#Tangerine/Reader

[megplant]

Killshot - Part Two | Tangerine/Fem!Reader

Summary: Rival assassins! Continuation of Killshot (Part One here) - You ran into Tangerine & Lemon at the tail-end of a job gone wrong. It’s time to skedaddle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, language, blood, weapons

——————————————————

So, picture this:

You’re in the back of a tiny car. Black leather interior stuck to your thighs. You’re crammed against the window by stacked luggage and duffel bags. And, you’re handcuffed. Oh, and your wrist is probably broken.

You cradle your hands close to your chest to prop up your broken wrist as comfortably as you can. You’re jostled every few seconds by another bump on the deserted dirt road which sends a sharp lance of pain down your arm with each movement.

There’s two men in the front of the car. They have been arguing, loudly, for the past ten minutes. Neither of them have as much as acknowledged you since they detained you in the backseat.

These two are possibly the most annoying twosome you have ever met. You have a splitting migraine, and it’s not just from getting your head bashed in earlier.

“-dunno why the hell you keep putting up with this fucking bird, and now we’re tits up in the middle of nowhere without the money-”

“Would you fucking drop it, you’re getting on my fucking tits-”

“-And I got blown up, did I mention the part where she literally blew me up?!”

“Only 17 fucking times, Mary. Christ - you didn’t even get hurt, look at me-”

“-Blown. Up. Bruv! Blown up!!”

You tune them back out, sighing and resting your head against the window. The cold glass pressed against your sweaty forehead cuts through some of the haze in your head, and you start to take stock of your situation.

Obviously, you can’t actually let the Twins capture you. There’s plenty of bounties and warrants out on any number of your identities that they could choose to cash in on. You simply can’t trust them enough to pass up a potential payout that big.

Besides, your employer will be waiting on your kill confirmation.

So, you need to escape. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except you’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The villa you’ve just helped these idiots escape is in the middle of the goddamn Scottish Highlands. The paranoid old man that lived there was some kind of Baron or something.

Whoever he was, he must have been important or wealthy enough for somebody to want him dead, anyway. That’s where you come in.

You and the Twins, you amend, irritated.

Competition is just another part of your job. It’s to be expected. But, not them. Not him.

You have been keeping tabs on the Twins since your run-in at the Duke’s last year, but the last you’d heard they were cleaning up some russki sleeper cell in Belgrave - which was absolutely nowhere near the UK.

But…then again, how long ago was that tip-off?

Sloppy.

So, they were here. Fine. It’s not unusual to go up against them for the same jobs, but - why this one?

This Baron wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill contract for you. You had additional objectives here.

It was not unusual for your employer to ‘double-dip’ by using certain contracts to simultaneously work towards their own mysterious agendas. They would add certain caveats or extra targets to contracts whenever they needed something to happen quietly.

Your additional objective, as it was described to you, was to ‘make a mess’ of the Baron’s security systems. At the time, you’d just assumed the higher-ups were interested in some data stored there and were using this contract to procure it for their own purposes.

The Twins would have picked up this job as part of their usual freelance work, and you know them well enough to know they would have only been interested in the payout. Anything bigger at play here likely wouldn’t have been on their radar at all.

It was just a simple job for them.

Not quite so simple for you, unfortunately. Any added duties or parameters on a given contract changes nothing for you. You’re always expected to complete the contract, no exceptions. The Firm’s policy on that point is very clear.

All agents will successfully complete all assignments. No exceptions.

You know you fulfilled their added objective with ease - the precision mines you’d planted strategically throughout the server room had done their job. That explosion wasn’t just the perfect distraction for a getaway, after all.

Killing the mark had been just as easy. Tangerine had guessed correctly that you were here on a honeypot, the jackass. But, it was too easy of an in to pass up. All you’d had to do was remove the Baron’s usual call girl, and insert yourself in her place.

Everything had been going smoothly - until Tangerine. He was the one stumbling block in your otherwise perfectly simple and flawlessly executed plan.

You’d run into him in the maintenance halls, where he was sweeping for troublemakers like you. At the time, you’d been in a hurry to drop a tail since you’d caught some unwanted attention during your exit from the old man’s study. A hooker covered in blood making a beeline for the secure server room was probably worth stopping, after all.

You’d already dispatched the two guards that were chasing you and planted your mines (notice the adaptability, you’ll highlight that in the report), but you were sure there was still someone else tailing you. So, distracted and in a rush - you’d been reacquainted with Tangerine’s knuckle dusters.

Your little explosion had only gone off a minute or so after you’d fled the server room, so if Lemon really had gotten caught up there, he must have been right behind you. You were impressed, actually - he’d been doing a good job tailing you.

So, the job was done. You fulfilled your extra objectives. You got out clean. You just needed to ditch the Twins and make contact with your handler and you’d be in the clear.

Your eyes are closed while you puzzle out your situation, resting your head against the car’s window. When you decide to break your silence, you speak without moving, only opening your eyes enough to watch the two men in the rearview mirror.

The rasp in your voice is more pronounced as you attempt to speak up, and it forces you to cough and wheeze before you can find your voice.

You watch Lemon glance between you and Tangerine. His eyebrows raise, knowingly, though he keeps his lips pressed into a thin line. Lemon has never been your biggest fan.

You smile, sharp, unable to help yourself from goading them both. You keep your eyes glued to Lemon’s, grinning smugly. “Tell me - how far behind me were you, Lem? The old man must have been getting cold by the time you got there.”

Tangerine slams the brakes, and you smack face-first into the back of the passenger seat - unable to catch yourself with your hands cuffed together. You sputter indignantly, righting yourself as gracefully as you can. Just as you’re opening your mouth to tell him where to shove it, he cuts you off-

“That’s enough out of the bloody cheap seats. I will happily shove you in the boot if you don’t behave, dammit!” He grinds the words out, a vein in his neck standing out as he clenches his jaw tight.

You believe him.

You sit back slowly, finding Tan’s piercing blue eyes boring into yours through the rearview. You try your best not to smile as you make a show of zipping your lips and throwing away the key. His mustache doesn’t so much as twitch. Joyless bastard.

Still - you know from your mission prep that it’s at least another hour to the nearest petrol station, and you aren’t keen on spending it pretzeled in the damn boot. You’ll be quiet. For now.

As Tangerine starts driving again - spinning the wheels on the country road and sending dirt flying as he hits 75 kph in 2 seconds flat - you can hear another argument start up between him and Lemon. This time their tones are hushed and urgent - they’ve finally realized you’re listening.

Most likely, they’re arguing about what the hell to do about you. You still haven’t confirmed the kill, so technically the contract on the Baron is still open. You hope they aren’t coming to that realization on their own, since you’d really hate to kill them for trying to take credit for your kill.

Your employer has their policies, after all.

Your mind races, flipping through your various contingencies. You want to stop and get your bearings and figure out what to do, but with Tangerine pushing 100kmph you’ll have to think fast.

It’s too dark to get any idea of where you are based on the scenery flying by - and it all looks the same out here, anyway. Darkness swims around the car, only some flecks of dirt and debris kicked up by the tires catching the light from the headlamps.

You shift in your cramped seat, anxiety starting to claw its way up your chest and into your throat. The handcuffs are rubbing your wrists raw, and there’s definitely not enough air in this car.

You know there’s a simple and obvious solution to this problem. You have a panic button embedded in your tacky bejeweled earrings and a burner phone tucked into your bodice. Neither of the Wonder Twins bothered to pat you down or check you for contraband before shoving you in the car, they just took your weapons and cuffed you.

You only have to reach one - earrings or phone, and you can call for backup.

You should just call it in. An extraction team would be here within the hour, if you call it in.

You would almost certainly be signing Lemon and Tangerine’s death warrants if you call it in.

Your handler will kill you if you don’t call it in.

You watch Tangerine’s bloodied hands gesture erratically while he argues with Lemon. The pale light from the headlamps backlight him in a fuzzy glow. It illuminates a perfect sliver of his profile to you, the sharp angles of his face captured in stark relief against the dark outside the windows. He’s as animated as you remember, and your chest swells with nostalgic fondness as you watch him drive and argue.

You picture his hands, so warm and so full of life, laying still. Forever.

You are so fucking stupid.

You settle back in your seat with a resigned sigh and, for the better part of the next hour, you pretend to sleep.

The Twins’ arguing dies out eventually, and you imagine they’ve reached some kind of conclusion about what to do next. You don’t bother to try and figure out what their plan will be, since you’ll be driving this trainwreck from here on out.

After a while, the bumpy dirt and gravel access road turns into true pavement. The fast pace Tangerine has set on the dirt roads only picks up when he hits smooth asphalt. It feels like the car is flying down the winding country roads, and the absence of turbulence provides a blissful reprieve to your senses.

There’s too much empty time before you reach the petrol station and despite your nerves, you do end up dozing fitfully; pulled under by the hypnotic thrum of the engine and the endless black.

——————————

You can’t have been asleep more than ten minutes, but you wake with a gasp - your eyes fly to the rearview mirror and catch Tangerine watching you. He must have seen you jump. You don’t like the flash of concern you see in his eyes, so you play to type and fix him with a childish glare.

“Are we there yet?” You whine, your voice filling up the cab after so much silence.

It grates on your own ears, so you know Tangerine gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make it creak is an authentic reaction. Your satisfied grin is too.

“Service station coming up.” Lemon mumbles in response, clearly too tired to put up with your bullshit himself.

“Oh, good - I’ve been needing the toilet for miles!” You shift around in your seat, pretending not to see the looks the Twins are sending each other.

They won’t want to let you out of their sight - rightfully so. But you do need to get this show on the road.

Turns out, Lemon was right. You can see the service station off in the distance as you round a bend. The buzzing fluorescents light your way like a garish beacon.

You keep quiet as you approach, apprehension starting to settle heavily around your shoulders. Your plan isn’t so much a plan as a goal, with that goal simply being to get away from the Twins. So, you aren’t feeling as prepared as you usually like to be.

You pay sharp attention as the small town car slowly turns off the main road and into the empty asphalt lot that contains the station. There’s a bank of petrol pumps taking up most of the lot, lit up dayglo white with those beckoning fluorescents. You can see a small shop with a worker inside, and a larger building for the toilets beside it.

Tan takes a circle of the lot around the buildings - paranoid as ever - which lets you notice a few small egress windows lining the back wall of the toilets.

Tangerine finally parks the car in between the two tiny buildings, and you reach for the door handle, looking forward to stretching your legs -

“- Hold on!”

He barks sharply, with enough volume to make you flinch away from the door sheepishly.

“What? I have to pee! You’re really not gonna let a lady use the toilets?” You’re fixing them with an incredulous look, absolutely offended at their total lack of decency or chivalry.

They simultaneously look from you to each other, and start arguing silently with grimaces and exaggerated hand motions. You watch it quietly escalate, amused. Eventually they must reach some kind of consensus, as Tan throws his hands up and lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Fine! Lem, go fill ‘er up, I’ll take our guest to the ladies since it’s apparently so fucking urgent.”

“Gee, thanks ever so..” You mumble under your breath as you finally let yourself out of the cramped back seat.

The extent of your injuries slams into your consciousness once you’re out of the warm cocoon of the heated cab. The cold air hits you like a freight train, painful and sharp. You stagger slightly, all the blood rushing from your head as you try to stand.

The asphalt threatens to meet your face but Tangerine catches your elbow, and you’re able to steady yourself.

There’s a beat of silence as you catch your breath and will your eyes to focus on him. You’re hyper aware of him intently studying you. The car pulls smoothly away, heading towards the petrol pumps.

“Alright, love?” He asks softly, breath fogging in the air between you. It’s too quiet, too intimate, too familiar, too genuine and it makes your voice stick in your throat.

You just nod quickly, clearing your throat, and pulling your arm away as you straighten yourself out. You take a step forward, and there’s no trace of shakiness in your limbs. Not one wobble on your hooker heels. It takes a great deal of effort to force your body to look composed, but you keep that off your face when you turn back to smirk at Tangerine. You pretend to ignore the disapproval you can see coloring his features.

“Can I please go to the loo, now?”

He just rolls his eyes at you with a scoff, and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Fine, march, then - and no sudden movements, I’m not in the bloody mood.”

“Sure, I’ll be a perfect angel, but-”

You gesture with your handcuffed hands to the sign telling you to get a key for the toilets from the clerk inside. “We need the key.”

He’s already glaring up at the sky like God is purposefully coming up with ways to annoy him, so you just keep talking.

“And you can’t very well bring me along in handcuffs - look at the state of me, he’ll call the cops in a second. I s’pose you could just leave me out front here, alone, while you go inside and leave me here by myself for just a second…”

You’re already holding your handcuffs out towards him, a cheeky smile on your face. Tangerine lets out another long-suffering sigh, and digs in his pocket for the key. He grabs on to your wrists, holding you still while he glares you down.

“You stay where I can see you, and no funny business.” He says, twisting the key in the lock and gently unlatching and pulling the cuffs away.

But, he doesn’t let go of your wrists, even once the handcuffs are off and slipped into his pocket. You aren’t stupid enough to try and pull away, and you wait patiently for him to feel he’s sufficiently made his point.

“Relax, Tan. You’ll wrinkle.”

He simply holds your gaze for a moment longer, before finally letting go of your wrists and sweeping you forward with his other arm. It doesn’t escape your notice that he keeps his arm locked around your waist, keeping you right where he can see you.

Paranoid bugger.

Your wrist throbs dully, but you experiment with flexing and testing it while Tangerine escorts you. Dislocated, you reckon, not quite shattered like you thought. It hurts like a bitch if you clench or overextend, but you’ve had worse - it won’t get in your way.

Tan shoulders open the door to the convenient store, pulling you inside right beside him. The door jingles jauntily, and you’re pleased to see a dead-eyed teenage boy behind the counter. He offers the two of you what could have been a greeting, but was really just a grunt and a nod.

You’re already being prodded forward to the registers by Tan, impatient as ever.

You lean against the counter, tucked up against Tan’s side and feigning boredom while he asks for the bathroom key. Some conversation ensues about needing to make a purchase to use the loo.

Tan grumbles about paying for the petrol while your eyes dart around the shop, cataloging everything within reach. The lighter display catches your eye - cheap plastic ones in garish colors. Right next to them, at perfect height for children’s grabby hands, candy, toy cars, and a few boxes of bang snaps.

Perfect.

While Tan's busy paying for a pack of smokes to secure the toilet key, you palm a neon green lighter and two small bang snap boxes with practiced ease. They slide neatly into your empty thigh holster.

The intricate movements sends a sharp reminder of pain through your wrist, making you grit your teeth. Soon. You'll fix that soon enough.

Your non-plan is swiftly taking shape into a sort of okay plan before your eyes, your mind racing through next steps and back up options.

"Ready, love?" Tangerine's voice breaks through your thoughts, jangling the key in front of your face impatiently. You snap out of your thoughts quickly, jumping to action.

You push off the counter with an exaggerated sigh, pushing past him.

"Finally! I have got to use the bloody bathroom!"

Tan keeps up with you easily, his arm finding its way back around your waist as he steers you towards the bathroom. You glance over and see Lemon by the petrol pumps, methodically going through the motions of filling up the cars tank.

He catches your eye and gives you a warning look that you pretend not to notice.

The bathroom door creaks open with a protest of rusty hinges. You both stare at it for a moment. It's exactly what you expected - big empty concrete room with a single toilet, sink, and yes - there's that lovely emergency window.

Tangerine does a quick sweep of the tiny space before stepping back. "Five minutes," he says firmly. "Door stays unlocked."

You flutter your eyelashes at him. "What, you don't trust me?"

"Not even a little bit, darling." But there's something almost fond in his expression that makes your stomach twist.

You shut the door in his face.

Moving quickly, you snatch handfuls of paper towels, stuffing them into the tiny bin along with whatever else you can find - toilet paper, empty toilet rolls, paper cup from the sink, ancient magazine rotting in the corner.

The bang snaps come next, hastily linked together with strips of toilet paper into a makeshift fuse leading to the door. All the extras get heaped into the bin.

Your wrist screams at you with every movement and the shaking is impeding your finer motor skills. Might as well take care of that now.

You brace yourself against the sink and get a firm grasp on your bad wrist. You take a deep breath, and twist. The crack of bone sliding back into place makes your vision white out for a second, but the relief is immediate.

Sharp, lancing pain had given way to a deeper throbbing kind of pain. The kind you could more easily keep pushing through.

"Everything alright in there?" Tangerine calls through the door, making you jump.

"Just peachy!" you sing back, keeping your voice as easygoing as you can.

You snatch up the end of your little dynamite toilet paper rope, moving to the window. It takes some careful maneuvering - these heels weren't made for cat burglary - but you manage to wiggle through without making too much noise.

You have to flick the lighter several times before the flame will catch. You blame your trembling fingers on the pain, ignoring the nerves. The flimsy paper finally catches and you watch the fire sprawl neatly down your knotted rope.

You drop from the window and the first pop goes off just as your feet hit the ground outside.

It gets really loud, really quickly.

The firecrackers start going off in rapid succession, echoing enough in the small space to almost sound like real gunfire. Acrid, black smoke from your improvised trash fire starts to unfurl from the window above you.

You assume Tan can see it, too, because you can hear him shouting something and banging on the tinny door. You locked it, of course, so he’s trying to bust it down.

Crouching low behind the back wall of the toilets, you can hear Lemon shouting over the still-popping firecrackers. Then, his footsteps pounding across the asphalt.

You're already running.

The car sits alone at the pump like a gift, engine purring quietly, front door wide open. You throw yourself into the driver's seat, hands finding the gear shift just as you hear Tangerine's voice rising in alarm - and getting closer.

"Lem, wait - FUCK!”

He had realized your game a second too late, and was sprinting back to try and intercept you.

“The bloody car, LEMON!”

Tan was gesturing wildly in your direction, and Lemon finally got it, whipping around with his pistol drawn.

But you're already peeling out of the lot before he can get a shot off, tires screaming against the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, you catch one last glimpse of the Twins - Lemon with his gun drawn, Tangerine's face twisted in fury and something that might be grudging respect.

You can't help but laugh as you floor it onto the empty highway, the night swallowing you whole. Your wrist aches, your dress is ruined, and you're pretty sure you've lost a heel somewhere in the chaos.

But you're free.

And really, that's all that matters.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Who You Belong To

Pairing: Raymond Smith x Reader x Tangerine

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Notes: Aaaaaaand 800 years later, I finished writing one of those things I said I was writing. Not Beta-read.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content—cumshot, oral sex, fingering, rough sex, vaginal sex, threesome, creampie, cumplay

Summary: It’s in the way Tangerine’s jaw tightens; in how he yanks the cigarette from his lips and flicks it away rather than savoring the last drag. It’s in the way he yanks your car door open, snaps, “In,” Rather than hold it open for you with a wink like he usually does. Raymond trails you all the way to the car, giving Tangerine a knowing, scathing look over the top of his glasses before he turns down to you with a warmer, far more hospitable gaze.

You know it’s a mistake as soon as it happens. You and Tangerine aren’t exclusive, of course. You’re certain he’d balk if you ever called him your boyfriend, your significant other, or anything of the sort. He’s your fuckbuddy, and that’s that.

But he’s also a possessive little fucker. So you realize that the second he sees you with Raymond—the second he clocks your rumpled, untucked blouse and his ruffled hair—he’ll know.

You can see that he does. It’s in the way Tangerine’s jaw tightens; in how he yanks the cigarette from his lips and flicks it away rather than savoring the last drag. It’s in the way he yanks your car door open, snaps, “In,” Rather than hold it open for you with a wink like he usually does. Raymond trails you all the way to the car, giving Tangerine a knowing, scathing look over the top of his glasses before he turns down to you with a warmer, far more hospitable gaze.

“Lovely doing business with you,” Raymond says. Maybe he knows he’s twisting the screws. Maybe he had been able to tell before—from the way that Tangerine watches you, from how his tone would soften as he turns from speaking to Lemon to speaking to you. Maybe Raymond can tell, and truly didn't care as he bent you over his desk in the Lore of the Land, just after you’d finished talking business. You’ll likely never know. So for now, you just give him a smile and grit out your thanks.

Raymond nods and turns his gaze to Tangerine, shutting your door gently—the exact antithesis of Tangerine’s behavior just moments ago. You watch as he and Raymond share a contentious gaze before Tan is rounding the car to get into the driver's side. You flinch just a touch as he slams the car door shut and starts up the car. You glance at Lemon over your shoulder, and find him pointedly avoiding your gaze.

The ride back to the safe house is uncomfortably silent. You turn on the radio once, and hear three solid notes of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now before Tangerine's hand shoots out, whacking off the power again. When you look at him, he keeps his focus set staunchly through the windshield.

That's bad.

Usually he'll at least shoot you a wink and a smile before refocusing on the road. Now, you just get a good view of his tense jaw, his harsh expression, and one short, irritated sniffle.

--

Tangerine's out of the car first. You don't move; you don't even flinch when the car door slams shut again.

"...I'm just gonna sleep in here," You say after a moment. Lemon snorts.

"That's not gonna solve anythin'. He'll just come an' find you."

You groan, kicking your feet childishly before you finally get out. You shut the door, rounding the car to Lemon's side and looking up at the large, dark townhouse that you've rented for your short stay in London.

"...I'm gonna get some chips," Lemon says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, great! I'll—"

"Go see if Tan wants anythin', will you?" Lemon plows on, beginning to wander away. "Text me. Thanks—and good luck."

You puff out an irritated breath, watching him go. You consider going somewhere else yourself, but a little bit of you knows that you're probably better off just taking your lumps now.

 --

You can hear Tangerine upstairs—stomping from room to room, opening and closing doors, cabinets. You sigh heavily, shrugging out of your coat and kicking your shoes off. You hang the coat up on one of the hooks, double-check that you've locked the door, and then make your way upstairs.

As you round onto the landing, you spy Tangerine out of the corner of your eye, heading down the hall. For a moment, you consider following him. Then you turn, heading into the kitchen instead. You can probably get a drink in before he loses his sweet mind on you. 

You pour one for each of you. Hell, if he doesn’t drink it, you will. You push yourself up onto the counter, swinging your feet. You hear him stomping his way down the hall, then it goes quiet. You can feel his looming presence as he waits in the doorway. You don’t turn to meet his gaze; you don’t ask if he wants his drink. You just take a sip of yours. Tangerine brushes past you, taking up his glass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him throw it back before he slams the glass down. You spare him a scathing glance before taking another sip from your glass. 

“What the fuck was that?” He spits. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Oh, you’re not.” 

“No.” 

“Really.” 

“Not a clue.” 

“You’re going to pretend that nothing happened?” 

“What exactly do you think happened between myself and Mr. Smith?” 

Tangerine rounds to stand in front of you. You’ve no warning before he’s shoving his hand up your skirt. You suck in a nervous breath, but don’t move otherwise, even as he spears two fingers into your still-slick, tender cunt. He crowds closer as your pussy throbs around the intrusion. 

“You’re gonna tell me you’re this wet just from him holdin’ a fuckin’ door open for ya?” Tangerine glowers at you down the end of his nose. “Hm? You’re really gonna tell me that?” 

“...Depends.”

“On?” 

“Whether or not you’d believe it.” 

Tan’s expression closes off, eyes going dark, and mean. He begins to pump his fingers roughly, palm grinding against your clit. Your lips part in surprise, hips jolting into his touch. 

“Ah no. No no,” He shakes his head. “You an’ I both know what the fuck you did.” 

“And you and I both know that I can fuck whoever I goddamn wa—ant,” Your breath hitches in your throat as Tangerine gives a particularly rough shove of his fingers. 

“Sweet that you think that, sweetheart.” 

Tangerine raises his other hand to grasp your throat. He draws you close by it, forehead knocking against yours. He draws your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a harsh tug before he draws his head back. 

“Take my cock out,” He orders. You reach down, working at his button and zip, hissing as Tangerine’s fingers flex around your throat. “What’d you do for him? Huh?” Tangerine asks. 

“Who says I did anything for him?” You ask, grasping Tangerine and giving him a few strokes. “Maybe he did it for me.” 

“Would explain why your cunt’s so slick. What, he slobber all over it?” 

“Slobber has to be the most unsexy word in the English language.” 

“What, ahead of moist?” 

“I don’t think moist is actually all that bad—Sonofabitch,” You draw in a gasp as Tangerine draws his fingers out of you, pinching your clit. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but Tangerine muscles between them, shifting from foot to foot. 

“You gonna give me any more lip?” 

“I think that’s almost guaranteed, Tan, yeah.” 

“Christ alive—You just never know when to stop, do ya?” 

“Never have a good reason to—oo,” You hiss as Tangerine draws you across the counter, shoving his cock into you without warning or hesitation. “Fucking hell.” You reach out, curling your fingers in the fabric of his waistcoat. 

“There are those sweet words I like so much. You woo ‘im with those, too?” Tangerine’s words are punched out word by word, matched thrust for thrust. You whimper at his harshness, and the way his hand slips from your throat to squeeze the nape of your neck. It’s a treatment you’ve only ever been privy to when a job has gone wrong, or very nearly wrong. In your estimation, this had been a pretty calm interaction. You’d gotten in and out in one piece; you’d even managed to make a friend, in a sense—though Tangerine clearly hadn’t warmed to Raymond the way that you had. 

“What was he like? Huh?” Tan grunts, “Did he fuck you like this?” 

“N-No,” You mumble. 

“No?” “Nn-nn.” You let your lips curl into a malicious smirk. “He did it better.” 

“Fucking—” Tangerine pulls out of you, yanking you off of the surface and turning you around. He shoves you into the counter, bending you over hard marble and driving into you. Your breath punches out of you, head bowing forward. You’re glad he turned you around; he can’t see your giddy grin. You knew he’d take the bait. You’re certain you could come like this, but—

You whine as Tangerine pulls out. You begin to turn to look at him, to ask, but he presses his hand between your shoulder blades, keeping you down over the counter with a grumbled order of, “Stay the fuck there.” His voice is breathy, and low. You can hear his heavy breathing, and the slick stroke of his hand on his cock. You draw in a whimper, fingers flexing against the counter as you feel his cum splatter across your plumped, heated pussy. You wriggle, toes curling in your shoes. 

“Gimme your phone,” He orders. You fish into your pocket of your jacket, passing it over before Tangerine plucks ut out of your hand. You swipe your tongue across your lips. 

“What are you doing?” 

Tangerine doesn’t answer for a moment; you just feel him shoving your skirt up, followed by the sound of the camera shutter clicking a couple of times. Then the skirt is dropped back down, and you hear the tapping of Tangerine typing. 

“What are you doing, Tangerine?” 

“Showing your friend…” He tosses the phone onto the counter beside your head. “Who you belong to.” You flinch as he slaps your ass roughly, and you feel the heat of him falling away. “Get yourself cleaned up, love.” 

You push yourself up on shaking arms as you hear him walking away. You turn your head, eyeing the photo sent to Raymond’s contact—Tangerine’s hand, his signet ring fully visible, grasping your skirt and displaying your cum-splattered cunt. You shiver, bowing your head forward as embarrassment flashes through you. It’s heightened as your phone flashes with Raymond’s incoming call. You don’t dare not answer him. You reach out with a shaking hand and tap to accept the call before raising it to your ear. 

“...Bring him to the address I’m going to send you,” Raymond orders. 

“I have to get cleaned up—” 

“Don’t. Just come over here.” 

“Now?” 

“Now.” 

--  

You mumble your thanks as Raymond passes you a glass of scotch. You don’t take a sip right away. You just shift from foot to foot as you lean back against his counter. Raymond’s home is just like his desk at the Lore of the Land—pristine, neat, with everything in its place. Raymond shoots you a wink as he turns back toward you, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Tangerine’s watching closely, and you’ve been in enough trouble today as it is. 

You watch as Raymond rounds to where Tangerine is sitting at Raymond’s dining room table, proffering a glass to him as well. Tangerine’s gaze darts between it and Raymond; you can see his eye twitching a touch at Raymond’s boozy little olive branch. When Tangerine doesn’t take it, Raymond sets it down on the table in front of him with a mutter of, “Right.” 

Then Raymond turns, heading back toward the kitchen. He stops between the two of you, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I seem to have ruffled a few feathers.” 

“You didn’t ruffle anything—” You start to insist. 

“That shit we handled with you an’ Pearson, she wasn’t part’a the deal,” Tangerine cuts over you.

“I didn’t think that she was.” Raymond’s brows raise. He seems more amused than annoyed; Tangerine seems like he’d like to rip Raymond’s head off just about now. 

“And I didn’t act like I was,” You counter. 

“If I’d known that…associating with your colleague would’ve made such an impact on your mood…” Raymond smiles, leaning against the counter beside you, “I would’ve done it twice.” 

You scoff a laugh, unable to help it. “You’re not making this better.” 

“Who said I was trying to?” 

“Wow.” 

“Alrigh’,” Tangerine hops up, grasping the glass of scotch and draining it before slamming it down so hard that you’re certain it’ll crack. “We’re going.” 

“I think you ought to stay,” Raymond says. “I could teach you a thing or two.” 

“There is not a goddamn thing you could teach me.” 

“I think there are a few things that I could teach you.” 

“Like what?” 

“How to treat a lady, for one.” 

“You think I don’t know how to treat my girl?” 

“Your girl?” Raymond repeats, brows tipping up as he glances between the two of you. “Oh…That’s not what she told me.” 

Panic and arousal surge through you as Tangerine’s gaze snaps toward you, eyes narrowing a touch. You just give a little shrug, raising your glass to your lips and taking a sip.

“Did you get cleaned up?” Raymond asks, glancing toward you. You shake your head. Raymond hums thoughtfully, holding his hand out to you. You hesitate, glancing warily toward Tangerine before you set your glass aside, taking Raymond’s hand. You let him lead you to the table, biting your lip as he nods for you to sit on the edge of it. You settle down, scooching back and letting him push your legs wide.

“Now,” Raymond slides his hands up over your bare thighs, “Typically, I do not abide by mess.”  

“You told me not to clean up,” You pout.

“I did. I think we could teach your friend a lesson.”

“A lesson,” Tangerine repeats, shifting from foot to foot and folding his arms across his chest. “You fuck ‘er once and you think you’ve got the lay of the land? You think she knows what she likes?” 

“Not at all,” Raymond smiles, fingers stroking over your plumped, tender cunt. “I know what she needs.” 

If you were a touch less tense, you’d be able to laugh at the way Tangerine goes red with irritation. 

“You don’t know jack shit, mate,” He seethes. 

“Oh?” Raymond glances up at you, shooting you a wink. “Well, why don’t you come and show me what I don’t know.” 

It’s all Tangerine needs before he’s practically charging across the room and shoving Raymond out from between your legs. Raymond hardly wobbles as Tangerine drops into the chair in front of you. You yelp as he grasps you by the hips, tugging you to the edge of the table and diving in. You draw in a gasp, eyelids fluttering as Tangerine laps hungrily at you. Your gaze flickers to Raymond, grinning as he rounds to lean down beside you. 

“Is that what you needed?” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. You smile hazily, tipping your chin up pleadingly. 

“Yes, Raymond.”

Raymond smiles, catching your lips in a kiss. You prop yourself up on your hands, wobbling just a touch as you raise one to cup his bearded cheek. You suck his plush lower lip with a soft sigh, parting your lips to tease his tongue with yours. You groan as you feel Tangerine draw back.

“Oi!” He barks, “The hell is it worth being down ‘ere if you’re just gonna suck fa—” 

Tangerine doesn’t finish his argument as you feel him pressing sharply against your cunt again. You turn your head from Raymond’s engrossing kisses, eyes widening at the sight of Raymond’s palm resting on the back of Tangerine’s head, shoving him down. You scoff out a stunned laugh as Raymond’s fingers tighten in Tangerine’s hair. You hinge forward as you feel Tangerine moans against you. 

“I didn’t think he’d take this from anyone,” You admit, shifting and propping one of your feet up on the table and easing your hips down against his lips. Raymond hums, nuzzling your jaw. 

“People like him can talk a big game, but they need someone to answer to.” 

“And that someone is you?” You tip your head to the side, raising your brows.  

“Right now,” Raymond smiles. “But if you play your cards right, it could be you.” 

“I’m usually the one taking orders.” 

Tangerine draws back with a sucking kiss, grunting. “She’s bloody good at it, too.” 

You pout, reaching down and giving his forehead a gentle push. 

“I’m right here, asshole.” 

“Be kind,” Raymond urges, squeezing the nape of your neck in a tender scolding. “He’s a little mouthy, but he’s a good boy who cleans up his messes.” 

“Don’t call me a boy,” Tangerine hisses.

“Don’t act like one,” Raymond bats back without blinking an eye. He just shoves Tan’s head back between your thighs, and you jump at the bristly scrape of his mustache, unable to help the way your thighs tense and twitch around his head. You expect more of a fight, but Tangerine just grasps your thighs, fingers tightening around your hips as he groans against your slick, heated flesh. 

“Do you think you can handle it?” Raymond asks against your jaw. 

“Handle what?” You breathe, and your head spins as he tips his chin up, murmuring low in your ear:

“Both of us.” 

--  

It’s not the fight you imagined. Tangerine has fallen in line just as well as you have, and is on far better behavior than you could've ever imagined. He hisses through his teeth as you blink hazily up at him, your lips parted and your jaw dropped as he eases his cock in and out of your panting mouth. 

You hear tandem groans, and you arch your back, tipping your hips down toward Raymond as he eases into your aching pussy. He shushes you softly, fingers skimming over your supple hips and gently nudging you to settle back down onto the table. It’s a struggle; your torn between obeying his command and fucking down against his length. You whimper as Raymond begins to fuck you with long, languorous strokes. It’s an almost lazy punctuation to the way that Tangerine’s hips thrust and jerk, spearing his dick into your mouth. 

“Slow down,” Raymond counsels as he draws his cock back, lingering with the tip tucked snugly in your cunt, “You’ll pop before she’s anywhere near.” 

You turn your head from Tangerine, letting him slip from your lips as you peer up at Raymond, quipping, “He usually does.” The words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re yelping, knees jolting around Raymond’s hips as Tangerine slaps one of your tits sharply, growling, 

“Cheeky.” 

“Dickhea—” You hardly get it out before Tangerine grasps your head, shoving his cock back between your lips. You whine as you feel Raymond’s hands plant on either side of you, his hips beginning to punch more harshly, despite their slowed thrusts. You raise a hand, grasping Raymond’s forearm tightly as your body fights to recognize and categorize every feeling rippling through you. It’s difficult to focus. There’s heat all around you; your mouth is heavy with Tangerine’s weight, your lips stretching with his girth, your tongue, thick with his taste; your cunt stretches and aches as Raymond measures and doles out his thrusts with even, steady, measured composure. 

You want to rattle Raymond. It’s not fair that you can so reduce Tangerine to wanton neediness, but seem to have no such effect on Raymond. Why can’t you shake him? Why can’t you—

Your mind turns to static as Tangerine makes you gag, and Raymond’s cock brushes a spot inside you that makes you keen and throb. You’re so—so full. You’ve never felt so terribly overwhelmed, so horribly distracted while having sex. Tangerine is wonderful on his own, of course, and has been a taskmaster in his own right, but he shows an almost childish impertinence now in the way he shoves into your mouth with a force that has spit and precum spilling from the sides of your parted lips. Raymond’s measured pace is almost more of a hindrance than a help. His counter-pace is driving you to distraction. You can’t bring yourself to time your movements to Tangerine or Raymond’s thrusts. You’re caught too sharply in between. You’re—scrambled. Tangerine is in a race to the finish line; Raymond seems to have all the time in the world. You’re just grasping to each of them in desperation, practically struggling to breathe, let alone respond to the way the two of them use you so thoroughly. 

“You’re going to bust, aren’t you,” Raymond asks him almost boredly. Tangerine doesn’t even argue, just groans as his grip tightens in your hair. You splutter and choke, eyes watering as his hips rabbit, and his cock spills down your throat. You tighten your grip on Raymond, on the only thing anchoring you. Tangerine groans low in his throat, hips jittering before he plops back into a seat with a panting gasp. He doesn’t remain stationary for long—Raymond reaches out, gripping Tangerine’s head and steering him toward your still-stinging nipple. Tangerine seems to almost stumble out of his seat, hands planting roughly beside your body as he swirls his tongue around the pebbled flesh. 

--  

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way Raymond takes you apart. A single strand of hair springs loose from his neat style; his cheeks tinge pink from exertion; the swell of sweat makes his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. Now and again, his tongue sweeps over his plush lips before they part in a shuddering pant. 

He’s rattled, just a little. It makes you preen, and arch down into his touch, tipping your head back to allow Tangerine more room for his bruising nips, and sucks, and kisses. He doesn’t let up, even as you grasp and tug his hair with a warning groan. 

“Poor baby,” Tangerine murmurs. “All wound up, aren’t ya.”

“Shut up,” You mumble shakily. 

“Took so long for fancy-pants to send you off, mm?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Should’ve told me you were such a soft-touch. Needed a little pamperin’.” 

“I don’t need to be pampered—Oh!” You shriek as Raymond lands a stinging whack to your hip. 

“Be nice,” Raymond tuts as he thumbs one of your tender nipples. 

“I am being nice,” You whine. “He’s being an ass.”

“Such pretty words from such a messy mouth,” Tangerine coos. You whimper despite his taunts, tightening your grasp on his hair and on Raymond’s forearm as the coiling feeling in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. Your hips tip down against Raymond, and against his attentive, slick fingers as he swipes them over your throbbing clit. Your orgasm wells up slowly, and you moan as you cum. The sensation seems to ripple through you, your jaw dropped in heated want as your cunt ripples around Raymond’s cock.

You’re vindicated by the grunt that seems to be punched out of him, and the way his cock pulses and twitches. The heat and slickness of his spend makes your nails rake down over his forearm. He hums softly, bowing over you. You shiver as he presses a kiss to the other side of your neck. 

“Atta girl,” Raymond murmurs. “Is that what you needed?” 

“Mhm,” You hum high in your throat, heavy eyelids dropping as you nod dazedly. Raymond squeezes your hip, giving you a moment before he draws back. 

“Fuck,” You breathe as he spreads your thighs. 

“Tangerine,” He urges. You watch as he grasps the back of Tangerine's neck, steering him back between your thighs. You jump at the first brush of his tongue, jolting up and eyeing Tangerine as he laps at your aching cunt, and Raymond’s spend. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Reminding him,” Raymond murmurs, brushing his beard roughly against your neck, “Who you belong to.” 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell

[messierthanthou]

Took me longer than expected but here! You and Tangerine are stuck in the snow in a car on the way to a job, and you have to keep warm somehow, hehe

What to expect: Some very slight dirty talk eventually, some fingering and some jerking him off, no p in v because there's simply not room for it in the car sadly! Saving that for another time ;)

3.6k words, whoopsie

Cold, Warm, Hot

Outside the wind whistles and the snow whips around your car in a furious flurry of impenetrable white. The tires lost their grip on the road once you hit a sheet of black ice on the unkempt backroads that was supposed to lead you to your next target; some rich asshole who crossed the wrong kind of people to make even more billions than he can spend in his now short life.

But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is the fact that you and Tangerine are stuck in the snow a dozen miles from civilization, and with what little cell reception you two have here, Tangerine managed to call for a tow truck. Which will arrive in about 12 hours or so.

“Now, I’m not one to lose my shit over something this trivial, but I told you, bad stuff happens when you split up the team,” Tangerine says, referring of course to the fact that Lemon isn’t here.

Lemon is already up ahead, probably sitting warm and cozy in the cabin you rented as a meeting place and base of operations for this trip. And Tangerine seems to think it’s bad luck whenever he and Lemon are separated for too long, and you shake your head at their codependency.

Tangerine gives the wheels another spin, trying time and time again to become unstuck, but…

“Would you stop that? You’re only digging us deeper into the snow,” you say with just a slight roll of your eyes.

“Fine, but you can’t say that I didn’t try.” And he turns off the engine.

“What are you doing? We’re gonna freeze to death in here without the heat on!” You reach for the car keys to turn them but he’s faster and pulls them out of the ignition.

“So you’d want us to be unable to drive when we eventually get out of this heaping pile of snow? We get pulled out by the tow truck, then we can’t go anywhere because we’re either out of gas or the battery’s dead.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” you ask, exasperated.

“Get cozy; you’re under so many layers over there, surely you’ll survive a short night out in the cold like this.” He gestures to you and your perhaps too many layers of clothes, but you were always one to get cold easily, so it only made sense to dress up proper for the occasion.

“Yeah, well, what about you?”

Tangerine is wearing his usual gingham patterned overcoat and a cashmere scarf because fashion matters more than functionality to this man.

“A little cold won’t hurt me, darlin’, I’m thick skinned.”

“Thick in the head if you think that little getup will keep you warm throughout the night.”

“You’re right, why don’t we snuggle up on the backseat and keep each other warm, huh? Bet you’d like that.”

Heat rises to your face at that, but you’re thankfully not one to blush at something so innocent. No matter how much you’d actually be into the idea of snuggling up with someone as incredibly handsome and occasionally charming as Tangerine. He teases, of course, but there’s something to his grin and a shine in his eyes that might indicate he wouldn’t say no if you said yes.

But you don’t.

“No, I'll be fine over here, getting cozy underneath my too many layers.”

And he acts like it was a joke, but for a moment, just a second, there’s something about the fall in his broad shoulders that tells you he wanted you to say yes to the proposition.

“Suit yourself.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d asked you in a jestering manner to become physical with him, and he keeps being a good sport about it even when you say no again and again. And every time you hate yourself a little more, but someone has to have a moral code and keep the distance required in a profession such as yours. Can’t get too close to anyone or their inevitable death will break you down. Stay cool, stay calm, stay collected.

He doesn’t speak much after that as the two of you sit in the dark, the cold creeping in on you both, but you barely feel it through your thick winter coat, sweater, thermal underwear, and the couple of stockings beneath your slacks.

But he is quick to start shivering. He stays tough and stoic, trying not to let it show, arms crossed and head buried in his scarf, but you can hear it in his breathing, the way it shivers with every exhale, and you feel bad for the idiot who decided to wear that outfit that makes your heart flutter.

Minutes go by where you have to listen to his teeth chattering, the stubborn fool still not turning on the engine to keep you both heated, and eventually you give in.

“Get in the backseat,” you say and start undoing your coat.

“What? Why? What’d I do? What are you doing?” He asks too many questions sometimes.

“We’re gonna do what you suggested, snuggle up to keep you warm. If you fall sick on this trip I’ll never hear the end of it from Lemon. So crawl on back there.”

You’ve been told in the past that you can be “bossy” which is usually just a euphemism for “I don’t want to take orders from a woman,” but Tangerine would never say or act like that, so he does as you say and climb between the front seats and into the back of this not-that-spacious car, and you follow.

“So. What now?” he asks as you sit hip to hip and your heart beats faster.

You had sort of hoped he’d decline the offer, act like a big, tough man who can handle it on his own, but he seems almost… eager for this. Like it’s something he’s been waiting for for a while.

“Open up your coat,” you say as you take off yours.

“Oh are we finally doing this? No more will they won’t they?” he jokes again, but there’s not much of a smile beneath that stupidly attractive mustache.

Perhaps he’s suddenly worried about catching feelings like you are, maybe he doesn’t actually want to but has a hard time saying no to you, or it could be that he’s holding back. You can’t figure out which is more likely at this moment.

“No, we’re just going to lay down here on the backseat together. Body heat, as you may know, is best shared when you’re close to one another, so I will do my best to sort of… lie down next to you, and we’ll use my coat as a blanket to shield us from the cold.”

Silence fills the room and through the dark you can barely tell what his face looks like, and you wouldn’t start to guess if he’s interested in the idea of lying with you or the idea of survival.

“Is that okay with you?” you ask and finally he moves as he nods.

“Yeah, yeah makes perfect sense, body heat and all that, sure.” Tangerine is quick to unbutton his coat and does his best to lie down on the backseat without taking up too much space.

And so you lay down next to him, face to face on your sides as it’s pretty cramped in here.

“Like this?” he asks and his voice has never been this close to you before.

“Maybe if we got closer we’d be more comfortable?”

“Sure.”

With him against the backrest of the seat, it is up to you to inch closer and closer till your bodies are pressed against each other, you can feel his rapid heartbeat and practically taste his intoxicating cologne. You’re about half a head shorter than him, but you’re lying up high enough to feel his breath tingle across your lips. He has stopped shivering.

But now you are just this close to trembling. You’re of course no damsel in distress, far from it, but as heat gathers between you and him, eyes locked together, you sigh.

“You ok?” he asks tenderly without a nervous waver to his tone, but you fret a little that if you speak, your voice might not be as steady.

“Mhm,” you hum out and give only the slightest of nods.

“This ok with you? You comfortable?”

If anything you’re too comfortable, and wish he’d stop being so randomly nice to you; it’s a rare side to him you’ve seen only a few times, and he’ll always deny it later on.

“Y-yeah,” you say and curse yourself internally for that slight stutter.

“Is it okay if I put my hand here?”

His strong and firm hand lands on your waist and it doesn’t even take a second for sparks to ignite and fly straight to your cunt as it starts throbbing ever so slightly.

“Yeah that’s… that’s fine.”

You don’t get tenderly touched often in this job; the only time you are ever physical with somebody is either during active combat or training, and never have you been this close to Tangerine, and it’s as if this warmth and gentleness is the key that unlocks the door to this hidden chamber in your mind, body and soul that you’ve fought to keep closed.

Your eyes close and you try to shut the door again, distancing yourself from the situation at hand, pretending not to notice how broad shouldered he is, his strong chest, his heated presence, that hand and the fact that you’re tingling all over and your pussy is drenched with lust for this brit.

Can he feel your heart beating too? Your quickened breath, your trembling legs, your heat.

Unfortunately you want him. You’ve never wanted anyone this bad before and it pains you. Stay cool, stay calm, stay collected. Your mantra. The one thing that has kept you at bay for so long is your devotion to being a goddamn professional, but this? This is far from that.

You wish he’d kiss you, touch you skin to skin. That he’d move his hand down, far down, beneath your pants and stockings and panties. Wish he’d run his fingers across your clit, massage it before slipping in between your soaking lips and down to finger your needy hole, preparing you for his cock to enter. With your eyes still closed you can easily imagine it all happening, and the heat between your thighs intensifies, building up.

“Hey,” he whispers, bringing you back from the fantasy and your eyes flutter open to catch how the moon shines in through the window, illuminating his all too close face and those incredible ocean eyes staring at you.

Then it happens. Your brain can barely register it but your body for sure can as he kisses you and you moan into the embrace. It’s a kind kiss, a gentle one - the type that tests the waters to see if what he’s doing is okay, and when he moves away again you miss it dearly and immediately.

He looks at you, perhaps waiting for a response, a reaction, waiting for you to say no and break his bleeding heart. But you don’t. Instead, you grab his face and pull it back into a deep and passionate kiss, and for just a moment you feel all the tension leave his body as he might realize that you do want this, too- oh God you’re on fire.

And it’s as if he can sense it as he presses his lips harder against yours as if this is all he’s ever wanted to do in life. He could have anyone but he wants you.

His hand on your waist tightens its grip, squeezing you through the shirt. Your hands run into his hair, around his neck and he groans into your kiss.

It doesn’t take long before you feel his cock growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants, and you don’t wait to grind against it with fervor, making him turn his head to hiss and groan out in pleasure. The breath of air is welcome, for his kiss suffocates you in the most delicious manner, making you forget to breathe in his presence.

The hand on your waist moves beneath the shirt and up your back, his touch is searing hot and you want nothing more than all of it everywhere. But you both understand that you can’t exactly get naked right here and now, it’d be too cold and there’s too little space to get properly into it all.

Yet that doesn’t mean either of you are going to stop.

He brings his hand up from beneath your shirt, grabs your wrist, kisses your hand and your palm almost too lovingly, then guides it down. Your eyes stay locked together, lips inches apart as you breathe the same air, as he brings your palm against his impressive bulge, and his eyelids lower at the pressure you put against it.

His forehead meets yours as his eyes close when you rub up against him and you can easily feel every inch of his throbbing cock that you wish would fuck you senseless.

But the best you can hope for right now is to feel it in the flesh, so you reach down with your other hand and start undoing his belt, but shock hits you like a brick when he stops you, and for a moment you doubt everything, until he’s quick to say-

“No, no no no, you first, love.”

It’s always been darlin’ or honey, but never love, and perhaps it is a bit too soon for that, but you feel your entire body tremble at the word anyways.

You are speechless as he then reaches down to undo the button of your pants, let the zipper run down, and when the tips of his fingers start to dig beneath the waistband of your too many layers, you close your eyes in anticipation.

And the relief is glorious when his index finger and middle finger smooth across your clit, letting go of some of that white hot tension that has been building up for what feels like hours, but are in fact only mere minutes.

“God,” you sigh, and you feel Tangerine huff a breathy laugh against your skin.

“Just Tangerine, dear.”

He starts drawing small, short and quick circles with your clit, massaging it just like you had hoped he would and oh he’s done this before, much to the benefit and joy of you right here, right now. You moan out in ecstasy and grip at his muscular arm in a need to stabilize yourself before you drift off to a sea of lust.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper and he doesn’t kiss you, but you can feel him staring at your knit brow and wide parted lips.

It is phenomenal, but it’s not enough.

“I want you… inside of me…” you whisper against his lips.

“Happily.”

And so without hesitation, he moves his fingers further down at an almost eager pace, but you are as enthused as he is, so it does not bother you at all. In fact you are beyond thrilled when his thick, strong fingers enter your slick, throbbing pussy, and as he immediately starts thrusting in and out as best as he can despite the restrictions, you thank God for the fact that you’re out in the middle of nowhere as you practically scream out in joy.

“Oh God, oh fuck, ahh!”

With every thrust of his fingers heat builds in you, coursing through your body, your thighs quivering and quaking, making you breathless. And when he kisses you it consumes everything as his tongue dances with yours while he fucks you thoroughly and passionately.

You’re so close to cumming that it would be irritating under normal circumstances, but right now everything is magic, so you don’t mind the wait for release that your vibrator usually brings you to that now Tangerine does instead.

And when he starts using the base of his palm to massage your clit in rhythm with his fingers entering you, you cry out in pure ecstasy as you cum possibly harder than you have in years, tearing your lips from his as you need all the air your lungs can muster. While you would never admit it due to how cheesy it sounds, it feels like fireworks in your cunt and gut exploding and lighting up your entire body, and you understand why orgasms are called “little deaths” because you could die happy right now as you slowly come down from your high and regain consciousness proper after what felt like a minutes long orgasm.

“My my,” Tangerine whispers against your jaw as he kisses it gently. “What a spectacular show.”

“You should try being me,” you say, breathlessly with a slight smile.

“To be honest that sounds like a pleasure, you phenomenal woman.”

You hum as you kiss the charmer, and when he pulls his fingers out you feel empty inside like never before. He sucks his fingers clean of you and it sends sparks through you to witness.

“Maybe next time I can try the real deal,” he suggests, implying that he’s more than willing to eat you out.

“Oh there’s gonna be a next time?” You laugh a little, because obviously, there’s no way you’ve had enough after just a taste of him.

“Oh there’s gonna be a next time,” he repeats assuredly, and he leans in to whisper in your ear, “I want my cock in your pussy so bad, I’ll fuck you into oblivion, make you cry out my name, my real name some day, and I’ll fucking ruin every other man that will come after me, because love, you’ll never have better than me.”

You practically moan at this promise, and pull him into a rough and electric kiss, whispering. “You cocky son of a bitch, let’s hope you’re good at keeping your promises.”

“Speaking of promises, I think you owe me one right now.”

“Happily.”

You’re not slow to undo his belt, and perhaps it is pure luck that you get it off so easily, but you won’t complain about it when you run the zipper down, and he groans out as you reach beneath the waistband and pull his cock out the best you can in this cramped space.

“Mmmm, quite big, aren’t you?” you tease as you get a proper feel of his girthy, lengthy cock.

“Never had any complaints.”

“I can feel why, God I want you inside of me. In my pussy. In my mouth.”

“If there was space I’d shove it so far up your cunt I’d be rearranging your guts.”

You moan a little with him at that thought.

“Next time.” And you start jerking him off, slowly at first, from the very base and all the way to the tip of his dick, letting your hand get wet with his precum before smearing it all over his length as you travel down again. You continue this rhythm for about half a minute or so, ensuring it won’t be a too dry experience for him, but the way his hips buck forward and his breathing becomes elevated, you’d guess you’re doing a proper job of it.

And if you had any doubts, they all go away when he grunts out-

“Fuck, love, that’s it, keep going…”

His hand grabs your ass as if it is the one thing that keeps him grounded in this moment of dear tenderness. And while he seems to enjoy the slow rhythm, when you eventually speed up he curses even more in a growl-

“Yes- fuck, shit, ah-”

He brings both his hands up to grab your face, kisses you and tongue fucks your mouth like it’s a promise, one he’ll keep, about all the things he’ll do to you that words can’t explain, but actions do speak the loudest.

And your actions seem to do the trick, for the faster you go, the louder he gets and it thrills you beyond anything to hear how vocal he is in his pleasure that you are granting him, and when he cums it is with choked grunts as he presses his forehead against yours and his eyes close up tight.

In your grip you feel how his cock pulsates and his entire body trembles in ecstasy, till he goes completely still and mostly limp in your hand, but still there’s some stiffness that says he could easily go a second round, and that intrigues you for future references, because you could definitely go again, too.

After nearly a minute of huffing for air, he speaks, “Bloody hell, love, that was… fantastic.”

“Hmm likewise,” you muse and kiss him which he welcomes.

A couple of minutes pass in silence as you both catch you breath, when a thought strikes you.

“What… what are we gonna tell Lemon?”

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely nothing!”

“What, really? You’re ok with keeping this a secret from your brother, of all people?”

“Yes! He’ll get all smug and say shit like told you so.”

“Oh? He predicted this?” You grin a little.

“Well not this exact situation, but yes, I may have told him how I find you so attractive, and he might have told me you feel the same sort of attraction to me.”

“And how did he know that?”

“You know Lemon, he’s stupidly amazing at reading people, so it might have been obvious to him.”

“And you don’t think it’ll be just as obvious to him that we practically fucked?”

There’s a moment of quiet as Tangerine considers the outcome of this, then-

“Ah shit.”

Because yes, Lemon will absolutely know.

[kino-rogers]

He is always a call away (Tangerine/Reader)

Word count: 825 (reasonably short and sweet)

Song: 0800 HEAVEN | Nathan Dawe, Joel Corry, Ella Henderson (listen, I know the vibes don't fit but the lyrics inspired me to write this aha)

Short summary: Bullet Train happens and everything goes down as it does in the film. Reader is trying to process that Tangerine won't come home again.

Warnings: Canon typical swearing, angst, (light) past trauma mention

notes: thank you @nocturnest for jumping on this to fix my broken English and being a wonderful beta!! what an intro but uh [coughs] i'm already excited to write more for this fandom (bits in which Tangie is very much alive ehehe) anywaayyy, hope you guys like this!! - 🥝

It's not been the… easiest time - it has to be said.

Since that phone call from Lemon, you've been struggling with sleep. It doesn't show in your work, of course. Keeping up appearances has always come to you rather naturally. Some of it being from your repressed trauma, that even years of therapy barely scratched the surface of, but also because of your line of work too. It doesn't sit well to be an emotional wreck after every kill you're paid to do.

The call was from a number you didn't recognise. The passing sound of traffic suggested it's from a payphone as Lemon sighed heavily down the line.

"You lost your phone? On a train?" You answered the call lightheartedly and you recognized his sigh immediately, you hoped it was just a release of pent up tension over a job well finished. Although, the fact that Lemon was the one to call, put you on edge, hoping it's not coming through your pretend jolliness.

"He's gone." His statement was simple and sudden. The tone, stone cold, as his voice was raspy, possibly from crying.

"Who's gone, Lemon?"

Your throat ran dry as you swallowed around a lump. Your chest quickly tightened as you tried to piece together what he could have meant. You couldn't- no, didn't want to think about the most likely possibility.

"Tan-" He took a pause, cleared his throat before continuing. "Tangerine, was shot in the neck, he is gone."

It's not like you guys were dating, no, it wasn't anything like that. Neither of you had the emotional capacity for that. What, with your jobs requiring you to spend weeks, months away from each other at a time, sometimes in different countries, opposite sides of the world. But he was the first person, in a long while, that you genuinely cared for.

~~~

You turn to your bedside table, glance at the alarm clock there. Its digital display shines in orange numbers, 01:54.

It's a month, today.

You suddenly have a stupid idea. What would happen if you called his number? Last time you checked it was still live, it'd probably just take you to voicemail. Weirdly, your therapist at your last session suggested writing letters to him, in your bereavement. Bereavement. Such a weird word. You're not even sure that's what this is. But maybe leaving a voicemail would be an equivalent. Maybe he can listen to his voicemails, wherever he is. You scoff at the fleeting thought but reach for your phone anyway.

Tangie is still in your recent calls. You tap the saved contact and wait for it to ring.

You're not expecting anyone to answer, of course not. Your grief hasn't driven you completely nuts. But as the phone rings, you can't help but think about getting to talk to him, just once more. By some divine intervention, you'd be connected through to him, in the afterlife and you could tell him everything you couldn't the last time you spoke.

"-after the beep BEEP"

"Hi Tangie," You scoff in embarrassment, not really sure why you're doing this anymore. "I uh,"

You sigh heavily, all too aware of the silence the machine is expecting you to fill. You sniffle as you start to speak again.

"I know you won't hear this. That… Isn't really the point." You draw a shaky breath. "I know who did it though. Well, knew. Lemon and I took him out last week. What kind of an assassin's name is Ladybug anyway?" You snicker. Can't avoid the tightness in your chest though.

"I just… I dunno. Apparently I should be writing letters to you, as if I could send them off with a pigeon and they'd get to wherever the fuck you are. So, this is the next best thing. If this was anyone else, you'd tell me to fuck off and to suck it up. We always were on the same wavelength, when it came to feelings." Your chest deflates with a long exhale as you realise you need to stop dancing around whatever it is you're trying to say here.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you I really fucking miss you." You sniffle again, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. "I miss your stupid grin, your teasing, your annoyingly cocky attitude, your… The way you looked at me."

"I wish you were here right now so I could tell you I love you. I wish I didn't, I really goddamn wish I didn't care for you so much but I fucking love you. And I hate that I can't see your face as I told you, for the first time. Please call me back."

You bury your face in your pillow and you howl into it, sobs shaking your body as the voicemail recording is saved and you continue to wallow in your bereavement. You're supposed to be feeling better. You need to stop paying your therapist.

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[chuulyssa]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald

[lovesicklovermia]

normalise making a list of character x readers u like to read so you can spin a wheel every night before bed to decide ur bedtime story xx

[snail-day]

You can do this, Satoru. It’s just your wedding. Just the day you’ve been dreaming about since the moment she first smiled at you. Just the person you’re terrifyingly in love with. Who’s about to walk down the aisle and change his life forever. A day he's been dreaming since he first met you

He’s standing at the altar, trying to act normal. Cool as a cucumber. Like his knees aren’t locked and his palms aren’t sweating through his white gloves. Fidgeting with the cuffs of his dark tux every two seconds. Trying not to cry. Trying really hard not to cry.

His baby blues are not looking at the double doors. Nope. Not even glancing. He’ll cry if he does. He knows he’ll cry.

And then the music starts.

You appear.

And he’s a goner.

His breath punches out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs for the first time. You’re there. Radiant. Soft. Shining in a way he doesn’t even think the sun could compete with. And you’re crying. Oh god, you’re already crying.

He panics. Internally. Loudly.

Don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry, he begs in his mind, like he can will the tears away just by loving you hard enough. Your bottom lip is wobbling. Your hands are clutching the arm of your dad a little too tightly that his poor father-in-law is wincing. You freeze halfway down the aisle. Staring at him, practically on the verge of sobbing.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

He moves before anyone can stop him, taking long strides right to where you’re standing, wide-eyed and trembling. The officiant laughs under their breath and says something like, “Looks like the groom’s meeting the bride halfway,” but Satoru barely hears it. His entire world has narrowed down to you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs rapidly brushing your tears away. You sniffle. Nod. Barely.

So, obviously, he does the only thing he knows how to do: he teases.

“Didn’t know I was marrying a crybaby today,” he whispers, smiling crookedly, voice cracking just enough to betray how close he is to sobbing.

You swat his chest, laugh-wheezing through your tears, and he swears his heart nearly gives out. He wants to kiss you so badly, but it’s not time yet. Not technically. So instead, he holds your hands and walks you the rest of the way down the aisle, like maybe if he stays close enough, your nervousness won’t win.

He doesn’t remember the vows.

He doesn't remember the rings, or if his voice shook when he said “I do.”

But he remembers you. Every second of you. The way your fingers squeezed his like you were scared and excited all at once. The small little hi you spoke during the speech about you two coming together. The way your smile finally broke through the nerves when he mouthed mine during the ceremony.

He’s pretty sure he blacked out for the kiss. All he knows is that when it happens, the world goes quiet. All that’s left is you and him and the overwhelming realization that he gets to love you for the rest of his life.

And later, when he’s holding your heels in one hand and you in the other, dancing barefoot on the reception floor under fairy lights, he’s still chanting the same thing in his head he did the moment you walked down the aisle:

Be good. Be good. Don’t cry. Be normal. You’re married now. This is real. Don’t freak her out.

But also?

Holy shit. She’s mine.

[goodkidmadcity]

The only person I'll ever be jealous of is y/n, bro she be living THE LIIIIFE

[eternalslover]

Bullet train incorrect quotes:

Tangerine: Do you want to play 20 Questions?

Y/n: Sure!

Y/n: Whats your favorite color?

Tangerine, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Do you love me?

[luffyssa]

when the fic is good but uses first person pov

[aesthetic-bbyg]

Reading so many tumblr fics has completely ruined me from ever reading a Wattpad story that ain’t in 2nd person POV😭😭

[messierthanthou]

You and Tangerine are out on a mission up in the cold of the North; who knows where Lemon is right now, it doesn't matter- what matters is that you're stuck in the snow miles from anywhere, and it's getting colder and colder inside the car, and a tow truck won't be available till morning. So. You two have to find a way to keep warm somehow.

[kino-rogers]

hello i have a sad Tangie/Reader drabble in the works and am looking for a beta, if anyone's up for it?

[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading