeping you up -aware. Right now, your brain was in overdrive, probably ever since he'd shown up at your door, and your body merely just followed behind.
He shifted, grabbing it from you -you saw a kiss of a tattoo that you were curious about but not enough to ask. Your eyes sunk along his shirt, which was not a shirt anymore, all bloodstained and ripped up.
Before you could stop it, you were asking, "Do you need new clothes?"
Tangerine paused, looking at you like you grew a third head. You were past that point, you had his literal blood on your hands -there was no need to be shy now.
"'Had a boyfriend about your build," you clarified, "-I never gave him back like 10 shirts, so-"
"10?" He interrupted and you thought you might've seen a smile quirk onto his lips.
"He smelled good," you offered, before spinning to the kitchen and proceeding to scrub your hands with no hesitation, "-You want one or not?"
"Yeah," he sighed out, a little awkwardly, "-Yeah, thanks."
"While I'm at it," you spoke over your shoulder, "-do you need a place to stay?"
He pursed his lips, hand pushed into the peas against his ribs -you imagined it would be a big bruise in the morning.
"I'm pretty sure whatever happened," you emphasized, "-left a mess. I have a couch if you need it."
"Bein' awfully fuckin' nice to a stranger," he hummed, eyes tired.
"I figured you would've killed me way earlier," you remarked, finally drying them on a nearby towel, "'Had some good opportunities."
He smiled then, you actually saw it with your own two eyes -you almost thought you were hallucinating. His head tilting back, as his shoulder pressed against your counter -he looked kind of like a painting, all twisted angles and sharp jaw.
"What's yours?"
You furrowed your eyebrows, "My what?"
"Your name, love," he answered, soft and attentive -much different than before (you kind of thought he might've lost too much blood).
"You wanna know that now?" You laughed, but even still you told him -there was something about him that made you feel at ease. He really shouldn't have.
He stayed that night, cozied up in your ex-boyfriend's shirt (which he looked surprisingly good in) and freshly showered. You didn't see him when you woke up that morning, and you didn't know why you had expected it.
A few weeks go by, and you were pretty sure that he moved out. Which, in retrospect, made sense, even still something in you felt kinda disappointed. He was the first person you'd actually talked to in months.
Coworkers didn't count.
You shook your head, he was literally covered in blood. In a business he couldn't talk about, and you missed him? You were officially losing your mind.
"Stupid," you muttered, eyes dipping across the TV -some sort of cheesy romcom that you'd never seen before in your life but still felt nostalgic to watch. It wasn't the worst thing you'd ever seen.
Good enough to sit and eat your favorite meal to, it was interesting enough to keep you awake.
When you finally slinked off to bed, and tossed into your fluffy comforter and soft pillows, you were exhausted. Far too exhausted to stay awake any longer. So, you didn't.
The sun was creeping through your window when you woke up, but not a morning sun -a too early sun. You groaned, looking to your phone and seeing without a doubt, it was 4:15 am. At first, you didn't know why you'd woken up so early but then you heard it.
A knock.
Initially, you were not going to move because it was warm here and you were tired.
But then you thought about if it was him, and if in the morning you'd see him dead on your doorstep. That would be suspicious, and you'd probably end up in jail-
You sighed, pulling yourself out of the bed and pattering to the door. And when you swung it open, you were met with familiar blue eyes.
Before you could stop it, you asked, "Don't you have any friends?"
He barked out a laugh -chuckle really, but something in him seemed nervous (like he wasn't sure if he should have come), "Lovely to see you too, love."
"Right," you agreed, before shuffling to the side and letting him in. He relaxed ever-so-slightly.
The first thing you noticed was a split on his forehead, just a cut -it wouldn't need any stitches (thank god, these pajamas were your favorite), and then you dipped to his clothes which were actually in tack. It was a blue suit, really complimented his eyes, and you wondered distantly if he did that on purpose. He seemed the type.
His pants though were dirty, and you could see him limping -only slightly. He was definitely not in as bad as shape as before though; you really wondered why he was here.
"Sit," you motioned to the stool and disappeared into your bathroom.
You got much of the same things and climbed onto the stool beside him, eyes sweeping across his face. Now that you were closer, you could see little cuts along his skin -teeny tiny.
"Glass bottle," he offered before you could say anything.
You hummed, nonchalantly, "Coulda guessed."
Your brain was numb at the moment, still sleepy and you once again thought this might've been a hallucination. He was handsome after all, and you did daydream about handsome men so it definitely could be. And you guessed you could have a saviour thing-
You stopped your train of thought, interrupting the silence as you dabbed at his forehead, "You know I'm not a doctor, right?"
He spoke, frankly, "You talked about a sewing class when you needed to stitch up my bloody fuckin' knife wound, love."
You nodded, fair point, before continuing, "Then why are you here?"
Tangerine paused, and you thought distantly he didn't have an answer, until he answered, "'Hard to do myself."
You thought for a moment, before replying, "What about your brother?"
"Not in the fuckin' country," he answered simply -something frustrated in his tone. But then again, when wasn't there?
"Hmm," you hummed, before rubbing the rest of the tiny cuts -he hissed slightly, "-different job?"
"No," he exhaled, "-just a different... mission."
"'Make it sound like you're a super spy," you laughed, "-but Tangerine isn't a very cool codename."
"Fuck you."
"You are such a joy," you remarked, debating bandaging the top cut, "-Are bandaids too baby for you?"
"Plasters?" He asked.
British, right, you nodded -waving one in your fingers, "Yeah, I think it's all I've got for your wounds. Well, unless you want it wrapped around your head-"
"'s fine," he muttered -low but you still caught it.
"Good," you assured, sticking one to his skin -fingers fluttering along his skin (when was the last time you touched someone?).
"Alright," you leaned back, gathering up your supplies -promptly ignoring the thought, "-all done here. Your leg-"
"Bruised ankle," he clarified -explaining the limp.
"Oh," you spoke, "-I'll get the peas again."
Your eyes dipped to his pants, covered in... something (maybe a mix of blood and dirt?), "And a pair of pants."
He didn't say a word, merely staying seated, as you grabbed the peas -sliding them across your counter. Before stalling slightly, asking-
"Do you even still live here?"
He pressed his lips together, apparently debating telling you -which you were slightly offended by, "No."
"So you're staying?" You asked, neutrally.
"Don't 'ave to," he spoke -not combative, and you really thought you were hallucinating then.
You tilted your head, confused, "You can stay, didn't I say that before?"
He nodded, still so wordless, and you were honestly the most confused you ever could be. Tangerine was quieter, softer, and it was nothing like the time before; he even seemed grateful.
"Honest question," you started.
"Yeah, love?"
"Are you okay?" You decided, careful wording with eye contact strong. You two were kind of close, he left his life in your hands -it was strangely intimate. Your relationship was very confusing, but it felt right to ask.
"Yeah," he answered -furrowing his brows, "-these wounds are fuckin' nothing, love. I have been far, far closer to death."
"No, I mean-" you clarified, "-like mentally. You're being too nice."
He raised his eyebrows, "Too nice?"
"Yeah," you stressed like it was obvious, "-you are like grateful and shit. You've barely cussed at me."
"You saved my fuckin' life, love," he questioned, "-shouldn't I be kind for 'at?"
"You should," you agreed, before contradicting, "-but you don't."
He was quiet then, eyes not meeting yours as his fingers tapped against your counter -seemingly running things over in his mind. It was awhile that he was doing that, but you patiently waited. You suspected opening up at all wasn't his forte.
Finally, still looking around your living room, he mumbled, "'Needed to see someone."
You took him at his word -not dwelling because it really felt like he didn't want to, and the rest of the night was the same. He took the pants, slept on the couch, and was gone in the morning -even though he couldn't have slept more than a few hours.
It started happening pretty regularly after that. You'd fix him up, he'd talk, you'd talk, he'd stay over. You started loosening up, talking about your job, and your life -nothing super specific. He stayed clammed up about his job, but his personal life he did talk about -there wasn't much, but he did talk about his brother.
You felt like that was a big thing.
And then, after quite a few months between visits, you heard a knock at your door. Super late as always, you made your way to it -expectant and in routine. This time though, there were two of them: a familiar Tangerine, and a man with bleached tips and a surprisingly big smile.
"Hello," he smiled and it was very odd -Tangerine hardly smiled, "-lovely to meet ya, I'm Lemon."
You could assume from the name, even still, you felt a little out of place, "Nice to meet you."
"Brother," Tangerine motioned to him -frustration nearly radiating off of him, as he made his way inside.
"Rude," Lemon spoke, "-can I come in?"
"Yeah, of course," you exhaled, letting him in.
Tangerine was relatively well -bruised knuckles, a busted lip, and a mild slice on his collarbone. Lemon was even better with just a black eye, atleast on the surface.
Instead of on the stool, Tangerine beelined straight to the bathroom -slamming the door.
You pursed your lips, turning to Lemon for answers, "What the hell is wrong with him?"
"Annoyed 'im into takin' me 'ere," he answered simply, "-'Wanted to meet who my brother was talkin' about."
He talks about me, you thought for a moment -you fully believed that you were a little miniature part of his life, not something he'd talk about. Especially to his brother.
He must've seen your confusion, because he continued.
"Oh, he never shuts up, love," he laughed, "-'Feel like I already fuckin' know ya."
"Huh," you responded, puzzled.
You thought about it for a second, running over the idea in your mind. What did he have to talk about? Your life? Your boring job, your lack of love life, your favorite cheesy movies? He told that to his brother? His brother with the same unbelievable life?
Why the hell would he do that?
"Please, sit on my couch," you finally spoke, wandering towards the kitchen with intent, "-I'll get you something cold for your eye. And then, I'll deal with the tantrum."
"Thanks," Lemon smiled, tottering off to your TV and without hesitation, popping it on.
He really was very comfortable for not knowing you. How much had Tangerine said?
You stepped into the living room, offering the same peas to Lemon (did you even like peas?) that you often gave Tangerine. He smiled gratefully.
"Do you need any like Tylenol?" You asked, further -eyes swiftly drifting over his eye, it was a nasty sort of yellow, "-that one is a shiner."
"So nice," Lemon hummed, "-no wonder my brother was hoggin' ya. But, I'll be alright, 'ave had worse."
You nodded, before slowly making your way toward the bathroom. Raising your hand, you gently knocked -nothing compared to his on your door in ungodly hours of the morning.
"Tangerine?" You offered.
The door slid open, and your eyes swam over him -taking in his wounds that you had before like in confirmation. He really wasn't hurt bad, not like other times.
Turns out, you didn't care and still wanted to help.
He was leaning against the counter fidgeting with his hands -you think there was blood on his rings. You spoke before you could think about it.
"You want me to wash those?"
He quirked an eyebrow, "What?"
“Your rings,” you clarified, mentally cursing yourself, “-or… do you need help with your wounds?”
He seems to think about it for a moment, eyes dashing across his knuckles -his rings, really. You only watched him for a few moments, half convinced you had dreamt this all up, that maybe he didn’t even exist. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, he was certainly handsome enough. And his name was Tangerine. This could definitely all be a dream.
“Think I can do the rings myself, love,” he laughed a little -you still weren’t used to that sound, “-and the wounds aren’t ‘at bad.”
You looked at him for a moment, peering along the busted lip and the slice on his collarbone, “You sure? It’s kind of all I do, is it not?”
He smiled, mustache quirking up, “If it makes you feel better, you can clean the cut. But really, love, I’m fine.”
You pursed your lips, taking in his breaths that swirled with yours -the bathroom was small, “I’ll just get you some ice for your knuckles. But if you die from infection, it’s not on me.”
He really laughed at the one, as you spun on your feet back to the kitchen -digging out some other frozen food you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. With a solid motion, you extended it forward (it was maybe tater tots?), offering it to Tangerine.
“Sorry it’s not the peas,” you spoke, pointing to Lemon -who at the time seemed to be half asleep on the couch, “-your brother stole those.”
“The fuckin’ twat,” he hissed out, a little too personally -you thought it was probably about something far bigger than your frozen peas. He could definitely be that petty though. So, it was possible.
"Woah, somebody's pissy today. Bad day?"
Tangerine seemed to pause, eyes swimming over you -like he was committing you to memory, you briefly wondered why.
"Yeah," he said, solidly -not elaborating. You knew better than to expect him to.
"Well," you spoke, a little awkwardly -not sure where to go, "-I've got... icecream?"
He looked at you like you were insane, but then again, when wasn't he? You said a lot of things without a filter in front of him. Handsome men, what could you say?
"Like..." you clarified, clearing your throat, "-to eat."
"Yeah, love, I fuckin' got 'at part. Why the hell would I want icecream?"
There it was. Tangerine in his true form.
You opened your mouth to respond, but someone else cut you to the chase.
"Sorry," Lemon perked up, "-did you say icecream? Because 'at would be really lovely with this movie, a great pair-"
"Yeah," you turned to him -his presence was a lot warmer (why was his name Lemon?), "-I've only got one flavor, but..."
"Fine with me," Lemon responded, with a big smile, "-brother, are you gettin' any?"
Tangerine huffed out of his nose, genuinely frustrated apparently -much different than a moment ago. What was he even angry about? There was nothing-
"No," he spoke through a snarl.
"Ouch," Lemon put his hands on his heart, replying flatly, "-really hurts, mate. Not used to your shitty behavior at all."
You decidedly left the room (not really it was all open concept), waltzing toward your kitchen with a focus in mind. As you were digging around, trying to find the pint you'd hidden from yourself, you were interrupted.
"Do you..." you turned at his voice, Tangerine, he didn't look very certain of his words, "-Do you need any help, love?"
"Help?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow, "-With icecream?"
"Well," he was suddenly very grumpy -probably embarrassed, "-you help me all the fuckin' time, so I just thought- Excuse me for fuckin' offering."
"You..." you started, standing and now facing him, "-You were going to repay me for saving your life, by helping me with icecream?"
"'S hardly saving my life," he grumbled, under his breath -you still heard it.
"You had a knife-" you motioned harshly to stress the word, "-in your shoulder the first time we met."
"Not deadly," he retorted, a bit pompous.
You rolled your eyes, "Look, give me the benefit of the doubt-"
Tangerine quickly said -almost on instinct, "I certainly will fuckin' not."
"-let's call it even," you continued, ignoring his remark, "-I save your life, you save mine."
"That's..." he started, "-That's makin' it even?"
"Well, yeah," you tilted your head, "-a life for a life."
He furrowed his eyebrows, you took it as him not understanding.
"Let's say that I'm getting chased down an alley," you clarified, before interjecting, "-Ooh wait, or maybe I'm getting robbed-"
"Are you fuckin' excited at the idea of gettin' robbed, love?"
"No," you quickly mended, "-it's just a better story. Plus, that's not relevant-"
His lips quirked up into a little smile.
"-What I'm saying is," you started, "-If I'm in trouble, you have to save me. To make it even."
"And how am I supposed to know when you're in trouble, then?"
You paused, pursing your lips -good point, "Uh, I don't know. Do you guys have like a bat signal? Like I hold up a fruit stand sign to the light-"
"Very funny," Tangerine interrupted -flatly, "-Look, just take my phone number, yeah? If you're ever in trouble, you can ring me like a fuckin' normal person."
"You're one to talk," you responded, before furrowing your eyebrows, "-Wait, you guys have phones?"
"Yeah," Tangerine stressed, "-who do you think we are?"
"Well, I don't know," you explained, "-don't phones have trackers? Won't that out you guys? When you're on... jobs?"
"Burners," Lemon quickly clarified, "-well, kind of. 'S on a secret network, basically."
"So," you started, processing, "-you want to give me your secret phone number?"
Tangerine hummed, realizing but seeming to settle, "Well, it's not like you've given me a reason to not trust you, love. Should I not?"
"True," you responded, "-I have not snitched on you. Even with... all the blood, and the knife, and the job you won't talk about-"
"We get it, love," he groaned out, "-just give me your fuckin' phone, yeah?"
You without hesitation gave it to him, he seemed to quickly put your phone number in his, and then his in yours -handing it back to you open on the contact. With a smile, you made his name the tangerine emoji.
"You put me as the damn emoji, didn't you?"
"Oh, yeah," you laughed out, pocketing your phone in one fellow swoop.
You ended up seeing them both a few more times after that with varying injuries. (Once Lemon had a broken nose, and Tangerine had a broken finger. No more knives, thankfully.)
They were starting to be familiar to you -friends even. Despite not telling you about their job, you had gotten to know them well; you hate to brag but you were pretty good at settling their arguments. It made you integral to their dynamic.
You probably should've known one day you helping them stay alive would come back and bite you in the ass.
See, if you were asked, you'd probably assume they had many enemies. They were, at least, fighting people on a daily basis -you don't do that if your job is a positive one. And fighting people, almost regularly, is a surefire way of saying 'somebody hates me'. They probably had an enemy in every other city, if you were realistic.
You don't know why you hadn't thought of that.
That day, it was just a normal one. You worked until the sun went down, and then went home. Or you were supposed to.
Your shift at work was long and exhausting and you kind of wished your bed was right in front of you -so, to be honest, you weren't in your most aware state. It was always dangerous walking the streets tired, you knew this, so you usually had someone walk home with you. This night, in particular, was a lone shift (hell on earth) with a manager you didn't like, so you didn't ask.
And maybe that was stupid of you, but you doubted they would say yes.
Your feet pattered along the sidewalk, street lamps fading in and out of your view. Every few steps it'd get dark and then light again; to be honest, you were too tired to feel scared when it was dark.
And then, right as you stepped into the light, you heard the screech of car breaks (which you were kind of used to) and then suddenly there were hands all over you. Gloved hands, black-gloved hands.
Before you could say a word, you were thrown into the back of a van -no seats by the way, and enveloped in darkness.
It took you a minute to adjust, head spinning and hands shaking against the cold metal underneath you. It kind of felt like when you met Tangerine for the first time, like you weren't really there. Like you were experiencing something so bizarre, it couldn't be real-
Shit, you thought to yourself, Tangerine.
You patted yourself, ruffling over your pockets -trying to find your phone. It was dark and you couldn't even see. You guessed that was why, your phone went clattering onto the metal, away from your hand -loud.
There was something in you that hoped that these guys were stupid. That they'd look over the noise and ignore you until they took you wherever the hell they were taking you.
You weren't that lucky.
The van was distinctly pulled over, tires even scraping along the bumpy texture. And within minutes, the door to the van was flung open.
They were just a shadowy figure, light framing them so you couldn't see any of his features at all. He was just a shadow. You didn't know if that made him any scarier.
"What the hell are you doing back here?" His voice was low and gruff -like a smoker.
"I didn't-" you started, trying to avoid your phone -it was shadowed in the dark. You doubted he could see it-
And then his eyes flicked directly to it.
You literally could not have had a worse day.
Instead of reaching for it, he eyed for you to instead. And for a second, you thought he might've been trying to help you. That was wrong.
With your phone in your hand, the man promptly put a gun to your head. From a distance, yeah, but still trained directly into the center of your forehead. Was he going to kill you? Just like that?
This was suddenly very real, you swallowed back tears and nearly dropped your phone -trying to raise your hands up.
"Please," you begged, slowly and shaky but clear enough for them to hear.
"Shut up," he hissed out, "-listen. Take your phone, and call 'em."
"C-Call who?"
"Don't play dumb with me," the man echoed out, and you heard the click of the trigger pulling back -dear god, "-we know you're close to the twins, we've been watchin' your place for months."
"Okay, okay-" you breathed out, it felt like your lungs were full like you were suffocating-
Tears burned at the backs of your eyes, as your fingers, shaking, scrolled around the contacts app -he hadn't texted you or anything so all you had was his contact. Only for emergencies, he'd said.
You almost wanted to scare him once, but the idea felt so very stupid now.
Clicking call, the man nudged your hand, speaking lowly, "Put it on fucking speaker, now."
You dutifully did so, even if it took a few tries to hit the button -your hands were shaking enough to blur the screen. Your head was spinning, and the only thing your could feel was the cold metal beneath your legs.
Why did you ever think this was a good idea? To get caught up with... with bloody men who had a mysterious job?
You were moving back home if you made it out alive -the city wasn't worth this.
"'Ello?" His voice was spent, and you could hear the raggedy breaths puffing out of his chest -somehow hearing his voice calmed you just a second.
The man nudged you again, so you spoke, "Tangerine?"
He must have not been paying attention, because your shaky whisper -wet from your tears, you were crying, went relatively unnoticed.
"Little busy at the mo-" you heard a solid hit and what sounded like a crack, "-ment, you sure this is important, love?"
The man kept his eyes laser-focused on you, you took it as a sign to keep talking.
"T-Tangerine," you repeated, more inflection -the shake in your voice unavoidable.
The noise on the phone, suddenly got very quiet -you heard him mumble something to Lemon 'you got 'im?' before seeming to pull his full attention to you, "Everything okay, love? You sound... Is somethin' wrong?"
The man looked at you, expectantly. You took it as to tell him what was happening, clenching your nails into your skin -it might bleed. The pain was distracting, even just for a moment.
"I-I'm," you tried, but your voice cracked, and your breath turned into a sob, "T-There's a man, he has a gun to my head, I don't- I don't know why-"
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Tangerine spit out, something fierce in his voice, "Lemon-"
The man snatched the phone from your hand, voice low and in a growl, "Seems I got something you want, Tangerine. It's only fair."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Doesn't matter," the man deflected, "-all that matters is that I have your little nurse, and you have no idea where we are."
The van, suddenly without warning, started up again -swinging back onto the road. You braced yourself against the wall, mindlessly blinking -this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.
You could hear the pounding of his footsteps -rushed, like he was trying to get somewhere, "If you lay a hand on 'em, I will fuckin' rip you apart, piece by excruciating piece. Slow and fuckin' steady, for hours-"
"You say that as if you know where we are," the man responded, "-as if you have a chance of finding them in time."
In time? your brain chimed, and everything felt so far away now.
"I swear to fuckin' god-" he spit out, venomous, "-if you hurt 'em-"
"Yeah, yeah," the man retorted -confidence in his tone, "-I got that part, fruit."
You breathed out, swallowing back tears, and wiping your eyes so hard that you were seeing spots; maybe this was all a dream, maybe you had just fallen asleep at work-
"Hate to do this to you," the man echoed out, "-but we have to go. Let's hope we see each other later, for your sake."
Tangerine nearly yelled through the phone, but that didn't stop him from hanging up.
At the next stop, the man moved back to the front -taking your phone with him. You sat alone, in the back of a van, in complete darkness.
Would this be the last thing you ever see? Really?
It was just like you were in the city, so incredibly alone. At least you had a chance then, to remedy it. Now... Now you weren't even sure you'd be breathing in a few hours.
"Oh god," you breathed out a big exhale, a sob bubbling up your throat -you had so much left to do, "-oh god."
The van didn't stop for what felt like forever, bumpy roads and quick turns -they were speeding the whole time, and you had no idea how they weren't pulled over. But maybe it was because of the hour, it was fairly late.
The door swung open before you could think about anything else, two men rushing in and grabbing you by the shoulders -dragging you out.
"If you scream," you felt cold metal to your neck, "-you're dead."
"Aren't you going to kill me anyways?"
"Only if your friends," the other man retorted, "-don't behave."
They tied something around your eyes, leaving you completely in the dark -gloved hands squeezing your shoulders so tight, they were definitely going to bruise. Three sets of feet pattered along what sounded like concrete, as your mind went numb -the cold, bitter air filtering over your skin.
It was echoing now, after you heard the swing of some heavy doors opening -must have been a big place. Your mind was reeling, you felt like you weren't even really there.
Then, without a word, they threw you forward directly into a brick wall -seemingly latching a door behind you. Your head spun for a moment as you tried to reorient yourself -blindfold still on, as you pulled it off you felt a stickiness on your forehead.
Pulling your hand in front of your face, you realized it was blood. How hard did you hit your head?
Your fingers flitted across it again, and you hissed. Apparently very hard.
You tried to look at your hands, see how much blood, but it was all shadowed -the darkness didn't change much from what you saw in the blindfold.
Hands shaking, you leaned yourself against the wall -tears steadily making their way down your cheeks. You could cry now, freely, as you finally were brought back down to your body.
This was really happening. You were in some dingy old room, and there were men outside who wanted to kill you to get at someone else. You were expendable, a pawn.
Any moment, any feeling, and they could just kill you. You'd die here, and nobody would know what happened to you.
You'd be one of those news stories you couldn't believe.
The brick scratched against your head, but it was kind of numbed by your headache -pounding where you knew the split of skin to be. Or where you could've guessed it was anyway.
That couldn't mean anything good.
Your breaths were starting to hollow out, low and slow, your body coming back to the cold concrete floors. You were grappling with your helplessness, what the hell would you do? What could you do?
You were... you couldn't do anything. You were done. This was it, all that work for... for you to die in some dingy old room alone.
And then, you thought of something you hadn't thought to. Something you'd never let your mind dig into, not really, because at the time it seemed stupid.
Tangerine.
You'd always known there was something there, something bubbling under your skin. Even with everything, you still... there was something.
Something warm in your chest at the idea that he came to see you. That it wasn't just for the help anymore. And he was handsome, and he promised to save you and his eyes and his arms and his hands-
Before you could think about it for too long, something interrupted you.
Boom.
It made your ears sting, the noise bouncing along the walls -you flinched where you sat. Breath sudden in a gasp, you stilled. Almost like as if someone could see you, like you were hiding.
There was some shuffling outside, someone messing with the latch on the door -they were struggling. Maybe because their hands were shaking? They were trying to get in-
And then, right outside the door was an even louder-
Boom.
It makes your head sting, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see spots. You swallowed, trying to calm the pounding in your head, rubbing at your temples.
Gunshots, you recognized, suddenly, they were gunshots.
Your heart stuttered in your chest, they were right outside the door. With a gun. With a gun-
Before you could think of anything to say, the rattling at the door started again -the scratch of metal against metal. It sounded more frantic now, somehow, and your whole body froze. Maybe if you didn't move they wouldn't hear you?
The door swung open, light pouring in that made your eyes sting. The door pounding against the wall -loud and opposing.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, staying completely still -hoping the shadow hid you against the walls. One hand covering your face, waiting until a figure steps into the room.
And when one did, cast in shadow, you sat very still. Watching their head twist around the room, back and forth -looking, searching.
You bit back a sob, let me live, let me live.
Then, they spoke.
"Love? Are you in 'ere?" He echoed out, "-Or was that fuckin' twat lyin'-"
"Tangerine," spilled out of your mouth as you rushed forward -wrapping your arms around him in a huff, "-holy shit, Tangerine-"
He stood frozen for a second, unfamiliar with the affection, you assumed. You inhaled a shaky breath in, the whiff of his cologne keeping you stable, there. You were safe-
His arms slowly met around you, unsure, but settling comfortably. Holding you for a second, just a second.
"Are you alright, love?" He pushed back a little bit -blue eyes scanning over you, "-Did he fuckin' lay a hand on you?"
"No, just-" you breathed out, pushing through the pain, "-he slammed me against the wall, I hit my head pretty hard, but that's-"
"Your head?" He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the light, "-Come out 'ere, love, so I can see."
"It's not really-"
Tangerine let out a big sigh, turning back to you, "Let me help you, yeah?"
You pursed your lips, eyeing him for a moment -he was relatively unscathed, just a blood stain on his shirt and maybe some busted-up knuckles. His hair was still in place and his suit jacket uncreased, he felt composed -sturdy. Stable, really.
"Okay," you whispered out, letting him guide you out the door -you hissed at the little light you did see, almost instinctively squeezing your eyes shut.
"Sorry, love," he spoke, soft and gentle, "-can't control the sun for you."
"You could block it," you remarked, "-god made your shoulders insanely broad for a reason."
He laughed, moving in his place so less light shone on you -hands moving to hold your face (tilting the wound into the light), "You think my shoulders are broad, then?"
"Duh," you responded, something in your head woozy -you stumbled a little in place.
"Shit," he reacted, hands smoothing to your shoulders, holding you up, "-Can you 'ear me? Stay fuckin' awake, yeah?"
"Okay," you blinked heavily, trying to see him clearly.
When you did, he stood there eyes desperately searching yours -looking at you, concerned. They scattered all over you, settling on the split on your head for a bit too long -it was still pounding in your head, made you flinch a little.
"Do you think-" you started, "-Do you think I need a hospital?"
"No," Tangerine breathed out, fingers dusting along your wound, "-just need someone to watch ya overnight. And to clean you up a bit."
"Wouldn't..." you echoed, "-Wouldn't a hospital do that?"
Tangerine met your eyes, his lips quirking into a smile (just barely), "You think you're fuckin' funny, yeah?"
"I'm just making a point," you deflected.
"Just-" he sighed out, before connecting your eyes again, "-let me help you. I want to, yeah? I really fuckin' want to."
"Okay," you echoed out, relaxing into his touch -relaxing finally, "-fine."
"Good," he tsked, and without hesitation wrapped his fingers around your wrist, "-now, let's get out of 'ere, shall we?"
You did so, eyes squeezed shut tight because all the light did was hurt. But Tangerine soothed you, hand still on your wrist, ("Close your eyes if it hurts, love, I've got you.") and guided you along, even sitting you down in the car and pulling the seat belt along your body.
"You know I could do that myself, right?" You spoke, eyes squinted open -the car was much darker.
He didn't dignify you with a response, sliding into your side and shutting the door behind himself. He silently settled into the seat beside you, like the passenger seat was taken. Which it decidedly was not.
His blue eyes kept darting to you, and you could feel his leg pressed against yours.
"You know that I'm fine, Tangerine," you exhaled, looking to him, "-don't you?"
He didn't respond, so you continued.
"You looked at my wound, I'm alright-" you laughed a little, "-I can sit in the backseat by myself."
Tangerine seemed to think for a second, before speaking decidedly, "If you go to fuckin' sleep, love, you won't wake up. I'm 'ere to keep you awake."
You could feel his breath fan over your face, and you swallowed. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, as your eyes stayed on his (blue, blue-). With another intake of breath, you snapped them away -eagerly looking out the window.
Well, you thought to yourself, you're doing a really good job, Tangerine.
The city blurred by, as it made way to more familiar silhouettes but not... not yours. Not ones near your home.
"Um," you spoke, particularly to Lemon (who was driving) "-are we not going... home?"
"You serious, love?" Tangerine offered, blue eyes decidedly matching yours.
"Are we not-"
Lemon interrupted -catching your eye in the mirror, "You were kidnapped, mate. Do you not remember 'at?"
"No, I do," you huffed out, eyes dashing between the two of them, "-they didn't get me at home though, they got me off the street."
"Doesn't mean anythin'," Tangerine countered, jaw twitching ever so slightly -he really didn't like talking about them, "-'Ey 'ave eyes on your home, 's how they made the connection to us."
"Tangerine-"
"He's got a point," Lemon responded, fingers tapping along the wheel, "-takes too much effort to prove 'im wrong, trust me."
"Lemon-"
"Why do you even want to go home, love?" Tangerine interrupted, eyebrows furrowed -genuine curiosity.
"Because it's my home," you reiterated, "-it's familiar. I know you guys may have forgotten the feeling, but it... it would make me feel a lot better to be home."
Tangerine sighed, a deep heavy sigh, "How about a compromise?"
You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across his face (god, was he pretty), "I'm listening."
"We stay at the hotel a few nights until they cool off," he offered, "-and then, you can go home."
You sighed out in relief.
"But," Tangerine clarified, "-me and Lemon need to stay with you for a while. There's not a fuckin' chance you're goin' alone after this. Especially so soon."
"What so-" you started, "-you guys are going to constantly be around me? I have work, and I... I need to get groceries-"
"We 'ave to be, love," Tangerine spoke in almost a whisper, soft, "-these people, they're not goin' to be as fuckin' nice next time. Lemon and I know 'at."
Right, you thought to yourself, mysterious jobs. They've probably done something like this before.
You involuntary shuddered, thinking about the darkness and the gun and your life-
Tangerine looked at you, eyes darting around your face -a slosh of concern sliding over his features, flickering in his eyes. It was no wonder those thoughts had come to the forefront of your mind, he was so protective of you. There's only so much you can resist feelings for someone who so very much values your life.
A handsome someone, your mind tsked.
Before he could open his mouth though, you turned your head back to the window. A familiar swirl bubbled into your stomach, you couldn't chance looking at him. Afterall, getting flustered with him was surely a dead giveaway and there was no way in hell Tangerine felt anything remotely the same.
And that was plain embarrassing.
You felt suddenly like you were in school again, and were crushing on a jock -that never even looked your way. It felt pretty hopeless, and even though it did, it didn't stop you from going to every game -just to pretend for a little while.
Was that what patching him up was? Your own sort of way to be close to him, to pretend for a moment that everything was different.
Shit, you thought, that is embarrassing.
Luckily, you severely doubted Tangerine would ever know. You were pretty good at keeping secrets. Hence, well, the whole reason you were even here in the first place -you regularly housed assassins.
It took only a few minutes after that (feeling blue eyes boring into your side the whole time) when Lemon pulled into a parking spot and you arrived at the hotel. Lucky for you, it was far from a dingy old place on the side of the road.
This place was way above your paygrade. You had never even dreamed of living such a luxury; all golden accents and marble floors. You hardly even knew this place existed in your city.
"I take it back," you whispered to Tangerine, as Lemon strode up to the front desk to request a room change, "-we can stay here forever."
You saw the woman point to you, clearly in concern and you suddenly remembered the wound on your head. Your fingers smoothed along it, and you grimaced, Lemon seemed to come up with some sort of explanation, though. And she promptly looked away.
Tangerine laughed at your words, a quiet little chuckle, and fell rather silent. You peered over at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything back; and when you did, he seemed to be stealing little looks at you -silently fidgeting with his rings.
You pursed your lips in thought for a moment, debating asking him about it.
Before you could, he opened his mouth to say something -eyes lingering on your face, like he was trying to memorize it (something in your chest fluttered), "Love, I-"
"Sorry, mates," Lemon interrupted, eyes dashing between the two of you for a moment, "-rooms are booked tonight. Lady says we can try again tomorrow but she doubts it'll 'ave changed."
"So," you swallowed, "-just two bedrooms?"
"Yep," Lemon popped the p, "-and hate to say it, but I'm gettin' one by myself. You lot can figure the rest of 'at out yourselves."
Something was gleaming there in his eye -something mischievous; you frowned -heartbeat stuttering in your chest.
Maybe there's a couch, your mind chimed -a little patheticly.
As fate would have it, there was. And an entire kitchen and living space -an expensive kitchen and living space. You were truly floored by this place.
"This is a hotel, right?" you questioned, eyes lingering on the high ceilings (you decidedly did not have those).
"For rich blokes," Lemon clarified, "-the kinds 'at hate to 'ave anythin' besides luxury."
You spun around, eyes darting between the two of them, "Like you two?"
Tangerine frowned, and Lemon snorted -disappearing off into the kitchen; leaving just you and Tangerine alone in the living space. That being said, each room was actually divided, with no open concept -just archways.
You slung yourself onto the couch, inelegantly (but when were you ever elegant) and were pleased to find it felt like clouds, "Why, if you could pay for this, did you ever come to my apartment? They probably have an on-staff nurse you could page, good god-"
"Eh," Tangerine mended, voice calm and confident, "-like the company better 'ere."
You smiled to yourself, small and quiet, heart fluttering in your chest. You are not making this easy, fruit man.
You cleared your throat, about to shift the subject because you frankly could not address the fondness in his eyes. Instead, Lemon came to your rescue with a smile.
"Well," he spoke, "-I'm fuckin' exhausted, I'm off to bed. If you need anythin', ask Tangerine."
And then, with that, he left -disappearing behind one of the doors down into the hallway.
"You can't sleep," Tangerine said suddenly, "-your head... We've got to get you to a doctor in the mornin', so they can look at it."
"Why not tonight?"
"I truly fuckin' doubt anyone of credit would be open this late," he explained, sauntering up to your side and sitting down (when he had the whole couch).
"Tangerine," you spoke, "-the emergency room doesn't just... close."
"I just," he sighed out, leaning back into the couch "-I want you safe for tonight, yeah?"
"I doubt they'd show up to a hospital," you reasoned, weighing your words.
Tangerine frowned.
"Look, I just-" you paused, "-you don't have to be on watch duty. You need sleep. Just take me to the ER, and I'll-"
He scoffed, repeating, "There's no fuckin' way you're going alone, love."
Swiping the keys off one of the tables near the door and shooting Lemon a text, he grabbed your hand and guided you outside.
The night was a surprisingly quick one, as you were taken into the ER and looked at. They quickly bandaged and stitched your wound, even sending you in to get your brain looked at. Tangerine was dutifully by your side, all night, even when they told you they'd rather keep an eye on you tonight. Something along the lines of what Tangerine said, keeping you awake.
He did, however, end up getting some sleep -slouched over in a hospital chair. One of those plastic ones that really could not be comfortable, and you knew his back would ache in the morning. But when you asked him to, he straight refused to leave ("No fuckin' way, love"); so, you were sort of glad he had gotten some sleep after all.
Then, the next morning, they set you on your way. Quickly reminding your husband (it was the only way Tangerine could stay overnight) of all the bandage changes and consistent eye he should keep on you; he seemed rather serious when listening -eyes intent, and almost as if he could, he would take out a notepad and write each thing down extensively.
You were touched, something in your chest swirling widely.
Was this how he felt when you took care of him?
Well, you sort of doubted so, because they were different circumstances. Despite the closeness and the fingertips on the skin, it was less protective and more domestic. Something very different in the closeness there, and the presence of him now.
Even now, as you leaned onto the couch, scrolling through channels -you felt his eyes solidly on you.
"Tangerine," you tsked, bandage smoothed across your head, "-I'm fine."
He blinked, as your eyes swam over his face and a pink dusted along his cheeks, "That's not what I- I was just... just lookin', love."
You furrowed your eyebrows, curious, tilting your head, "Why?"
Tangerine paused, blue eyes bubbling along your skin -like he was considering his answer, or maybe deciding on one. You thought for a second that he wasn't going to say anything -wordless, as always.
"Need to change your bandage," he deflected, getting up, grabbing some supplies, and roaming over to you on the couch.
You groaned, leaning your head back against the cushions -so soft and cloudlike that you almost couldn't stay frustrated, "We just did that."
"The doctors said," you mocked his accent, shaking your head with the words, "-spare me the speech this time, Tan."
He smirked, face so close to yours now (peeling the old one off, rough fingertips dusting along your forehead), "Fuckin' argumentative today, yeah?"
You swallowed, eyes darting between his -back and forth, responding shortly, "Maybe."
Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at the quickness of your response, dabbing at the wound quickly -cleaning it. He was gentle, with tiny little movements; it was hard to imagine these were the same hands that hurt others. He was so soft with your wound, why-
"You alright, love?"
He was a breath away, blue eyes (upon finishing the bandaging) matching yours, intensely. Tangerine just had an intense stare, like you simply held the world in your hands. It was like he didn't blink, even though you knew he did.
You swallowed, for a moment, eyes dashing along his face -it really was totally unfair. Your cheeks grew a little hot at the closeness, you saw his eyes dart to it -eyebrows furrowing together.
Good god, it really was like high-school again.
"What, yeah-" you laughed, awkwardly -eyes darting away from him, "-why would I not be?"
Tangerine hummed in thought for a second, and you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning, "Love... you're actin' really fuckin' odd right now."
You fidgeted with your fingers, watching them in your lap -you couldn't think straight right now. This was all new in your brain, and when was the last time you had feelings for someone-
"I'm not," you answered, finally -a bit like a toddler who was getting in trouble but the meaning all the same.
He sighed out a breath, seeming to settle on something and you could almost feel his eyeroll.
And without another second, you felt his fingers on your chin. Rough fingertips brushed against it, as he tilted you back to face him.
You blinked.
His blue eyes flickered along your face, slow and tedious, "You know you're safe with me, yeah?"
"Tangerine," you exhaled.
"I'd-" he started, eyes dipping away before coming back to yours -so genuine, "-I'd save you without the deal, you know 'at? Anytime, anywhere-"
"Tangerine, that's not-" you faltered, he was so broken open, vulnerable, to you right now. Something in your chest heavy, and your heart ready to spill on your tongue.
"I'd shoot 'im over and over again if it made ya feel safe, love," he continued, fingertip brushing along your skin like he was cradling your face, "-I'm sorry I ever let 'im put a fuckin' hand on you, you 'ave to know 'at."
"Tangerine," you sighed out, soft, "-That's not your fault."
"It is."
"Tangerine-"
"You're afraid now, aren't you?" He echoed out, a soft sort of whisper but filled with intent, "-How does 'at not mean I'm responsible? I never should've-"
"Tangerine!" You exclaimed, resorting to using your hands to cup his face -bringing him back down to earth, "-I'm not... afraid."
He paused.
"Well, yeah, I am, but it's not-" you tsked, before sighing, "-I know you'll keep me safe. I don't know how I know, I just... do."
He furrowed his eyebrows, "Then why-"
And then, as normal, your brain stopped functioning, words coming out before you could think them over, "You're very pretty."
He opened his mouth, a smirk smoothing onto his lips. You didn't let him continue.
"And I'm not immune to a pretty man caring about my well-being," you clarified, swallowing -somehow maintaining eye contact, "-I'm not... good at handling it."
"You're..." he started, a quirk of a smile on his lips (not that you were looking), "You're fuckin' flustered, love?"
"Mortifyingly embarrassed," you corrected, your voice squeaked out.
Tangerine laughed a little, "Ya sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"
"Ha ha, laugh it up, mustache," you responded, rolling your eyes -much more comfortable. The banter was easy.
"Well," he tsked, and you were suddenly very aware of how close his face is to yours, "-you apparently fuckin' like it, love. What's 'at say about you?"
You swallowed, "Didn't say it doesn't suit you."
"Hmm," he hummed, and there was a flicker of something in his eye -mischievous, "-guess not."
"Nope," you popped the p -awkwardly. Your eyes darting between his frantically, you felt something building in the air a moment -heavy as your eyes sat on his, and his on yours.
It was almost as if, a look, one glance held your entire being in the balance.
"I think you're quite pretty too, ya know," he echoed out, low and gravelly -you could feel his breaths scattered across your face. He was suddenly very close to you again, the fuzziness that banter provided snatched away.
Something twisted in the bottom of your stomach, as you opened your mouth -letting out a very quiet, "Thank you."
He seemed to take those words, just absorb them in the heavy silence that had bestowed upon the room. There was a part of you that wished Lemon was still here, that he could pull you apart but he left early that morning. And now, here you were, and all you could think about was his lips and that stupid fucking mustache-
You blinked, clearing the fog, and clearing your throat -backing up and standing to your feet.
Tangerine slowly came to the realization, the haze drifting out of his eyes, as they came to default onto yours -still intense but not as close. You could handle this.
"Anyway," you bit your lip, "-I'm kind of starved, do you... want anything?"
"Do I fuckin' want anythin'," he mumbled to himself for a moment -hands carefully putting the old bandage on the table and arranging all of the supplies so they wouldn't fall off.
And with a slow measured breath, he rose to his feet -steps teetering closer to you. His hands found solace in his hair as he rifled it up a bit, and on the cuff of his shirt -you saw a little blood. Was that from you? From your bandage-
"I've got somethin' in mind," he finally said, a little distant from you, but nothing like before (maybe just a few steps away from the closeness of the couch).
"Yeah, um," you cleared your throat, but it still felt dry, "-what do you... want? I think we've got like some... fancy tortilla chips and salsa, which... is a good one, or-"
He laughed a deep sort of low chuckle, erasing those steps you talked about before. You swallowed, words trailing off; there was a little spark in his eye when he noticed that you had -pride.
"You are really un-fuckin'-believable, you know 'at, love?"
"I think you've told me before."
He laughed at that, shaking his head, and you felt the breaths of each one scattered along your face -brushing onto your lips. You snapped your mouth closed at the thought.
Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, deep, deep breaths. You can do this.
Tangerine grew rather silent, before words seemed to bubble out of him without thinking, "You."
"What?"
"I want you, love," he clarified, "-in particular, I'd really love to fuckin' kiss ya right now, is 'at alright?"
"I didn't think you were the type to ask," you quipped, before you could really think about it, again.
He furrowed his eyebrows, a bit in defense.
"No, I mean-" you scrambled for a minute, "-you feel like the kinda guy that does it-"
"It?"
"-in like an emotional rush. You know? Like no words, just... just..."
Tangerine sighed, but you could see the quirk of a smile on his lips -you hadn't scared him off yet apparently.
"Sorry," you squeaked out, and you definitely saw a smile smooth across his lips.
"I'm fuckin' askin' ya, love. Say yes or no, yeah?"
"Yes," it came out in a rush of breath, a little like it clawed up your throat with desperation, "-yes."
Tangerine didn't hesitate a second longer, pushing forward with a force unmatched -big hands coming to cup your face at the hinge of your jaw. It was desperate, almost like he'd been waiting to do this awhile and the idea of that, made your breath catch.
You briefly wondered when it started, before he pushed into you further -hands righting themselves just below your ears on the back of your neck. He made you bump into the wall behind you. Tangerine promptly swallowed your squeak at the sensation, as easy as breathing.
Of course he was good at kissing too, your mind chimed, so unfair.
And then a more coy voice spoke up, but hey, he does want to kiss you though, I'd count that as a win.
Yeah, you decided as his mustache scratched ever so slightly at your upper lip and his hands dropped to your waist, definitely a win.
He pulled back a moment, breaths ragged and slow -eyes darting over yours, "Was good, yeah?"
You decidedly didn't answer him, pushing forward to kiss him again -this time a little slower, less rushed. He was just as slow, fingers holding your waist just slightly tighter like he didn't want you to leave.
Why the hell would I leave?
Tangerine was the one to part that time too, eyes slow to open like the kiss had affected him just as much. Your heart beat a little faster at that.
"Take that as a yes, yeah?"
"Oh, definitely," you laughed, hands coming to rest between his chest and shoulders.
He's strong too, your mind unwillingly retorted.
He didn't move, like he was simply absorbing your breaths and to be fair, you were pretty sure you were doing the same. He was nearly panting after all.
Words slipped out before you could stop them, "When I told you to borrow sugar, this was not what I was expecting."
Tangerine paused for a moment, gears working. Before his face flickered into something of annoyance, frown so prominent.
Tagging: @felhomaly @sinfulrefugy @venusthepirate@lunarpansexual@wanderedaway
Reblogs appreciated, Requests Closed while I catch up - let me know if you want to be tagged for future works! (thank you dcbicki for the gif!)
“Where’s my stuff?”
You lift your head up from where you’ve been scrolling on your phone to find him leaning over you, one hand planted on either armrest of your chair. He’s doing his best to look threatening. Bless. That’s not worked on you in a long time.
Warnings: mentions of blood, angst! And tooth rotting fluff because (canonically he is a loverboy and it is important to ME), mentions of murder, because well yeah...uhm anyways, Tan doesn't know you know but you know. You know?, Lemon is in deep shit, domesticity bc once again (it is important to MEEEE)
He's the only one other than yourself that has a key. It doesn't frighten you when you hear the jingling in the doorknob, or the rough, slow scuff of boots against your creaking apartment floor. You've grown accustomed to the rhythm. Of his footsteps, of the heat of his body when he crawls into bed.
You don't ask questions.Tangerine has proven to be a friend, a provider, a committed lover. If and when he can. It's all you've ever asked of him. And all he's asked of you is to welcome him with warm, comforting arms when it's late and he needs a place to get proper rest that doesn't leave him waking up with a paranoia that he might get got. You know?
In the two years that you've had this arrangement, he's been a perfect gentleman. He never comes in your home bloodied or battered, save for the occasional bruising or stitch. Usually well beyond healed, or close to it. Never wakes you up intentionally. Makes sure to kiss you goodbye in the morning if he has to leave early.
From this, a routine has been born.
Keys clink behind your door, the knob being gripped with heavy hands and then turned before the door creaks open. A shuffle of sorts, his boots coming off with the roughness of his heel prying the other shoe off instead of just untying the laces.
You're roused from your sleep, limbs buzzing as you stretch your fatigued muscles. You sit up, tired eyes adjusting to the dark. You're hazy from sleep. You expect him to come in at any moment, to lazily push the door open and begin stripping his clothes that he then folds and places on the nightstand next to his assigned spot on the bed.
Why do you take your shoes off like that but fold your clothes when you take them off? Makes no sense.
He's heard it so many times that while the first syllable is rolling off of your tongue, he knows what you're going to say.
But the moment doesn't come. The silence is all you hear, and for a moment you wonder if you've been missing him so much that you've fully hallucinates his arrival. God.
You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing away the bleary feeling and the spots that cloud your vision from staring into the dark for too long. The covers are suddenly too heavy and your throat aches with the need for hydration.
It takes genuine effort to pull yourself out of bed still. You grab your phone from the nightstand on your side, 2:00 AM.
Your fuzzy slippers scuff against the floor as you walk towards the door, you've still never learned to pick your feet all the way up. The small hallway smells of the caramel wax melts you had burning in your kitchen just before you went to bed, and lingers as you round the corridor.
"Fuck!"
It's whispered to yourself in a moment of panic, not anticipating the hulking silhouette on your old sofa, splayed out with one leg perched on the back and the other dangling off of the side. Your hands are clutched to your collarbones, more specifically to your metaphorical pearls.
It's him, of course. No mistaking it. But he's not snoring obnoxiously, and his head lifts just enough for you to see messy curls bounce against his forehead in the pale light of the moon that streams from your balcony windows.
"You scared the shit out of me," you're still whispering. For whatever reason. "why are you in here? Come to bed."
As you get closer, the scent of dirt and the unmistakable twinge of blood clouds the caramel wax melts. That concerns you. The scent shouldn't be that strong. And Tang would never come here if he were that badly hurt. Wouldn't want to worry you. Right?
"M'sorry. Didn't know know where else to go."
Your heart sinks to the depths of your stomach. His voice sounds hoarse, forlorn. You're moving towards him within the blink of his blackened eyelids, throwing yourself on your knees and finally sobering to the reality of the scene before you.
"Oh my god, you're hurt."
He chuckles sorely, and the shaking of your hands intensifies.
"Just got the taste beat out of my mouth darlin', that's all. No open wounds."
You reach towards the coffee table to turn the quaint old lamp on. You love antiques, must be why you keep me around. He'd say.
"Oh, how relieving Tan, Fuck."
He wasn't lying. He's more battered than you've ever seen him, pale skin colored purple and blue with splotches of crimson across his face and knuckles and forearms and - if there's no open wounds this must not be his blood.
The look in your eyes causes his ribs to ache more than they already are, like he's being kicked with someone's fucking steel toes all over again. You're scared. And he's not sure if it's for him or because of him.
In his right mind, he wouldn't have let you see him like this. But he's never in his right mind when it comes to you. Not ever.
"I'm gonna get the first aid kit. I don't know what else to do. Obviously you should go to the hospital but no, why would you do that? That's what any sane person would do-" you rise from your kneeled position, rambling like a mad woman. You're distressed beyond belief, taking a sharp breath in of surprise when he grasps your wrist. It doesn't keep you from getting up like he thought, and you slip through his fingertips.
"I mean what the fuck is this? You're hurt. You're hurt bad." You're angry now, tripping on your way to the kitchen, loudly rummaging underneath the kitchen sink.
"I'm sorry love, ah shit, I really am-" he sits up, clutching his abdomen.
"I don't need you to be sorry," you're running back with the kit, unzipping the pack and throwing supplies on the table with as much grace as a circus clown. "I just need you to be okay."
Your trembling hands attempt to unscrew the antiseptic, but the sudden tears streaming from your eyes blur your vision. You wipe them away viciously with the back of your hand, over and over till your face stings.
"Hey, hey." He's firm in his tone.
Two calloused palms blanket the top of your knuckles. It's a silent reminder that he's here. He's whole. He's home. You look up at him and it genuinely takes your breath away. Like the bruises and scrapes aren't even there anymore. Like the smoke has been whisked away from your vision.
Crystalline irises, plush pink lips, a mustache that desperately needs to be trimmed. You're in awe, and the feeling never really goes away. You rise from your kneeled position, climbing beside him with the antiseptic and handful of cotton rounds clutched to your chest like a vice.
You call yourself, examining his face. It feels obscene, forbidden to see him like this. It's like a sucker punch to the gut. You're a little bewildered at the fact that he's still one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen.
He rests his back against the couch, officially surrendering. You push his wild tufts or hair back, and as your nails scrape his scalp his head lulls with the movement. Your hands are a prophecy, and he is being fulfilled in earnest like this. Silence drowns the space between you two while your tears dry. It's welcoming. He drifts in and out of consciousness as you dab and wipe at his face.
You're taking care of him like he's the most precious thing that exists. It's an encapsulation of affection and tenderness, one he's never known in his life. Not from a mother, nor a lover for that matter. A couple years ago, the thought would make him sick. Letting anyone that close? That would be suicide. But with you it is wholeheartedly redemption. His eyelids flutter open and closed, open and closed, dark lashes kissing his cheekbones.
Ten, twenty, thirty cotton rounds. He's lost count, and the heap of them soaked in alcohol and blood on the floor is unguessable.
"Here. Take it."
"Hmm? Oh, thank you."
He throws back the four Tylenol and gulps down the glass of water, sighing in relief at the welcome of hydration and the erasure of copper in his mouth. He attempts to wipe the stray droplets from his mouth and chin, but your soft hands clap his thick wrists and place them in your lap. He keeps them there.
And before he can blink again, your warm lips touch his.
Over and over, gently, serenely.
Slowly you move from his cupids bow to the high arches of his now blemished cheeks, his forehead, between his relaxed brows. If a human body could melt from touch, he'd be a puddle of the goopiest, grossest most lovesick flesh known to man. Maybe the only one known to man. He hasn't checked the stats on spontaneous combustion as of late.
"If the other guy isn't dead already, I'll kill him myself."
Inhale once. Exhale once. Or is it inhale twice, exhale three times? He's forgotten how to breathe. Ringing fills his ears and only dissipates when the thundering of his heart becomes so loud that's the only thing he can hear.
"Sorry, come again?"
It doesn't even sound like him, and maybe under different circumstances you'd even chuckle and tease him about it. His voice breaks and everything.
Blue irises become obsidian in shock. Jaw slack as he stares at you. Your fingers begin undoing his dirty dress shirt, starting underneath the two that are already undone. You can already see the blossoms of blue and purple the more his skin is revealed, and your stomach turns uncomfortably.
"Throwing this in the whites basket." You say, as if he's even remotely concerned with why you're stripping him out of his clothing. He watches with a sort of wonder, a curiosity as to how this conversation is going to go. A fear twists deep in his gut, like a jagged blade. His Adams apple bobs as he swallows, and he realizes that he's scared.
This feeling he's struck with, is actual fear.
"Last year. That trip to Sydney you took with Lemon." You're down to the last few buttons, offering the beginnings of an explanation so he can stop staring at you like you've just killed his puppy.
"He sent the confirmation photo to the wrong person. Me. You were uh...behind the uhm...the guy. On the floor. Your lower half was behind him, anyways."
You pull the garment off of his broad shoulders, and luckily it's already untucked so it's easy to pull it off of his body with the way he's sitting. You toss it behind you, intending to worry about it at a later time. You're not sure if he's even breathing anymore. The rise and fall of his chest has lessened exponentially.
He's deathly still.
"Grandpa was in Special Forces. When I was a kid, my cousins and I would ask him how many people he'd killed. Of course we were too young to know how extremely fucking inappropriate it was to ask a veteran about the people he'd shot."
You smile at the memory, only because of the irony. This specific moment in time, under these circumstances. Your fingertips graze over the valleys of muscle, the ridges of tendon underneath his skin. It's hard not to get distracted.
"I don't think you're innocent. But I...I don't think the people you're killing are entirely innocent, either, you know? I mean, if you're an assassin, it's not your job to go after the good guys."
You finally look up to meet his eyes. You're not sure what you expected. A deer in headlights, a moth to a flame, a lamb in the lions den. Maybe all of them combined. A reverence washes over him like cool water, and the air between you two is as still as steady water.
"Are y'gonna leave me?"
It's the first thing he says. And it doesn't come from a conscious part of himself. If he were in any rational state of mind he'd be yelling, screaming, maybe not at you but at the mere thought of his brother fucking up that badly, not only risking his career but...but you? You. No no that's too much to bear. It doesn't even seem like it should exist in his realm of thoughts, or reality at all. It's excrutiating.
So yes, the first words out of his mouth are uttered with the voice of someone Tangerine hasn't been in a very long time. Someone who's vulnerable. Someone who actually has something to lose. Someone who can't fathom the thought of being abandoned, but more so, being without your presence in his life.
And just like the angel you are, you cup his face in your hands. Delicately, as if you're not holding a killer in your hands.
"No, silly. I think if I was going to do that I’d have done it already.” You push the sweat dampened curls from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. He looks so incredibly vulnerable. Somewhat innocent in the unintentional pout of his bottom lip.
The blood has finally returned to his face, to his limbs. It's like he's a tin man slowly being oiled in all the right places until he can move and function correctly, normally. A small part of him is still waiting for you to run away.
His world isn’t sweet. It isn’t soft. It isn’t kind or understanding. So this is all sort of perplexing for him, accepting that you’re here, still.
You stay right where you are, and his hands reach out feverishly to pull you closer, closer, closer. You're spreading your thighs and stretching your legs so that he can seat you on his lap - big, strong arms holding you like he's never received affection before. Or been able to give it at all, for that matter.
"You knew. All this time? Un'fuckin believable."
You lean in to kiss him once again, but he meets you halfway - consumed within the feeling of your love, your tenderness.
He stares up at you with stars in his eyes, breathless to the full extent.
He has never had a real home. But he's realized, on this thrifted sofa in a room that smells like you and caramels, that he's found it in his arms.
ask: The boys u currently take requests for and their reactions to reader pulling them close by their tie plz plz plz I'll worship you forever🙏🙏🙏
warnings: implied explicit themes
includes - in said order
~ James Potter - harry potter marauders era (yes ik it's technically a fancast but he's my baby)
~ Tangerine - bullet train
~ Dave Lizewski - kick-ass
~ Count Alexei Vronksy - anna karenina 2012
~ Tom Ryder - the fall guy
~ Pietro Maximoff - avengers: age of ultron
~ worship me forever you say? 😏 ~
• James and his parents host plenty of fancy parties at the Potter mansion. They're always fun but formal, which means, obviously, James is wearing a suit and a tie.
• As his girlfriend, he insists that your dress matches his tie. He's very very serious when he says it. Like, dead serious. He'll pout if you don't and you find it slightly annoying, if not endearing.
• During the party, you'll mingle with your friends and have a blast. You and James don't have to stay connected at the hip, but he'll always check in on you.
• You'll have a few drinks, being slightly tipsy. James is as tipsy and he'll make a joke as you stumble towards each other, your hand fiddling with his tie.
• "You look like someone hit you with a bludger," James will giggle, his words slurred.
• You'll smirk and your hand tightens around his tie, yanking him down to your height, pressing your lips onto his and savoring his taste. He tastes like the expensive cherry wine his Mum adores.
• Obviously, this turns James on and he has to control himself from ravaging you in the middle of the dance floor because that isn't very gentlemanly of him.
• Tangerine always wears his suit out. He has an assortment of suits, mostly in different shades of blue (to match his eyes but he'll never admit to that.)
• You love his suits because you find them sexy. He knows you love them so he feels ever sexier.
• "Stop starin' at me like that," he'll joke, glaring as he walks by you.
• He loves when you stare.
• Often, you'll use his tie to pull him places whenever you want him to follow you. The small gesture of dominance turning him on so badly. Tangerine is usually the one in control, but not this time 😉
• Tangerine will happily follow you like a puppy, being lead by his tie and Lemon makes fun of him, which only earns him a middle finger from his brother.
• Pull him in by his tie and kiss him? He's head over heels, he's a goner
• 100% secretly likes when you're in charge (you know this)
• "You like when I pull you around, huh?"
• He'll nod. You make him a mess and he can't bring himself to care.
• Dave only wears a suit and a tie on special occasions and so because it's rare to see him in formal attire, when you do it does always make it extra special.
• You can't keep your hands off him and he's obsessed.
• "Mm, you look so pretty, Davey," you'll whisper in his ear, your fingers gliding over smooth the material of his tie (you'd helped him tie it)
• Dave's cheeks will burn a bright pink and you'll stroke some of his dark curls behind his ear, touching where his ears have turned pink too as your smile widens. You love making him flustered!
• If you're at a school dance, you'll be attached to his hip the entire time.
• It's your fourth dance and just as the evening dies down and it's his turn to press a kiss to your cheek, missing your lips by a little.
• You'll smirk and use his tie to guide his head so he doesn't miss your lips this time. The kiss surprises him as he blushes from embarrassment and also his overwhelming love for you.
• Does Alexei wear ties or bow ties?!
• Well either way, there is always something to grab onto (😏) and because your favorite thing to do is help him dress before a night out, adjusting his cuffs and collar for example, you use it to your advantage.
• "Why do you have a cheeky look on your face, dove?" He'll ask, his blue eyes narrowing as his gaze then flickers to the mirror behind him to check his appearance.
• "No reason, my love," you whisper.
• There is a reason.
• Once you finish, you smile up at him and pull him closer, your hand wrapped around the fabric, as you kiss his lips passionately.
• When you pull away, his cheeks are flushed and he can barely form words. His hands slide down your waist and tighten.
• "Do it again, please," Alexei will whisper in your ear.
• Tom is a cocky asshole. He prides himself on always being on top. But you being his girlfriend, it comes with certain perks.
• You have him wrapped around your finger as you push him against his trailer, kissing him roughly. Tom is loving the attention as he makes snarky comments between kisses.
• You grab his tie, the one he's wearing for his costume, and pull harshly. You bite on his lip, causing a yelp from him and a faint blush to grace his features.
• "Shit," Tom groans, his eyes wide.
• You'll pull away and tighten your hand around his tie. "You like that?"
• Tom nods and pulls you in for another kiss.
• Pietro is always bouncing around, so to get him to stay still is a pretty hard task.
• You're at an Avengers party when you see him fidgeting with this tie in the corner, either anxious to leave or anxious to be here. You feel for him.
• So, you walk over and stand directly in front of him. "Are you okay, Pietro?" you ask kindly, watching him fiddle with the tie. It‘a quite badly done.
• You smile and pull his hand away gently. Pietro startles, his cheeks turning pink as he feels embarrassed. "Papa n-never taught me," he says, sounding shyer than you've ever seen him.
• "It's okay. I can do it for you," you hum and tie his tie correctly. "Why didn't you ask Clint?"
• Pietro would shrug, looking away. "I was embarrassed," he admits, looking even more embarrassed.
• He looks at you, his heart beat pounding so hard. Yours does the same, your fingers curling in his tie as you slowly pull him in. Your lips hover above his for a moment, hesitating.
• Pietro is the one who kisses you, finding his cheeky charm again as the embarrassment from the situation fades.
• "How long you been wanting to do that?" he teases.
Description: Tangerine misses his girl after a long job.
Pairing: Tangerine x fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+ only!, oral (f!recieving), p in v, somno (implied mutual consent)
Word Count: 1.3k
A/N: not proofread bc i didn’t wanna
Tangerine slid his key into the lock, turning it slowly with a click. Then the deadbolt above it, extra careful to make it silent.
He pushed the door open, padding in as softly as he could, not even bothering to shut it until he’d disarmed the alarm system just beyond the entrance. As soon as he heard the tiny beep that indicated the alarm was off, he closed the door, locking it again. He reset the alarm, then turned to toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket.
He glanced around the home, noting that everything had been shut off for the night, save for a salt lamp in the living room. He peeked around the corner of the hallway, seeing nothing but a tiny bit of light peeking out from under the bedroom door. Probably her diffuser, he thought to himself.
He tiptoed down the hallway, breathing a little heavier with each step closer to the door at the end. He put his hand on the knob, gripping it gently as he turned it, opening the door. He was careful to go slowly as to not make a sound since the door could tend to get a bit creaky.
He stepped inside the room as soon as he could fit from behind the door, smiling to himself a little as he saw the diffuser running, filling up the room with the smell of lavender.
He ran a hand through his hair as his eyes drifted to the bed, and the woman in it. He almost groaned seeing her half-covered by the blankets in the nightgown he loved so much. She looked so pretty and peaceful like that, her chest rising and falling slowly with every breath.
He tugged on his tie, loosening it a little before fully pulling it off. He set it on a nearby dresser. Then, he pulled off his vest, leaving it with the tie.
He walked closer to the bed, careful to stay quiet as he pushed up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top four buttons of his shirt. He reached forward as soon as he got close enough, slowly pulling the covers off of her body. His eyes trailed the top of the comforter as it revealed her to him, inch by inch. Her soft, white nightgown draped over her chest and stomach. Her panties on display from where the gown had ridden up. Her plush thighs, and the rest of her pretty legs. All for him.
He let out a breath, palming himself through his trousers, hard just from looking at her. He slowly crawled onto the mattress, carefully pushing her legs apart.
He kept an eye on her face as his hands moved up her legs and got a hold of her baby blue panties, pulling them slowly down her legs, tossing them across the room. He groaned softly, his eyes drawn immediately to her perfect cunt.
“Fuck,” he muttered gently, lowering himself down between her legs.
He started kissing up her thighs, sucking the supple skin into his mouth every few kisses. If he could died between her legs, he was sure he’d die a happy man.
His mouth trailed up further and further until his lips were ghosting over hers, breathing in her scent. She was already a little wet, and he was determined that it was because, even in her sleep, she knew he was nearby. He pressed a soft, open mouth kiss to her cunt, wanting to feel the silky flesh on his lips more than anything.
He swallowed after the kiss, feeling totally wrecked by her already. He reached his hand up, sliding two fingers between her folds before opening her up, licking a long strip from her hole to her clit. He moaned into her, swirling his tongue around the little bud before sucking it into his mouth, his cheeks hollowed out. He focused his tongue on her clit, his fingers sliding to her entrance, teasing around the hole before sliding one in.
He swore he could pass out as he heard her let out a breathy moan, slowly starting to wake up. He smiled against her, curling his finger inside of her, relishing the feeling of her walls, soft and spongy, against his skin. He ground his hips against the bed, needing to get some kind of friction with how painfully hard he felt.
“Tan…?” she mumbled softly, her back arching off the bed a little.
“Hey, m’love. I’m home,” he said, his voice reverberating through her pussy.
She moaned softly, her hand immediately moving to tangle in his hair. He smiled, licking her softly before he slightly lifted his head up.
“Hope you don’t mind, darlin’. Couldn’t help myself with you laying here all pretty. I missed ya,” he said, watching her face.
She shook her head. “Don’t mind. Please don’t stop.”
He smirked. “Glad to oblige ya, love.”
He moved back in, kissing her leaky cunt once again before sitting up on his knees. She watched him with hooded eyes as he started undoing his belt.
“It’s been too long,” he muttered, undoing the button on his trousers, zipping them down.
“Too long,” she nodded, her eyes on his hands as he pushed the material down his thighs.
He didn’t even bother taking it all off, pushing down his briefs next, letting his cock spring free. They rested near his knees as he dragged the head of his cock through her folds, groaning softly.
“M’fuckin’ sensitive. I think my cock might’ve missed you more than I did,” he gritted out, pulling her hips forward.
He could have cum on the spot from the sound she made as he pushed his tip inside of her, soft and needy and fucking desperate. He leaned himself over her body, propping himself up on his forearm as he pressed into her, kissing her temple.
“Love you, darlin’.”
“I love you.”
He smirked at her voice, snapping his hips against hers, his cock buried to the hilt. She moaned, gripping hard onto his arm as he started fucking her into the mattress, no longer worried about being so gentle with her.
“That’s my girl,” he groaned into her ear.
He relished in the feeling of her walls squeezing him, too tired to keep herself relaxed for him. He knew he wouldn’t last long like this, but he didn’t expect to anyways. He hadn’t gotten to properly fuck her in almost a month: he didn’t care if he came right away. He just needed to be inside of her.
“Come on, love,” he grunted, his hand moving between their bodies to rub her clit harshly.
She whimpered, holding onto him like her life depended on it as he brought her to the edge. He moaned into her ear, kissing down her neck sloppily.
“Fuck,” she whined, her body starting to tense up.
Tangerine groaned loudly. “That’s it, baby.”
He practically whimpered as she clenched down around him, cumming hard on his cock. Her walls pulsed, drawing him dangerously close to his own climax. He put it off as long as he could, wanting to fuck her through her release, but he could only do so much.
“Shit, baby,” he grunted, pulling out just in time to make a mess of her stomach, his hips jutting into his hand as he finished. “Fuck.”
He looked down at her body, her pussy soaked and messy, her tummy not much different.
“God, you’re pretty like this,” he said softly, leaning back on his knees to look at her. “Messy girl.”
She whined softly. “I missed you.”
“Missed you more, love,” he smiled softly, brushing his hair away from his face. “Promise I’ll fuck you proper tomorrow morning.”
He leaned down to kiss her lips once, determined that he wouldn’t be taking another job for at least six months.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: ½
Fandom: Bullet Train (2022)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Tangerine (Bullet Train)/Reader
Characters: Tangerine (Bullet Train), Lemon (Bullet Train)
Additional Tags: Hotels, Hotel Sex, BDSM, Aftercare, Fluff and Smut, Stranger Sex, Strangers, Shameless Smut
Series: Part 1 of Building Rapport
Summary:
The twins are staying at the hotel you work at, and one of them has not only taken a shine to you, but also seems to know all your filthy fantasies about fraternising with a guest.
Intro:
Ah, the late shift on a Tuesday, the dream shift in your line of work. It was quiet enough that your manager gave in and let you have a chair behind the desk, not only that but she’d even had the bar make you each a coffee before she retired to her office. The bitter scent wafted around you, carried by the steam and helping you stay awake as you went through the paperwork from that day’s arrivals. Slow season meant skeleton shifts, so you were sat behind the desk on your own, chin in hand and humming absentmindedly along with the elevator music playing across the lobby, the stack of check in sheets slowly growing beside you, waiting to be filed away.
frothing at the mouth, pls tell me this isn’t giving TAN
not what i thought it was going to be, but once the words, you know, like, registered - JFC - my heart actually hiccuped. that's actually kinda... hot? it's hot. my partner got all excited, my mother was weirdly neural.
it's the hot headcannon i didn't know i needed! how dare you be so RIGHT yet so LOUD but also, how dare you send me this while i have PMS - reminding me of how horny i am!?
yet your mind? chef's kiss.
couple thoughts -
okay, so, at first, it's slow and languid; akin to two teenagers first kissing - all timid, shy, insecure. it's because Tan knows he can't just jump your bones, so, he goes at a snail's pace to give you plenty of time to adjust; also providing ample space to change your mind, if you wanted. when he feels you start to retreat into panic, he pulls back and reaches for his gun snug in his shoulder holster, his brows crinkled before presenting the weapon on a flat palm. he'd tell you the "type" of gun, prove it was loaded, then discard the "bullet in the chamber", snap the magazine back into place, and finally, show where the safety was and how to turn it on / of.
when you question him, he's explains that he knows how you can sometimes feel panicked, overwhelmed, scared, fearful, and / or uncomfortable because of your past. he never wanted nor intended to trigger you. it was a sensitive subject, but after dating close to a year, you had decided to fully give yourself to Tangerine in a sign of faith, love, and trust. hence why you were laying on a mattress covered by a goose feather duvet, Tangerine on top, you flat on your back, ready to engage foreplay.
"here," he whispered, "take it, doll, gotta hold it. there's a good girl - yeah, just hold it - good, feel the weight... see that? it's loaded, princess, and loaded guns are about a pound heavier in hand. all right, good. now, look, see, you're gonna hold it like this, this finger - yeah, yep, good, goes here."
"why're you doing this?"
"because you say it's the lack of control that often scares you, yeah?" he waited until you nodded meekly. "so, here, even the odds - anyone tries to overpower you, now you're protected. if holding a gun to my head is what it takes for you to feel safe? for me to get a taste? fucking fine, princess, you hold that fuckin' gun," he all but growled, your body relaxing unconsciously, "right at me fuckin' head, but don't mind me," his fingers curled around the waistband of your cotton shorts and panties, you lifted your hips to aid him in freeing your bottom half. "i'm just gonna take a quick peak, maybe get a li'l sample..."
so, first time, it's missionary. gun's at his chest or ribs.
which morphed into you on top, riding him, arm extended to hold the barrel right between his heavy-lidded eyes or under his jaw.
you even tangled one hand in his ringlets, gun at his temple while sharing several long, wet kisses.
or maybe it's like, you and Tan are in some kind of argument. it's a fucking whirlwind, a tornado of aggression and frustration and confusion; yelling insults and verbally punching below the belt.
so, what it boils down to is what i think Reddit calls "a dead bedroom". it feels like the romance had expired, like you two were just roommates since you only fucked him like a chore on your to-do list because you're both just busy with work. this is the fight that brings out the ugly; where fears, assumptions, and anxieties are aired out and confronted.
"i can't read your fuckin' mind!" he snarls.
"give me the chance to explain. all right? okay? let me live long enough to at least get through the story. let me tell you somethings - things you might not know that will help make sense of this situation."
Tan was still coming off his adrenaline high, snarky and a little unreasonable - but he listened as you relaid to him past traumas and what you had been triggered by. he began to feel violently guilty for picking this fight, but in love or not, Tan's still an asshole.
so, he literally sets his gun down and kicks it across the glistening hardwood floor, trapping the weapon with your foot. "there - is that it? huh? that what you want?" Tan snarls, sounding hateful and distraught, unsure how to prove himself and erase all those putrid memories that still hurt you.
so he did the only thing he knew and gave you his gun. it was a symbolic gesture of his safety and commitment that you accepted. "there! see? is this gonna get you there?" he asked. "if it means our sex life improves - i'm all for you holding that fuckin' gun to me fuckin' head. yeah? all right? just don't fuck with the safety - "
"it's loaded!?"
so, after emptying the clip and chamber, simply resetting the spring and triggers (sure to discharge the one in the chamber); diving head first into the abyss: ✨Tangerine✨
that night, Tan slows down. see, it makes sense that after a fight, you guys might hate fuck, but after this particular fight, Tan's sitting up in bed, his bulging arms around your waist, and you're riding him like you placed a bet at the Kentucky Derby before competing in the fucking race yourself!
Okay for another rec. I know you are busy but I need to send you this before I forget it in like 20 minutes
Tangerine x reader smut and fluff?
You work with the Twins and over time you and tangerine develop a FWB sort of agreement. That is after missions and assignments you two always end up in a safe house where you blow some off some steam and come down from whatever hell you just went through.
After one smutty unwinding sesh, you can tell tangerine is still tense but exhausted. So without words you arrange yourself on one side of the bed and guise his heavy body to lie on you for a cuddle, you show him that it’s okay to be the little soon. You gently run you fingers through his hair and calm him down more eventually falling asleep. From then on, it’s rare and he won’t say it out loud but you know when he needs to to be held.
Im a sucker when guys are never used to that type of comfort. Never knew they can be the little spoon, or your weighted blanket. Like they are touch starved so when you show them that affection they are like WTF?! but melt into it.
frickin love LOVE love fics like this omg!! he so deserves it. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌
GIVE IN TO IT.
tangerine x implied fem!reader — fluff/ comfort
word count. 453
summary. he’s not used to being the one to receive affections, so you take it upon yourself to change that after noticing he looks down (paraphrasing from the ask)
Tangerine is very rarely the kind of guy that’s open about the way he feels, about what is actually going on in his head. He often brushes off concerns and questions, dismissing any kind worry as he felt it wasn’t worth the hassle.
You learnt rather quickly through your no strings attached agreement, that he’s almost reluctant about being the one to receive love and care, and that he’d much prefer being the one to give. And though you both promised nothing else would come of this situation – that it would strictly remain physical, you couldn’t help but want to be the reason to let down his guard. To let him absorb that love he ever so clearly needs.
Safe houses after missions were the prime spot in which you’d both let off some steam – delve into your purely physical relationship.
But tonight, you could tell something was different with Tangerine.
After you both finished, he wasn’t like his usual self: he didn’t bring you in for a cuddle, he didn’t jump at the offer to clean you up, he didn’t paw at your hips – begging you to stay in his room for the night. He kind of just layed there, catching his breath, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling above.
It was a worrying sight really, and it wasn’t something you felt equipped to deal with. You’ve never had a chance to learn how to combat it before.
You knew he was tired, exhausted even. He looked as if something was weighing him down, like something was on his mind.
And so, you scooch into his side, slipping an arm under his neck – like you were repositioning him, silently instructing him to turn into you. At first, he’s rigid, almost reluctant to cave in.
But when you hum softly, it only gives him that push he needs to give into the touch. He rolls over so he’s on his belly, half of his weight resting on your side – the other half on the mattress, his arm draping across your middle.
You envelop your arm around his head, palm soft and gentle as it grazes over his hair, like the act was solely to soothe him. You other wraps around his back, stroking up and down his smooth, bare back, following the curve of his spine.
He sighs faintly at the touch, a gentle blissed exhale telling you it was what he needed. He just needed to be held, even if he didn’t know it himself.
And as you lovingly stroke him to sleep, soothing and calming and winding him down – you knew you had just passed a line. Past a point of no return in your sexual agreement.
summary. “the more you spend, the sweeter I fuck you tonight” prompt. requested here by @burneraccountbutiactivelyuseit tangerine wants to buy something for you, but you won’t let him. his offer changes your mind
word count. 1234
warnings. 18+ only! cunnilingus, pinv sex. tan being softly dominant and assertive (aka his best traits) minors dni
made the gif myself, that’s so embarrassing. that’s also why it looks like shit
Spending money isn’t something that comes naturally to you, especially when that said money is coming from the pocket of another.
Earlier today, you and Tangerine began the quest of shopping – his one goal in mind to treat you. But as the hours pass and the list of available stores grows shorter, your hands are yet to be filled with luxury bags.
You just didn’t want to spend his money, despite his persistent offerings.
“What about this one?” Tangerine asks from your right, nodding to the fancy shop up ahead. He was clearly exhausted from battling you and being on his feet all day, but he never let that show. He was too busy trying to get you to buy something. “Looks nice in there, no?”
“I don’t know,” you turn to look at him, face contorting in uncertainty. “I’m fine just getting a pretzel and going home.”
He shakes his head sternly. “That ain’t happening,” his palm slips from the small of your back and into your hand, his slight grip steering you into the luxury, high end store. “Let’s just have a little browse around, hm?”
This particular department store was far beyond the others you had stepped inside today – four internal floors filled with bedding, clothes, makeup, you name it. It had everything and it made those other rich, fancy shops look like shit.
“Right, where we going?” he asks, leading you towards the escalator – stepping on first, hand held tight onto yours as he helps you on. He steps down one so he’s behind to your side, his knee bending by yours like he was enclosing you – keeping you safe. “What do you fancy?
That same question he’s asked copious times today – what did you want?
You take a moment, trying to think of the cheapest thing you could buy to get him off your back. The thought of kitchen utensils coming to mind.
“We need a new spatula,” you suggest, looking over your shoulder to him.
“That’s need. Not want. That’s not the same,” he shakes his head at you. “What about some new shoes? A bag?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s a lie.”
You reach the next floor, and each of you step off – this floor just as extravagant as the one below, maybe even more so.
He had been hounding you all day to buy something, that by now you were so fed up with shopping. And so, to put yourselves out of the inevitable misery, you guide him over to the rails of clothing and pick out the first thing you see.
“I want this,” you lie, holding up a skirt that’s far from what you’d usually wear.
His head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing at you for a brief moment before they follow his hands – reaching into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and steps closer to you, closing the distance.
“Got a proposition,” he starts, and places his bank card below your chin – hooking it under to lift your face, making you look at him. “The more you spend,” he pauses, leaning in closer to speak against your lips. “The sweeter I fuck you when we get back.”
Your breath hitches at the thought, a small almost gasp muffling into his mouth.
“That’s right,” he smiles ever so faintly against you. He pulls back and picks up your hand, placing his card in the centre of it – wrapping your fingers over the piece of plastic. “What’s mine is yours. Now, knock yourself out, love.”
Before long, you had made up for the whole day of missed purchases, maxing out the transaction limit at the checkout. Filling your hands with bags like he so desperately wanted at the beginning – though, you weren’t allowed to carry them. That was his job.
You held up your end of the deal, now it was his turn.
⎯ ☆ ⎯
Tangerine had you flat on the bed, your knees spread wide to accustom his broad shoulders. His face slotted between the inners of your thighs, tongue lapping leisurely at your cunt as if to prep you further for what's to come.
He had been at it a while, making out with your pussy, kissing and loving on you in the way you deserved after your long, laborious day of shopping.
The utter messy, wet state he had made of you purely from his mouth was all evidence of his care. All proof of his attentive nature.
He pulls away from between your thighs, his moustache and chin slick with everything he’s coaxed from you within your multiple orgasms. Placing a final kiss to your clit, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits – adjusting on his knees between your legs.
Thick, large hand reaches into his boxers – his palm wrapping tight around his cock as he pulls it out over the waistband. He gives himself a few precautionary pumps, being careful not to blow his load there and then. Lining his dick with you, he swirls his head around your entrance, circling over your already sensitive cunt.
He rests the heavy weight of his cock against you as he moves position, leaning over your bare body below, hovering over you in the way you always liked.
“Picked out a lot today,” he whispers to your ear, speaking low and hushed as he guides himself into you – using the tip as a plug almost, letting you accommodate him. “Weren’t so hard now, was it?” he teases, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin below the lobe.
“Thank you,” you murmur, voice wavering –nearing on straining– when he sinks further into you, the feel of him literally knocking the air from your lungs. You loosely wrap your legs around his lower back, ankles hooking at his sides as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. “For today,” you add, words muffling into his skin. “I really appreciate it.”
He knew you were. You were always so grateful for anything he did for you. Maybe that’s why he loved doing things for you, loved taking care of you – it was always clear of how much it meant.
“I know,” he hums, littering the length of your neck in soft, fluttery kisses. “You deserve it.”
And as those gentle, loving words leave his lips, he forcefully sinks the rest of himself into you – snatching a deep, breathy moan from the pits of your stomach. Like the act was so juxtaposing to his prior tender confession, that it almost undid his kind words.
He parts from the warmth of your neck, in which you do the same – mirroring his movements. Straightening his neck, he looks down at you below, watching those pretty, tiny microexpressions form across your features: knitted brows, soft eyes, parted lips. All of it ever so truly beautiful.
He bucks his hips experimentally, fucking into you for a brief, rough stroke, and when he sees that face, your face – he knew that’s what you wanted. But he doesn’t give it to you like that just yet, he’d never last.
So for now, he keeps that same steady pace, cock slowly sliding in and out of you, his face mere inches from yours as if to close any distance. Swallowing each other’s moans and sounds, his hand clasped tightly to the side of your face – keeping you there to never part from your gaze.
so not okay I want him so bad
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