nocturnest - Tumblr blog

nocturnest · 6 hours

Text

@kpopgirlbtssvt @little-miss-dilf-lover OH MY GOD GUYS PLEASE HELP I'M COMBUSTING WITH JOY - READ THIS PLEASE

Back to You Again

Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Injury, mention of blood, mention of death/fear of death, arguing/bickering, swearing. Serious idiots in love who have a little trouble expressing their feelings and choose the wrong time to do it.

You've been gone a little while. A few months to be specific. Why? Tangerine can only guess, but he's not happy about it.

Requested by @nocturnest. I'm so sorry this took so long. I started it thinking it was going to be short and then 7K words flew out. 😬Anyway, thanks for your request. It's been a long time since I wrote anything seriously and this was really good for me. Hope you enjoy!

“Laser cutter. Three auto-rifles. Two handguns. Three boxes of ammo each.”

Check.

The binoculars are heavy duty, and the metal texture grates your fingers as you pull them up to peer through the lenses into the next building over. A high-rise that had at least 30 floors. All windowed at least, which made this a little easier on you.

“In through the fifth-floor service area. Through the employee hallway to the service elevator.”

A map of the building laid next to you on the gravel roof. It hadn’t been easy to get your hands on it, but it was worth it for a building as secure as this. No security measure had been overlooked by this man and as paranoid as he seemed it went a long way to his credibility.

“In and out through the service elevator. 20 mins tops. Oh, the jammer.”

A handheld device that you’d paid top dollar for. Yes, it has duct tape holding pieces of it together, and the screen was a repurposed old Gameboy front, but it is the best your back-channel dealer could provide.

How did anyone do anything without a handler these days?

The jammer would save you the trouble (if things turned sideways) of dealing with reinforcements. It flickers to life by flipping a switch smoldered to its side. The thing really does look like a piece of garbage. And, despite what the dealer said, the duct tape and flimsy-ness of it

Several frequencies and networks flashed across the screen, all of them belonging to the building you were surveying. Scrolling through, only a few needed to be shut down, too many and it would raise alarms.

Wifi was the last to be turned off and then you would really need to book it inside.

Everything planned out to a T. Entrance and exits mapped. Back-up plans (and back-up plans to those back-up plans) in place. Extra weapons and ammo in case you had to go out guns blazing. This should be no problem.

“Office-penthouse on the top floor. Computer terminal on the desk, west side.”

Get to the computer, get the files, destroy everything. If you happened to kill the son of a bitch, well, that was a bonus.

You sigh and rub your face, trying to work out the stress lines that seemed to make a permanent home between your brows. “Now I just need to stop talking to myself.”

It was an unfortunate habit you’d picked up in the last few months of working alone. Usually, you had… no. This was no time to think of them, or of him. You have to focus. After this is done, you can go back and apologize, even grovel if you have to.

But now is the time for focus.

In the middle of repeating this mantra, one you’ve been repeating for the last month, you happen to look up at the street. Not for any real reason, nothing had drawn your attention. Nothing was amiss in your perfect plan.

Except two very familiar faces walking down the sidewalk.

Lemon and Tangerine.

Clad in their typical attire. Snazzy suits, dress shoes, and ties.

Your stomach does several things. First it flips at the sight of Tangerine as he saunters with his hands in his pockets, then it sinks and twists into painful knots.

“No, no, no!”

They can’t be here! Anywhere but here!

The two walked casually down the sidewalk, as if they were taking a nice midday stroll. No rifles, no car, nothing. Either they were ballsy as hell…or wildly misinformed about this building and the man inside.

Something in you hoped, prayed, they would pass the building. That they were going somewhere else.

They took a sharp turn to cross the street—toward the building entrance—and your breath turned ragged, your blood chilled. At the same time, your mind was churning with practicality, cold and calculated ideas. Some nasty part of you that had gotten you this far in such a dangerous career, that had nestled in you a long time ago and only now resurfaced in the months of being alone.

You could just walk away; they have their job, and they’re professionals. They can handle themselves.

You could go in after and clean up without ever being seen. Easy. The plan you made could still work, Tangerine and Lemon would be a perfect distraction.

But you were already moving. Lega working on their own and putting you into motion. Fingers tapping off the Wi-Fi signal on the jammer while you slung your duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was not the plan, you argued with yourself as you flew down the back stairs. You’ll get yourself killed being this reckless and impulsive. What happened to in and out in 20 mins?

With every point you made the other side of your mind made a counterpoint.

They’re underprepared. They’re misinformed. They don’t have the firepower to walk in the front door, hell, they don’t have enough bullets to make it to the second floor.

“God damn it!” You yelled, taking the stairs down two at a time. Your voice echoed off the walls in the cramped stairwell. The rifles in your duffle bag clattered and banged together.

They’d be killed. Tangerine and Lemon would be killed. You couldn’t let that happen.

. . .

“I say we take a hostage and negotiate our way up.”

“Yeah, sure, Lemon.”

“This guy’s what, a tech billionaire, or something?”

“Probably.”

“Ok, so he’s a nerd. Easy job.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lemon shoots his brother a less than happy look. Tangerine is staring off into space with a slight frown, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hunches over a little. Which wasn’t new, he’d been doing that a lot lately. A reflection of his dour mood.

Lemon rolls his eyes. “Oh, mate. Come on. We’re on a job.”

Tangerine shrugs, frowning harder. “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, Lemon.”

“Then stop with your sulking! What have I told you?”

“No—” Tangerine waves a hand, “—you don’t need to say it again—”

“Just send her a letter or something. She’d love it.”

Tangerine groans, he’s starting to get a headache now as they near the target building. “As I’ve said before, I attached letters on the flowers I sent.”

Lemon opens his mouth, but Tangerine cuts him off. “And I sent more than one bouquet. For fuck’s sake, her house probably looks like a tropical rainforest by now.”

“What about—”

“I’ve sent her presents. Jewelry. Perfume. A new phone in case hers was broken. Fuckin’ hell I even had her porch repainted.”

“And she didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

Lemon hesitates. “Did you say you’re sorry?”

Now Tangerine was about to lose it. His eye twitched, not that his brother could see it. “Sorry for what? She’s the one that up and disappeared without a word.”

“I still think you should say it. Just to cover your bases.”

“I’m not apologizing. We were all perfect and you know that. She was happy as a clam and if something was wrong, she would have told me.”

“Then why’d she—”

“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves, Lemon.”

They were across the street from the main entrance now. Two glass doors with golden handles reflected the brothers. In sync they both took a sharp turn toward them. Through the glass they didn’t see anyone else in the lobby and there was a long, chest high counter with a clerk along the far back wall.

Neither of them blinked at how empty the lobby was. Their client had said this target was some kind of informant, but that was about it. They’d paid half up front and sent them on their merry way.

Tangerine yanked open the glass door, holding it for Lemon. He was beyond pissed and just wanted this to be over with. Despite his complaints he was still mulling over what his brother said. Should he apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he had thought back on all the times you’d been with them, working a job or not.

He’d been happy, he thought you were happy too.

The white floor tiles of the lobby were so shiny they could check their reflections in them. The whole place was upstanding and flaunted wealth. On both sides of the spacious lobby were two silver elevators. The clerk, a lady in her mid-thirties, looked up at them as they walked in. She picked up a phone and turned away as she spoke.

It took them 10 seconds to reach the desk, and, in that time, Lemon had pulled out his gun.

He pointed it at her now. “Hang up the phone.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Not the usual response someone has when a gun is pointed at them, but she slowly hangs up.

“Come out from behind the desk, slowly.”

There’s a moment when she does nothing. Then, “No.”

Tangerine blinks, then pulls out his own gun. “Did you really just say no? Listen lady—”

She leans forward over the desk, leering. “Turn around and get the fuck out.”

Lemon shoots into the wall slightly to her left. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound. “I will fucking shoot you. Get out. From behind. The desk.”

She leans back. “Cute gun.”

Tangerine starts to get a sinking feeling. He turns to Lemon, about to say they should take a walk (maybe find a back entrance to this place instead) when the woman pulls out .22 Uzi from somewhere in the desk. They only catch a glimpse of the muzzle before they start shooting wildly and ducking.

Lemon takes a shot to the chest with a grunt. Tangerine hears the bullets whizzing past him and shattering glass.

The desk clerk turns disappearing behind an employee door seamlessly built into the wall.

They crouch down next to the desk. Tangerine’s head pounds, as it usually does when a job gets out of control.

“You alright?” He reloads his gun, watching his brother carefully.

Lemon checks himself over, patting his chest and stomach. “Yeah, all good, the vest caught it. This is fucked what do we do—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as both elevators open and squads of heavily armored men pour out. They all have automatic rifles and black Kevlar vests.

“Behind the desk!” Tangerine shouts, pulling Lemon up.

They jump over just as the bullets start flying. Glass shatters, wood splinters, tiles crack. It’s utter chaos and Tangerine and Lemon can only sit behind cover.

“I think we might be fucked!” Lemon shouts, checking his gun.

Tangerine grits his teeth, mind racing. “The client didn’t mention this level of security! I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”

“We’re outmatched!”

“No question, Lemon! Thanks for pointing that out!” Tangerine can feel his brother’s rising anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“What do we do?!”

“We hope to God this is all of them and try our best to make it out of here!”

“You’re saying—”

Tangerine fires blindly from behind the desk. “Yes, we bail on this job and break our client’s fucking legs!”

The onslaught never seems to end. These assholes are top security and they’re trained well. Their shots chip away at the desk piece by piece, Tangerine and Lemon can feel the bullets violently embed themselves in the wood against their backs.

Tangerine glances at the employee door, there’s no handle and no way to pry it open. He figures there’s a remote control that opens it somewhere from behind. He tries to remain calm, think of a way out that isn’t behind at least 10 guys with rifles.

What would you do in this situation? His heart feels like it’s been pierced with a lance as he thinks of you. Obviously, you would never be caught in a situation like this. You were careful, practical, methodical in the way you planned out jobs.

He wished you were here with him.

Instinctually, his hand reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. Lemon watches him with something close to sympathy on his face.

Your number is on speed dial. Tangerine presses a button and holds it up to his ear.

It goes straight to voicemail.

The automated answering machine has become very familiar to him these last few months. Were you checking his voicemails? He’d left you enough to fill up your mailbox, he was sure of it.

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

He hopes you can hear him over the sound of gunshots.

“Yeah, look. Lemon and I, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was really hoping you would answer this time ‘cause we need help. Since you didn’t, I just wanted to say that you’re a real prick for leaving us the way you did. And you haven’t said a single thank you or anything for all the gifts I’ve sent. Poor Lemon has been wondering where you went off to.” He pauses. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start this message, but every other attempt at getting your attention has failed.

“You know how I feel, I’ve made that pretty clear. But right now, I’m just pissed. Nothing has worked, so I’m going to break into your house and wait for you to come home.”

Lemon gives him a startled look, shakes his head from side to side.

Tangerine frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong—Alright, I won’t break into your house, but I will wait on your doorstep. Every day, I’ll be there until I see you.”

Lemon is still frowning, but Tangerine ignores him.

“This is all because…Well, I…” He struggles, throat turning dry and closing around the words he wants to say. Instead of continuing, he hangs up.

Sitting back against the desk he exhales. The gunfire has stopped to an occasional patter here and there.

Lemon runs a hand through his hair. “Bruv, what the fuck was that?”

“A last-ditch effort at getting some backup.”

They fell into silence; the lobby was eerily quiet. They knew the security team was just waiting for them to come out from behind the desk. The air crackled with energy.

Lemon checked his pockets. “I’ve got two clips left, you?”

“One and a half.”

The look they share conveys their doubts, their dread. An unspoken conversation passes between them.

Tangerine puts it in the back of his mind. “I’ll run out first, then you go a few seconds later.”

“No way, we go at the same time.”

He shakes his head but arguing only puts off the inevitable.

“Go to the opposite side of the desk.”

They split, crouching behind opposite corners. There was no way either of them would be able to make it two steps without taking 10 rounds to the chest. The image of you stays in Tangerine’s mind. He just wished he could see you again. Whatever comes next, afterlife or not, he hoped you—or some form of you—would be in it.

Tangerine gives Lemon one last look, finds that his brother is watching him, and gives him a somber nod. He holds his gun up, takes a deep breath, gets ready to run…

He’s out from behind the desk, gritting his teeth and firing in a flash.

He hits one, another to his left falls from Lemon’s bullets. His legs are shaky, he can feel them trembling.

Rifles take aim.

Tangerine opens his mouth to urge Lemon on.

And a grenade goes off.

The loud bang startles him, his ears ring and a second later he’s shrouded in white, smokey fog. Tangerine stops, confused, looking around to try and find Lemon. But a strong hand yanks him and drags him back. He stumbles, scattering empty bullet shells along the ground, and falls onto the tile.

He’s back behind the desk. Lemon falls next to him.

A pair of legs stands between the brothers. Next to them lies a green duffle bag. Empty rifle shells fall to the ground. Tangerine didn’t even realize guns were firing. He followed the legs up in one long sweep of his eyes.

. . .

A million and one things were going through your mind as you fired an automatic rifle at the security team in the lobby. The biggest thing was holding back every fiber of your damn being from screaming at Tangerine and Lemon for being so foolish.

If you had been a breath later, a second too late, these idiots would be laying in a pile of their own blood on the floor. That thought definitely won’t haunt you for a few months.

The other thing you were concentrating on was ignoring the way Tangerine was staring at you right now. He’s not hurt—you kept repeating, over and over again. He’s ok.

The security team was scattering for cover, but finding little, making your job easy as the last of the smoke cleared. They hadn’t been expecting someone to come in from behind and you’d shot a few in the back before throwing the smoke grenade. Only a few were left now.

They seemed to get over their surprise and began firing back, opening the elevators, and using the inside cabins for cover. Keeping the doors open would stop them from being sent back up for more goons to come through. That was good.

You duck down behind the desk. They were still staring at you.

“Yes! Hello!” You stubbornly gritted out while staring into the wood.

Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed many times, but no words came out. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t able to say anything.

“Did you get his message?” He was grinning like some kind of fool.

“Message? Which one?”

Was he talking about the hundreds of messages—texts, voicemails, and letters—Tangerine had been sending on a weekly basis? Yes, you’d gotten them. Read every single one. It had been hard enough sleeping normally, after all that you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The guilt was overwhelming.

Lemon’s eyes dart to his brother. You did the same and regretted it immediately.

Tangerine’s eyes were practically bulging from his head. His mustache twitched.

Oh, he’s pissed.

You quickly look away and clear your throat. “Are you on a job?”

“Yeah, a shit one. We were just trying to bail.”

“Can’t blame you. What happened, bad intel?”

Tangerine’s voice resembled a growl, it grated against your ear, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Understatement of the century, love.”

Love. Love. Love.

Lemon wipes his forehead. “What’re you doing here?”

“I have my own problems with your target.” You turn to Lemon but feel Tangerine’s eyes burning a hole in your back. “I was about to sneak in when I saw you two walking down the street.” You check your gun, then rummage through the duffle bag for another clip.

“A massive coincidence then?” Lemon was holding back a smile, eyes darting to Tangerine occasionally. It was as if they weren’t just about to die only five minutes ago.

“If you two still want to bail, that’s fine with me. I’ll give you a window after taking the rest out. I’m going to push on.”

Tangerine spins you around by the shoulder to face him. “Are you fucking mental?”

You’re very close together. The determination it takes not to just lean in and…

Speaking slow, you’re focusing your words and hoping it gets through to him. “Your target has info on me that could get people hurt and ruin my reputation. I need to wipe his computer.”

For all his credit, Tangerine takes you seriously in that moment, even as he looks like he might commit murder. He looks to Lemon—they do that ‘sibling conversation’ without words that they’re so good at.

“We’ll stick around to help.”

“You sure?”

Something in him ignites. There’s a fire behind his eyes. “Fuck yes, we’re sure.”

He’s giving mixed signals now. Is he angry? Probably. But apparently not angry enough to leave you on a job alone.

“Alright…” You say, slowly backing away.

You search through the duffle bag, cold objects graze your fingers, you can identify them each by touch. The laser cutter has a rubber handle. “Lemon—" You toss it to him. “—Cut a hole in the employee door. Tangerine—” You grab another rifle, placing it into his hands. “—Help me take out the last of the guys.”

He takes the rifle and for a moment your hands touch. You expect him to flinch away, or recoil, but he lingers there for a moment. His golden rings gleam—of course he wore them, he never leaves them behind—and catch your eyes until he takes the gun from you.

Fucking confusing.

It had been months, but the three of you worked together like no time had passed at all. Tangerine falling in sync with you, watching your back. Working in tandem, the few remaining riflemen dropped like flies.

“Doors open!” Lemon shouted tapping you and Tangerine’s shoulder.

The three of you waste no time dashing into the small service hallway. Tangerine grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. You were just about to pick it up, but he gave you a look.

There wasn’t as much polish to this part of the building, the lighting was dimmer, and it lacked the white tiles, replaced by a steely gray metal flooring instead. The hallway was long and narrow, its walls matched the floor in color.

“This should lead to an employee elevator. That will take us to the top office.” You panted, oddly exhilarated.

Lemon was looking down the hallway as he crouched. “Watch out for the desk clerk, she went this way.”

“Still can’t believe you both just walked in the front door…”

“We don’t all have your sense of planning, darling.” Tangerine huffed, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder.

“Did you have any sense of planning?”

“Lemon had a plan.”

You turn halfway back to face him. “You—Tangerine!”

He fixes you with an odd look. “What?”

“Lemon doesn’t even read the briefs! And you let him make the plan?” You shoot an apologetic look to Lemon. “No offense, you’re really great in every other area.”

He gives you a half smile. “I appreciate that.”

Tangerine grinds his teeth. “In my defense, the intel in the brief was already bad.” He steps closer, into your personal space. “And you always come up with the plans.”

You don’t shy away from him, in fact, you inch closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make them, but you should know better—”

Lemon sighs, long and loud. “Can you two please focus? We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation here.”

It took a moment for you and Tangerine to resume, the closeness was intimate. Electricity crackles in the air between you.

You both say ‘Fine’ at the same time, like stubborn teenagers. The tension hadn’t settled one bit.

If Tangerine needed to be ignored for the remainder of this mission, then ok. That’s fine. No problem. That doesn’t bother you one bit. Nope.

The three of you empty the duffle bag of its contents, splitting the ammo and giving Lemon the pump action shotgun. That shotgun was your Hail Mary in case shit hit the fan—which, by your definition, it had.

You three were your own personal attack squad now, armed to the teeth.

The employee lift was at the end of the twisting hallway, metallic doors shining like a beacon. The panel to call it only had the arrow pointing up, a one-way lift. You’d poured over the maps late into the night leading up to your personal mission, often with a glass of wine, and it had struck you as odd that it only offered a one way up.

You jab at the button, and the little golden light is stark against the greys around it. Tangerine stands just behind you; you can hear his breath over your shoulder.

“Why’s it only one way?” he asks, hushed and tense.

“I asked the same question.” You responded turning a little to look at him. “I thought it might be security measures.”

“Doesn’t really make sense though, does it? It lets people like us up.” Tangerine zeroes in on your frown. “What is it?”

“There might be internal controls from the top office. This guy doesn’t fuck around with security.”

“Who is this guy anyway?” Lemon sniffs, casting a look back down the hallway.

“An asshole that likes snooping into people’s personal business.”

The brothers trade looks.

“He also works in satellite tech, undercover ops, information gathering.”

There’s a gentle bump into your shoulder. “He’s been snooping into your business, has he?”

How long is this elevator going to take?

“He has.”

“Did he try to blackmail you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he find?”

The elevator dings and the sleek metal doors slide open. The inside is full of ominous red and gold hues. The luxuriousness of it gives you the impression that the boss of the building takes it regularly.

Instead of answering, you step inside and forcefully hit the button for the top floor. Tangerine watches you carefully, studying you. Somehow, he looks like a kicked puppy, yet holding the rifle he takes on a much more sinister tone. He still looks dashing as hell in his suit though. You can see the little gold chain of his necklace around his broad neck.

Focus, focus, focus!

His mustache twitches a bit as he catches you staring. And to top that off, he stands in front of you, very closely in front. Either trying to shield you or irritate you. Possibly both.

He’s wearing the cologne you got him as a present almost a year ago.

“If there’s in house security for this lift, we should be prepared.” You shift a little to see Lemon over Tangerine’s shoulder.

“What do you suggest?”

“They know we’re coming, so we have to be fast. Their access to elevators has been blocked. All remaining security teams will need to take the stairs. This elevator opens to another employee hallway that we’ll have to exit in order to reach the office. That’s assuming—”

The elevator stutters, something above you screeches in the elevator shaft, and the panel lights flicker. All three of you stumble as it comes to an abrupt stop and the dim emergency lights switch on. They coat the interior in a faint red light, turning it into a nightmare scenario.

You groan. “That’s assuming they don’t just turn the elevator off. Fuck.”

Lemon places the shotgun on the floor and motions to Tangerine. Together they pry the paneling off to reveal the switchboard underneath. Lemon fusses with the wiring, using a knife to cut through some and connect it to others.

Sparks fly, flashing in the dim light. Your anxiety ramps. Trapped in an elevator was not on your list of things you wanted to deal with today.

While Lemon fussed with wires, Tangerine turned back to you. “Relax.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try to stay calm, we’ll be out in a second or two.”

Your blood boiled hot. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”

Tangerine smiles at you. “I know you hate elevators.”

“They’re fine, I just particularly hate being trapped in them.”

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

“That doesn’t help at all!”

More sparks and flickering lights and the elevator doors open an inch. Tangerine has the audacity to smirk in that moment and he touches your chin briefly. His eyes gleam in the dim light.

If you all lived, you were going to kill him.

The twins work wordlessly to pry the elevator doors open. It takes a tremendous effort and both of them are sweaty and breathing hard at the end, but there’s enough space for a person to climb through. Except, you’re going to have to jump down into the office below. Half the elevator is blocked.

“Well, good news is…” Lemon says, scratching his head, “we can get out. And if the elevator can only fall downward.”

“The elevator only goes up, Lemon.” You choke out.

“Oh. Right…well, best get a move on then.”

“I’ll go first.” Tangerine volunteers.

On instinct you reach for him. He sees the slight movement before you hold yourself back.

As if it was easy, he’s crouching down, squeezing through the doors, and jumping into the office below. All with his gun in his hand. Meanwhile, your heart is doing summersaults in your throat.

He holds his hands up, beckoning you. “Come on. You’ve done harder things than this.”

You force yourself to move, crouching down and inching toward the opening. You toss him your rifle. “Like when?”

“Like when you jumped between rooftops in Venezuela.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I did that! And in hindsight, it was fucking stupid of me.”

He laughs. “I’ve got you. Come on.”

You squeeze through the doors, imagining the elevator crashing down, the doors snapping shut, something—anything drastic, and then throw yourself at Tangerine. He catches you with practiced ease and holds you close to him.

He says something you don’t catch over the sound of your trembling breaths. There’s a pat on your shoulder, Lemon is out.

Regaining yourself, you move away from Tangerine and straighten your clothes. His brow furrows, mustache tilts down. Maybe it was your imagination, but did his fingers grip your clothes? A silent plea for you to stay?

You do your best to ignore it. “Let’s go. Did anyone catch what floor we stopped on?”

“37th.” Lemon says, handing over your gun.

“Two floors short.”

“You think they’re waiting for us?”

“I’d bet money on it. Be careful, both of you. I don’t want to see any heroics.”

Tangerine’s eyes follow you as you move to the front and lead them through the hallway at a jogging pace. The single door at the end is much like the one you entered on the first-floor lobby. There’s a control panel for it to the side. As you run up to it, you press your ear to the other side.

No noise.

Your hand hovers over the button. With one last look behind you at the twins you give them a nod, then press it. The door clicks open a fraction, and everything goes to shit.

They were waiting for you on the other side of the door and the gunfire started up immediately. Your vision was blocked immediately, and you were pushed and tugged out by a strong hand—the world was a blur of loud shots, ringing ears, and scrambling. Grey cubicles shoulder-height tall were set up along the floor, which made spotting the enemy incredibly hard. All the fighting was done in the tight walkways between the office spaces.

Your shirt had blood on it, but you had no bullet wounds. Tangerine sat beside you, holding an arm. He’d been shot in his right arm.

“I said no heroics!” You practically shrieked.

Lemon was firing between cubicles, and from the sound of it, he was holding his own.

“What was I supposed to do, love?” Tangerine pants through the pain.

“You’re supposed to let me handle it!” You’re shouting as you pull out some gauze. The bullet went straight through his upper arm. He’d need stitches but, overall, he would be ok. You poke and prod gently as he hisses with each touch.

His teeth are gritted as he grunts out, “You wanted to get shot?”

“I’d take a bullet for you, happily. You know that.”

“I feel the same way, which is what I was doing.”

“I still don’t want you to!”

“I don’t want you to, either!”

Something bounces off your back. It’s a stapler. Both you and Tangerine stare at it for a moment, confused.

“Oi! You two! Get over yourselves and actually talk about your feelings for once!”

You whip around to stare daggers at Lemon. “Did you just throw a stapler at me?!”

He’s taking cover behind a grey cubicle not too far away. “Yeah, I did! I’m sick of you two avoiding an actual conversation. Talk—it—out!”

Tangerine sits up, pushing against your hands on his chest in your weak attempt to keep him down. “You’ve lost your mind, mate!”

“Thomas would say to express your feelings, that bottling them up is bad for you! So, express them!”

“Is it really necessary—” You pick up your rifle and fire blindly down the walkway, “—to do this now? We’re a little busy!”

“It’s now or never, I know you two! Once all this stops, you’ll avoid it!”

Tangerine looks perplexed, like he’s really considering it, and you try not to look at him again. “Fuck this job!” You shout, before rolling into the walkway and opening fire.

The two or three men that hadn’t been behind cover are caught by surprise and the bullets chew through the walls of the cubicles. A deadly silence permeates the office floor, only the ringing in your ears remains.

Another shot rings out and you feel like your shoulder’s been ripped from the socket.

You’re thrown back onto the ground. It must have been a heavy round, your left arm is completely numb, do you even have an arm left?

There’s shouting and more gunshots, the grey office walls and floor merge into one as the room spins. You’re getting pulled off the ground, someone is prodding your arm. Absentmindedly, you swat at whoever is doing it.

“Listen, hey, open your eyes!”

Tangerine…

You obey. He’s inches in front of your face, brows furrowed, a vein in his forehead sticks out.

“I’m fine.” You cough out. “Just fell down, is all.”

“You’ve been shot!”

“Oh.”

He struggles, he looks like he has more to say, but stays silent. You swat at Lemon who’s wrapping your arm—or shoulder, more accurately. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”

“You’re not fine.” Lemon grunts, pushing your hand away. “It was a .308 round. You’ll be lucky if you have any bones left in your shoulder.”

“Why’d you do that?!” Tangerine is shouting, running his hand through his hair. You both match now, he’s bandaged up on his left arm too.

“Do what?” You ask through gritted teeth as Lemon tightens the bandage.

“Run out like an absolute lunatic?”

“I told you I’d take a bullet for you.”

His eyes bug out. “You threw yourself into the line of fire!”

“All in a day’s work. Now, can we get back to it?” You don’t wait for a response, instead pushing yourself to your feet. Your left arm hangs to the side, limp and numb. A dull throb pulses through your side.

Tangerine watches you. “We need to have a serious discussion when this is over, love.”

You huff out a breath, swaying slightly. “Noted.”

The three of you push on in tense silence. Tangerine makes sure you’re behind him while the rest of the floors leading to the main penthouse office are cleared. He’s acting so stubborn, blocking you at every turn, holding you back with a gentle, yet unyielding hand. The vein in his forehead never goes away.

Finally, the double doors leading to the office are before you. Platinum gold, of course, with carved handles. This guy’s style was beginning to get obnoxious.

Lemon kicks open the doors with as much anger and prejudice as you feel (yet can’t muster at the moment). Instead of what you were expecting, the target stands alone behind his desk. He smirks, giving off a Wall Street investor impression with his pressed suit and perfectly cut hair.

He spreads his arms wide. “I really should have known you three would be together for this.”

“Shut up, wanker.” Tangerine shouts, pointing his gun.

The target opens his mouth to say more, but Tangerine doesn’t let him. He empties the clip into the man’s chest.

The target dies with a startled look on his face, falling back over his desk.

You move past Tangerine, fighting his hands that grip at your clothing. “Thank God for that.”

The computer is easily hacked, the files you’re after are on the desktop. Maybe the dead man was looking to bargain—or gloat. You glance at his dead, glazed over eyes.

Bastard.

Tangerine paces, looking at you often. His job is done, the confirmation is sent to the client through Lemon’s phone.

Your files are downloaded onto an encrypted flash drive, and you rip the wiring out of the computer’s back, smashing the server tower. Mission accomplished.

“I guess now that you have what you need, you’ll disappear again.” Tangerine is glaring at you, chewing his lip. His bandage is bloody.

The flood gates open.

“I needed these files!” You shout, worsening the headache you already have.

Tangerine shouts back, taking a step closer. “I would have understood if you had just told me!”

“I couldn’t have told you!”

“Why not?”

“Because—well—I didn’t—It doesn’t matter now!”

“So, you disappear for months, without a word, for something you won’t even tell me about?!”

“I didn’t want to involve you! I wanted to get this done myself!”

“I’m involved now!”

“It was a shitty coincidence you showed up here today, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of this job!”

“I’m not concerned about me!”

“Well, you should be! I care about your safety!”

“And I care about yours!”

In the corner, Lemon shakes his head.

You hold your arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. It throbs and you wish you hadn’t. “I would have come back after this was done.”

“Oh, really?” Tangerine laughs dryly. “How was I to know?”

You groan, throat turning dry. “You’re so impatient! I just needed a little time!”

“You know how often I tried to reach you—?”

“Yes! I heard every message, got every bouquet of flowers—and thank you for my porch, that was really nice.”

Tangerine flounders a little, he still wants to argue, but some of the steam has been let out. “A thank you would have been nice.”

“I’m thanking you now!”

“A whole good that did when I thought you were done with me—” He shoots a look at his brother, “—and Lemon!”

“I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand more times, Tangerine! Is that what you want?”

He turns his back to you, grumbling something.

“I don’t understand why it was such a big deal to you, we’re contractors! We kill people for a living, and you’re freaking out—”

He spins back around. “It’s a big deal because I thought you were hurt.” He stalks closer, you notice his hair has come undone from the neat gel, curls flair out around his neck. “I thought something happened to you!” He’s within arm’s distance now. “It’s a big deal because I love you!”

And then he stops. His eyes go wide, as if he’s just spilled a secret.

Fuck, he did just spill a secret. Maybe you had known, but he’s never said anything. It was always just little guesses here and there, a thought—a feeling—and inclination. Late nights, especially recently, that you spent thinking about it, wondering.

Your mouth falls open in the silence. “I—I…love…” but damned if your mouth just wasn’t getting it out.

Arguing and bickering was so much easier.

But he knows, he can see it in the way your eyes soften, in the way you swallow with a dry throat. In the way your hand reaches to him, and your body leans forward.

“You know…” Lemon says, looking up from his phone, “Most people would kiss at this point. Just a suggestion.”

A quip, a very fitting one, comes to mind and you’re about to tell Lemon just how you’re not normal people, when Tangerine pulls you to him. Your chest presses to his and his lips are on yours in an instant.

Hungry, needy. It’s desperate, an urgent need be close, to be touching. Burning with desire and hot with passion. You give into it.

His mustache scratches at your lips and you pull him into you, threading your fingers through his curly hair, mussing it up even more. His hands grip at your back, pull at your clothes.

Closer. You need to be closer.

Fuck air, the feeling of his lips moving against yours is the only thing you’ll ever need again.

Your arm throbs and the dull pulse shoots up to your chest. You sigh, half in pain and half in pleasure. Unfortunately, Tangerine pulls back. There’s blood on his lips and he looks concerned.

“Wait…” You mumble, trying to pull him back to you. He’s your lifeline now.

“You need a doctor, love.”

“Just a little longer.”

Tangerine chuckles, wrapping an arm around your back. “After you’re patched up. I promise.”

…Bonus…

“You’re going to ‘break into my house and wait for me to come home’?”

Tangerine groans, throwing his head back as you walk into the small office. Private clinics with ‘respectable’ doctors. Gotta love ‘em.

“Love, I didn’t mean it, I was in a life-or-death situation—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

You give a good-natured laugh, sitting next to him. You’d been patched up first, Tangerine was just waiting for some blood work to come back.

Tangling your fingers in his you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing, Tan. I know.”

“Ok.” He sighs, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Good.”

You ruffle through your pockets to pull out your phone, your arm stings, but the pain medication the doc gave you does wonders. “I thought about it, I think you deserve to know why I was after your target.”

He looks at you with new interest now.

You tilt your screen to show him.

It had pictures of you and Tangerine. Pictures of you sitting together at lunch, laughing. Pictures of you walking down the street together, arm in arm. Pictures of you looking like a couple.

“Oh,” he breathes out, “I see.”

“I was worried you’d be put in danger if these…well, if they got into the wrong hands.”

“Didn’t want our clients to think we were softies either, huh?”

“That too.”

He presses his face into your hair. He hasn’t expressed his feelings for you again, but you’re starting to realize he always had—just through actions instead. A gentle hand on the small of your back. Wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning down to speak softly into your ear.

These were just as much of an expression as words.

“Will we have to do this every time?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.

“Every time what?”

“It’s only a matter of time before more pictures of us make it into someone’s hands.”

“Oh. That’s a good point.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I’ll be dammed if I have to stop taking you out over that.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to kill whoever tries something like that again.”

“We’ll do it together next time, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

#i'm in love #tangerine fic #tangerine x reader #bullet train

74 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 5 days

Note

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

aww thank you for thinking of me! here's five things that make me happy! 1. My books (I have a lovely collection of vintage and new books - varying across genres - especially classics!)

2. Fictional characters (Tangerine, Jonathan Crane) - they may as well be the loves of my life - i promise i'm not a player i just love them both equally!

3. Film - like how would I live without Bullet Train or Batman Begins or Inception

4. Art - i feel like there can't be a world without color, without art, without something visually appealing that tells a story

5. My mutuals - You guys give me so much joy. I feel like I can share such intimate things with you and I've made so many good friends through sharing my writing and sharing brainrot over characters. Thank you guys, truly.

#thank you lemmy #this was such fun #i loved this

2 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 9 days

Text

@kpopgirlbtssvt AHH DON'T EVER STOP TAGGING ME IN THESE THINGS - this is an utter masterpiece and i loved every second of it

Labyrinth

Tangerine x single mom!reader

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

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: protective!tangerine, mentions of coercion and kidnapping, cursing, crying

@kpopgirlbtssvt hi lovie!! here it is! hope you like it <33 xx

April, your almost one-year-old, is currently tucked in your arms as you try to console her.

She won't calm down and you've been assuming the train's lights are too shiny for her small eyes since she's been inconsolable for the last hour. "Honey, shh," you try again, caressing her round cheeks.

"Hello." Your thoughts are interrupted by a calm voice as a young girl sits in front of you. Her short brown hair is cut neatly into a bob and she's wearing a pink shirt and skirt. She looks well-groomed. "Your baby is adorable," she comments, glancing at April.

"Thank you," you say, smiling as you bounce April on your lap now—the movement calming her a little as her cries turn into small breathy babbling sounds.

After a moment, the girl continues. "I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but have you seen a silver case somewhere around here? My Uncle seems to have misplaced it," the girl's smile falters as if looking for sympathy, "It's very important to me," she finishes, her eyebrows creasing as her lips downturn into a pout.

You shake your head.

She urges you, "Could you perhaps help me look then?" She leans in closer as she runs her hand under April's chin, her demeanor more insistent now.

Your smile falters and you turn April away, your hand on her back, as your motherly instincts kick in. Something is wrong. "I'm so sorry. I would help only," you begin, holding April closer.

Your answer is interrupted as the girl scowls, "I'll pay you," she says.

Pay you? Your mind races as you wonder why this girl would pay you for your help. What's in this case that warrants such attention? Once you shake your head again, the girl's calm energy vanishes.

"Well, this is a shame, hmm?" her tone suddenly shifts and she smiles cruelly as she crosses her legs. The table that's separating you and her comes in handy as it hides the weapon she produces and presses against your knee.

She angles the gun upwards and you tense your arms around April, holding her even closer. April squirms, sensing your worry.

"Please," you whisper, looking around the train. None of the other passengers seem preoccupied by your predicament. They aren't even looking in your direction.

You want to scream, but you have a feeling if you do so, this girl wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. "Please don't hurt my baby," you say, fear settling inside you.

The girl tilts her head and chuckles. She taps the gun on your knee, making you flinch. "Hmm, you see, you're just the girl for this. Men underestimate girls like us—

They'll never see you coming—a vulnerable little thing like you, with something so precious to lose—you would do anything for your baby, would you?" She smiles at April.

"Please," you sound like a broken record, "what do you want from me?"

"Is your baby's daddy around?"

You want to lie but you're too scared so you shake your head.

"Pff, men—bastards, hmm?" The girl laughs and then she turns serious. "Now listen closely, if you don't want me to blow you and your baby to bits, you'll do exactly as I say," she pauses and her smirk turns sinister,

"Understand?"

* * *

You feel like you're in a trance as your shaky hands hold the gun behind you. You walk into the train car, looking for the men the girl had insisted took her case from her.

You feel a little exposed as the buttons from your chemise have been slightly unbuttoned to reveal your bra and the girl had made you let down your hair.

Go for the sex appeal and you'll have men at your feet, she'd promised.

However, you don't care how stupid you look. All you care about is April. April, who the girl has promised you she wouldn't harm if you did as you were told. April, who had started to scream again when you'd placed her in the seat next to the cruel stranger and who had continued to cry as you disappeared from her view.

Your poor baby.

You try not to cry now. You don't want your mascara to run and ruin your cover. You hold your head up, glancing at all the passengers as you walk by.

Twins. You were looking for Twins—that should be easy enough.

You walk slower, only catching fragments of conversations, until suddenly you walk by two men.

One is adjusting his stripped blue vest, his brown hair messy and his face smeared in bruises and blood.

The other, who looks nothing like the first, is holding onto a silver case. Your breath hitches when you hear the man exclaim, "Some fucker had this in his arms when I bumped into 'im—what are the odds, huh? Maybe it is our lucky day, bruv!"

You pause. They don't look like Twins, but in all honesty that means nothing—they have the case.

You take a breath and shut your eyes, turning around and hiding the gun in the flow of your skirt. You walk up to them, your eyes landing on your target as you 'accidentally' trip and fall onto the man in blue's lap.

"What the fuck?!" The man exclaims. It's an honest reaction to some random girl falling onto you. His British accent is thick and your cheeks burn as you stare into his blue eyes. Suddenly, your entire ruse threatens to crumble as your hands shake. You try to shift and press the gun to the man's stomach—like you'd been told.

April, think of April.

"She has a gun," the other man whisper-shouts and this sets the man you'd landed on into action as he hastily grabs your wrists, his other hand gripping at your waist as he shoves you off of him and corners you in the other seat, you back pressed to the wall as he twists your hand.

You yelp in pain, dropping the gun as your tears now fall freely. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a blow or a hit of some kind as your chest heaves.

None come.

"Her hand is trembling, Lemon." You hear and hesitantly open your eyes. The man holding your wrist has turned to his friend, Lemon, and is showing him the shake in your hand.

Lemon looks you over and settles in his seat again. "Poor bird's shakin' in general," he points out, confusion evident in his voice.

The first man tugs on your arm to pull your eyes to him. You look up, body still pressed up against the window as one of your legs dangles from the seat and off his thighs.

You don't dare move as the man looks like he wants to kill you. "What are ya doin' with this," he snarls, shaking the gun to scare you but then he hands it to his friend. "Who the fuck are ya? Some fuckin' hooker tryin' to play assassin?" He looks you up and down in your little outfit and you feel humiliated.

You shake your head. Assassin. The word rings in your ear. "I'm sorry," you cry breathlessly, "Please. I'm so sorry, please—she has my baby,"

You're a sobbing mess at this point, your voice trembling and hoarse. "She has my baby-"

Lemon speaks up when the man doesn't loosen his grip on your wrist. "Tangerine," he hisses, "she's sobbing. Something's wrong, mate."

Tangerine looks at Lemon sternly and then turns his attention back to you. You feel the tears spill down your cheeks as he stares and then he drops your wrist.

In an instant, you scramble to press yourself further against the wall and sit normally. You hastily button up your shirt, sex appeal be damned.

"Someone put ya up to this, didn't they?" Tangerine asks, his eyes softening just a little as he calms himself down. "Does someone have your baby?" he is trying to make sense of the word vomit that had just happened.

"Yes, s-she took my baby. I- I don't know what to do anymore. Please don't hurt me," you plead. Tangerine's eyebrows furrow. He looks at Lemon and they seem to have a conversation—or perhaps an argument—with their eyes.

"Lemon, my brother," Tangerine says after a moment, Lemon's lips curving as he clearly won whatever had just happened between them,

"And I'm Tangerine," he looks you up and down again. "We aren't gonna hurt ya, darlin'. Promise," he says as he runs a hand in his hair and then down his jaw, "And we're gonna help you find your baby, okay? No need to worry."

You stare at him, you have no desire to question their weird names as you are still a little afraid of them, but you nod anyway. They're your only chance of saving April from the hands of the cruel girl. You tell them your name. You have to trust them.

So, you find yourself in the train bathroom, Tangerine hooking something to your ear. His hands work through your hair as he connects the earpiece to the one in his ear. He looks so concentrated and you can't help but stare at him.

He's handsome.

"I'll be able to hear ya through this, ok?" Tangerine's voice cuts your thoughts and you nod at him. You must still look scared because he adds, "Lemon and I will be around the corner, all ya need is to distract her so she doesn't see us coming, understand?"

You nod again and Tangerine's eyebrow raises. He wants to hear you.

"I understand—thank you," you say, voice still trembling. This earns you a smirk and one last check to your earpiece as his fingertips skim the skin around your ear. He looks into your eyes as he hides the device behind your hair.

"Good girl," he whispers and the words roll off his tongue naturally. They take you by surprise as your heart leaps in your chest. Tangerine clears his throat, not giving you the chance to dwell on them as he opens the bathroom door and sends Lemon a nod to follow you.

You try to keep up the appearance of confidence as you walk back to your original seat, the case in your hand. You've been playing the story in your head; They'd left it unattended. I took it from their seats. You don't know if that sounds convincing.

You check behind you subtly and see that the Twins have stayed in the room between the compartments and are waiting for you to distract the girl. You let out a scared breath that Tangerine must hear because his voice echoes in your ear.

You'll be fine. We're right behind you.

When you see the girl, her back is turned to you, and you see April's small legs hanging from the seat as she sits in the girl's lap. Your heart is pounding as you make your way to them.

April seems overjoyed to see you and your heart breaks when you see the tears-stains on your baby's face. Your expression hardens as you put the case on the table and sit in front of the girl.

"Ah, you found it," the girl smiles, caressing April's hair. "You know, we don't compliment mothers enough. Your baby would not stop screaming—it was becoming annoying. The little rascal did tired himself out eventually because he almost fell asleep."

"She. Her name is April," you say without thinking, jaw clenched. "I did what you asked, can I have my daughter back now?"

The girl looks down at the case but shakes her head, "Mm, no. You may not. I still need your help. Come with me," the girl smirks and stands. She is still holding April in her arms and your breathing has become heavy. You try not to make any expression at all when you see Tangerine and Lemon stealthily approach the girl from behind.

You hear her surprised gasp as Tangerine grips her arm and you assume he presses his gun to her lower back because she suddenly tenses.

"Hand her the baby, now," he says in a throaty whisper. He isn't asking. The girl frowns and her hand clenches around April for a moment.

With the commotion, April wails and without hesitation—and the security that Tangerine won't let this girl harm you—you swoop in and cradle April in your arms.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. Mommy's here, my love," you whisper into April's head as tears freely escape your eyes once again. Tangerine's gun is still pressed to the girl's back as Lemon swoops in and takes the case once more.

You're too busy with April to hear their conversation and eventually, Lemon grabs the girl and ushers her away.

Tangerine remains, his eyes unusually soft as he observes you and April. He walks closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to scare April—he tends to scare babies, especially when he's as disheveled as he is now.

You see him and instantly you walk to him and, holding April with one arm, you wrap the other one around his shoulder as you lean up to kiss his cheek. You seem less terrified now that you have your baby and Tangerine's cheeks flush as he feels your lips against his skin.

He doesn't pull away from you.

"Thank you," you say, your hand sliding down his cheek, lingering there for a moment too long, and then you back away. "I can't ever thank you and Lemon enough," you bounce April on your hip and she giggles. She stares at Tangerine and suddenly reaches out to him with her small hand.

Tangerine's eyes widen and he looks at you for permission. You nod.

He reaches out and April holds out her small hand to wrap around his finger. She makes a small giggling sound again as she babbles—"She's saying thank you too," you beam in amusement, kissing April's temple.

"She's absolutely beautiful," Tangerine says, smiling fondly. You grin, your attention fully on your daughter, that you haven't noticed the way Tangerine's blue eyes stay locked onto yours as he says the words.

April drops Tangerine's hand and you hold her tightly. "Can Lemon and I help ya find your way off this train, luv? Ya do have somewhere safe to go, right?" Tangerine asks plainly, feeling weirdly protective over you and the little baby in your arms.

You think for a moment, still breathless from what had happened. This train doesn't feel safe anymore. You feel so out of your depth. You were supposed to visit some friends, but you'd missed your stop, and anyways none of that matters anymore.

You'd almost lost April and if you hadn't met them—you gaze at Tangerine—you don't know what you would have done to save her.

You shake your head and Tangerine's eyes narrow. "Well, that's a problem, innit?" he says and runs a hand in his hair. He stands tall, glancing over his shoulder to see if Lemon's finished taking care of the girl who'd threatened you and April.

"You wanna stay with us?" Tangerine asks calmly, looking into your eyes. "Lem and I are gettin' off now. We have what we wanted, and we ain't gonna stick around this train to find out what happens if we do. Come with us. We'll keep you and April safe. Promise."

Although his words feel like a pretty, empty, shiny promise, you accept them anyway. You don't have many choices at the moment and Lemon and Tangerine tell you they have what they call a safe house in the area, which sounds better than a cheap motel.

* * *

However, a week later, you still haven't left said safe house.

Lemon had explained that it wasn't safe to travel yet, that he and Tangerine needed more time to settle their affairs before they could easily travel again—especially with April around now. You don't know what that means, only that Lemon and Tangerine often come back from their "affairs" bloodied and bruised.

You'd just finished cleaning Lemon's head wound when you hear April giggling from her play mat in the middle of the living room.

Lemon stands from the couch, his grin widening as he exclaims, "My turn to watch the lil' angel! Tan needs his abdomen wound checked anyway," Lemon wastes no time in sitting next to April and showing her the Thomas The Tank Engine figurine he'd gotten her.

You smile and move towards where Tangerine sits in the armchair in the corner. You turn to him and your eyes widen a little. You're thankful for all the months you spent in medical school before you became pregnant with April because Tangerine looks awful.

His left eye is swollen shut, he has blood dripping from his lip, and he's lifting his shirt for you to look at the deep—while still not deep enough to need stitches—gash near his ribs (which is also black and blue from bruising). He isn't looking at you, a faint tint of pink adorning his cheeks.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, crouching down and rummaging in the first aid kit on the ground.

"Hmm," Tangerine hums, still refusing to look at you.

It must hurt him because he flinches when you apply some alcohol to the wound and bandage him up. You try to ignore that you're touching his chest, or how his skin feels under your hands. It feels entirely inappropriate to ogle your wounded patient.

Again, good thing you never actually became a nurse.

"So, you're a nurse?" Tangerine suddenly grunts, looking at you with lidded eyes as you move up to inspect how badly his eye is hurt.

You shake your head, smiling. "No. April came around in the middle of medical school and I had to drop out," you smile and prod at his cheek, earning a wince and you mumble a small "sorry."

"Ya still know what you're doin', yeah?" Tangerine raises his eyebrow in question and winces again, which makes you chuckle. You apply some ointment to his eye.

"I paid attention in class, yes. I probably couldn't operate on you, but I can mend your black eye," you tease. Tangerine stares at you and he smirks.

"Good," he looks behind you and after a moment, "Lemon stole your baby," he deadpans.

You turn and see that Lemon must have taken April to the room the Twins had designated as hers. On the first night of your arrival, the Twins had gone all out and purchased all sorts of essentials for children and women. It was unexpected and sweet of them—so incredibly sweet.

"She'll be fine," you laugh and then turn to Tangerine again. He's giving you that look; the one he's been giving you for the last day or two.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. "You know, don't tell Lemon, but you're April's favorite," you say as you clean up the materials you had used on his wounds.

"I am?" Tangerine asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," you nod, "she's starting to babble something that sounds awfully similar to 'Tan'."

"Ah," Tangerine seems happy by this development and you smile. There is a moment of silence as you watch him. You're still kneeling next to him and his shirt is still half-bunched up around his torso. Your chest tightens and you hear Tangerine swallow.

"Is April's dad—" he starts and you finish for him,

"In the picture?"

A pause. Tangerine nods and you shake your head. "Nah," you shrug, "Left as soon as he heard I was pregnant. He wanted to continue medical school without any complications. He's probably some fancy doctor or some shit by now, I wouldn't know. I don't talk to him anymore."

"Dickhead," you hear Tangerine suddenly grumble, and then his hand finds your chin. He lifts your head and his eyes lock with yours. "He's a fool for leavin' ya. He doesn' know what he's missing," he says as his thumb caresses your lower lip. "Ya understand? He's a fool."

You nod, entranced as your heart continues to panic in your chest. When Tangerine finally drops your chin, you clear your throat and stand.

He stands too and walks closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls you closer and whispers in your ear, "Ya don't need to worry anymore, darlin'. Lem and I won't let anyone harm you or April. I won't let 'em touch a single hair on your pretty head," he breathes, his voice stern, and you feel his lips against your cheek for a fleeting moment until he moves and disappear upstairs.

You're left standing in the living room, your heart pounding as you replay every word he'd said. Your skin feels warm and clammy.

What have you gotten yourself into now?

279 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 10 days

Text

i’m literally screaming from how good this is @kpopgirlbtssvt @little-miss-dilf-lover

Red or Blue

Tangerine x reader <3 based on this lovely prompt

it's kind of a slow burn, which is so unlike me, but- welp. whatever? ig? no triggerwarnings anyway, they don't even kiss

masterlist

(he's genuinely so fine i am unwell)

"This is all your fault", you huff, crossing your arms as you stare at the array of candies in front of you.

"How's any of this my fucking fault?", Tangerine seethes, trying to keep his voice down somewhat (which is already better than what he does most times), but hardly succeeding.

"If you'd listened to me, I wouldn't have been backed into that corner in the first place and Lemon wouldn't have had to come save me", you bite back, narrowing your eyes as you pluck a bag of gummies off the shelf. "Ergo, he wouldn't have got hurt."

"Lemon likes the red ones better", Tangerine grunts, taking a step closer to you as an elderly couple turns the corner and pushes their cart into your aisle. "And 'ergo' what the fuck do you mean, love? I wasn't the one to fucking break his leg."

"You don't use ergo like that", you correct, tilting your head back to him as if that nickname hadn't just sent your heart into cardiac arrest. "Also, I'm pretty sure Lemon likes the blue ones just fine."

"Yeah, just fine, but he likes the red ones better, that's the difference."

Tangerine reaches for the bag of red candy and his arm brushes your shoulder, immediately restarting your heartbeat with a deafeaning thump.

"I thought the red ones 'made his stomach feel funny' yesterday", you argue, even though you can already hear the way your resistance is crumbling as his eyes meet yours again, some of that feral fighting instinct in there that you recognise from missions.

"That was the green ones, love", he corrects, plucking the bag of blue candies from your grip and shoving it back into the shelf. You gasp in outrage. "Just listen to me for fucking once and take the goddamn red candy."

You put your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at him.

"Oh, since when is the fucking problem me listening to you?", you seethe, your lips still parted, ready to shoot a whole tirade at him in the middle of this 24/7 supermarket when you're suddenly interrupted by a hearty chuckle to your left.

Tangerine's head snaps around a nanosecond before yours does.

"I'm sorry", the elderly lady says, her hair white as snow and her arm looped through what you guess to be her husband's. "I didn't want to interrupt you two, I just- I can remember how stressful that was, being young, just married, dealing with the little ones..."

"I'm sure if we'd had these twenty-four hour stores when we'd just had children, we would have stood right there arguing too", her husband laughs.

You blink at them helplessly for a few moments. What the fuck is happening? Hello? Marriage? Kids?

"It gets better", the woman chuckles. "We're happy and stress-free now, aren't we?"

Her husband hums in agreement and presses a kiss to her temple.

"And you look like a lovely couple", she goes on, smiling at you. "You'll manage this stage too."

This stage.

Oh, dear lord.

She's talking about this stage of being married. This stage of having young children. Because you're standing in a 24/7 supermarket candy aisle with Tangerine, arguing about which colour to get for Lemon, which she seems to have interpreted as a nickname for your son.

Your fucking son. Your and Tangerine's son. In your marriage.

"Oh, um", you stutter, brushing a hand through your hair as you stare at the couple, doing your hardest not to cast even a fucking glance Tangerine's way. Your cheeks are stinging with heat. You don't need him to see that. "Actually, we're not-"

"Not married yet", Tangerine interrupts, his hand flexing and clenching around his bag of candy. Any train of thought you'd previously had shatters completely and your head whips around to him after all - is that a faint dust of pink on his cheeks? Is it really what you think it is? Fuck, should your heart be hammering this fast and strong and loud?

"Ah", the woman grins. "How times have changed. We'd had to get married as soon as I was pregnant."

"Are you engaged, then?", her husband asks, raising his eyebrows and smiling pleasantly.

They're so calm. Meanwhile, your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

"Uh", you say, not all that intelligently.

"Yeah", Tangerine rasps, his voice hoarse somehow. "Few months now."

You blink wordlessly at him. What the actual fuck is he doing? There's no reason to lie. None. You're not undercover.

"That's nice", the woman smiles. "Well, have a good night then."

They're already half-turned away when she looks back over her shoulder.

"Oh, and for those candies", she adds with a conspicuous grin. "Just take both. Let your son decide which he likes better when they're side by side."

You swallow.

"Uh, thanks", you mutter, unsure if they can even still hear. "Good night."

Tangerine drops the bag of candies into your cart. Then he's quiet. And you're quiet.

Too quiet.

For too long.

You don't know what the hell has just happened.

"Tangerine", you breathe, your voice low, and your eyes settle on him slowly. "Since when are we engaged?"

He grunts and drags his eyes away from you, grabbing your bag of blue candies off the shelf again and putting it in the cart with the other one.

"Since fucking never, love", he grumbles, just before his hands close around the handles of the cart. "But I wasn't about to say that, was I?"

"No?", you guess with a frown as you force yourself to move, to trail after him down the aisle. "Because?"

Tangerine turns to look at you like you're mad.

"Because they could've been fucking spies, love", he snarls, as though that's obvious and you're somehow dumb for not thinking of it.

"You're not serious."

He can't be serious.

But he stops the cart and turns to look at you, way too close and way too tall, and if you'd thought you had seen a blush on his cheeks before, it was definitely gone by now. There's that familiar dangerous glint in his eyes instead. Somehow, that puts you more at ease.

"Do you see me bloody laughing?", he seethes, his fingers clenching so hard around the handle that his knuckles turn white.

"I don't think I've ever seen you laugh", you mutter and swallow hard at the way his eyes fixate on yours. "You really made up a whole ass lie for an eighty-year old couple because you thought that they could be spies?"

Tangerine huffs and turns back, pushing the cart with even more ferocity now.

"Yes, love", he grunts.

Your stomach drops. You don't know why.

Instead of dwelling on it, you fiddle with the rings on your hands and fall in step with him.

"Well", you hum. "If you ever do buy me a ring, I don't want it in blue or in red."

117 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 10 days

Note

hi love !! I hope you’re well, love your writing. I would love some tan shower/bath smut. thank you💓🌀

hii sunshine!! thank you thank uu!! ofc, thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌 sending love xx

BOTH HANDS FULL.

tangerine x fem!reader — smut

word count. 490

warnings. 18+ sharing a shower with tan, titty and kitty stuff, dirty talk (which I never really do, but blame the music I was listening to) mdni

Shared showers are often a staple part of routine in your house - like neither of you can go about your day unless you start or finish it under the same head of flowing water.

You were settling down for the night, both of you washing each other, contained within the small space of the shower. Your body facing him as he rinses the conditioner from your hair - guiding your head backwards under the water, being mindful of your eyes.

He turns you around, twisting you by your shoulders so that your back is to him, and he begins smoothing over your hair, gently squeezing out the water in the way he's watched you do a hundred times before. His fingers run off the ends of your hair and continue down your back - featherlight touch as he runs over your spine.

"Missed you today," he muffles, pressing a kiss into the back of your shoulder. "Did you miss me?" he asks, peppering another peck into the same spot.

"Yeah," you nod, the word catching in your throat.

"You did?" he coos, trailing kisses to the back of your neck - his free hand parting your hair aside. "How much?"

You drop your head back onto his shoulder at the feeling, unintentionally leaving your entire neck exposed. "A lot," you hum.

He snakes his hands around your body, reaching up to cup two handfuls of tits, his large palms squeezing them as he continues with the rough, possessive trail of kisses up the side of your throat.

Tangerine adjusts his grip, wrapping his arm tighter around to hold both of your tits - one resting on his forearm, the other clasped within his palm. And with his now free hand, he glides it down your front and over your stomach, hesitating when he reaches just north of your pussy. It was like he was making you wait for it.

His fingers itch lower, the pads of his two middle ones skimming over your clit teasingly. "Is that right?" he hums, tone smug and cocky as he listens to the uneven, ragged breaths coming from you.

He brushes small, tiny circles over the sensitive nub, his touch light and delicate - his lips ghosting below your ear. He brushes through your folds, his thick fingers parting them. "Put'yer foot up there," he mutters into the patch of skin, gesturing to the little ledge ahead of you.

You do as asked. The new open position of your legs allowing Tan more access to you - to your cunt. And he immediately takes advantage of it, his middle finger delving inside, slipping up to his last knuckle. "That ain't enough, is it?" he asks, hooking his finger.

He knew it wasn't. He just wanted you to tell him that it wasn't.

All you had to do was be honest, and he'd fulfil that little —large, gaping—need you have.

"Tell me, darlin'."

uhm🫠

144 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 10 days

Text

literally me

girlhood is staying up late to read the top posts in an x reader tag

4K notes · View notes

nocturnest · 11 days

Text

@verc0pa can i get a face tattoo of these?! like what the actual fuck this is stunning - i'm crying

bullet train scene studies (1/?)

143 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 14 days

Note

Have you ever seen Schitt’s Creek?

i'm familiar with it but i've only seen the first one or two episodes! it's on my list of things to eventually watch though! i remember it being really funny! have you?

3 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 14 days

Note

@kpopgirlbtssvt AHHH this is so sweet 🥹😖

Request: Tangerine and reader who struggles with insomnia, please? 🥹❤️ (literally writing this at like 4.30 in the morning and I’m not even tired yet, omg)

Ey, maybe like sleep issues in general? Like also with nightmares, sleep paralysis etc?

okay I love this so so much!!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 also hope this can be of help to you xx

COUNTRY LANES.

tangerine x fem!reader

word count. 599

Usually, you would find the soft, steady snores of your lover beside you comforting. But not right now.

It's way past three, and you were still struggling to sleep. Endless tossing and turning, growing more and more frustrated as the minutes pass you by. You envied Tangerine's ease and ability to settle down for the night.

And even in sleep, he still sought you under the covers - arm reaching for your middle to pull you closer. You should've found the act sweet, endearing even. But you were far too agitated to be held right now, the weight of his arm feeling suffocating. So you slip from his grasp, trying not to wake him.

"You okay?" he whispers, voice thick from hours of sleep. "Where you going?" he asks, head lifting from the pillow, watching you sit at the edge of the bed - your back to him. He follows suit, sitting up slowly, hand reaching for you. "Can't sleep?"

You exhale, exasperated. "No," you reply, speaking quietly.

He scooches closer, moving across the bed. "What can I do?" he asks, running a palm down your spine, stroking you soothingly. He itches closer and presses a kiss into the back of your shoulder. "How can I help?"

"I don't know," you shrug and squeeze the bridge of your nose. "My head's killing me, and I just can't sleep."

"Okay, alright," he hums, fingers drawing circles on your back.

He continues with light kisses on your shoulder - doing everything he can to distract you while he thinks of a solution. And then he stands from the bed and makes his way over to the wardrobe, pulling out two of his hoodies - putting one over his head, giving the other to you.

"Put that on. Got an idea," Tangerine says, throwing on a pair of lounge shorts, handing you something else of his to wear - his pyjama bottoms.

You dress in the clothes he gave you, unsure of what he had planned but going along with it nonetheless.

He leads you down the stairs and to the front door, where he now hands you a pair of shoes - it was like he was taking the lead and doing all the thinking for you, saving you a further headache. He grabs his car keys from the hook and opens the door, nodding for you to follow - doing everything silently and calmly.

He guides you to his car out front, opening the passenger door for you and then getting in on his side - grabbing a blanket from the boot before doing so. "Buckled in?" he asks, handing you the blanket. He then slots his keys into the ignition and starts the car.

You hum softly, turning to face him. "Where we going?"

He places a hand on the back of your headrest, his head turning behind to reverse from his spot. "For a drive around," he speaks casually, rolling backwards down the stoned driveway.

"You don't have to do this. I can just watch TV or something," you offer, feeling guilty for interrupting his sleep.

His hand reaches for yours, fingers weaving into you as he brings it to his face, pressing a kiss into the back of it. "Don't worry about it. Just close your eyes, yeah?" he dismisses, placing your hand back into your lap - tucking it under the blanket.

And as he drives off the property gate and onto the road, you feel your eyes finally grow heavy - the soft bumps on the country lanes slowly but surely nudging you towards sleep.

117 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 14 days

Text

@kpopgirlbtssvt @little-miss-dilf-lover i am going to need resuscitation after this masterpiece 😶‍🌫️😩

Don't Blame Me

Tangerine x fem!reader

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

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unexplainably however, you were drawn to him the most.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anyone can help Tangerine, it's Lemon.

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

"Lemon?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She tracked ya?"

"Yeah, and bugged me too apparently."

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

"Yeah, cauz you always have the earpiece."

"Because she likes me better,"

"That's what I said!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tangerine never says please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Inside me," you say, your voice small

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck." Tangerine finishes bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"As in love love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This beats for you."

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

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

377 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 15 days

Text

@kiss-me-cill-me AHH MY FELLOW CRANGERINE!!! 🥹🥰 this is absolutely stunning - they are stunning. i LOVE the photos you chose - they truly encapsulate these characters and it’s so well balanced! LOVE 😍🤩

@nocturnest as part of my never-ending quest to improve my moodboard skills, I decided to try my hand at a Crangerine one!

35 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 15 days

Text

@kiss-me-cill-me AHH I AM SQUEALING RIGHT NOW OVER YOUR COMMENTARY 🥹🤩 thank you for being so supportive!

jonathan would totally mutter really sarcastic remarks and get frustrated with his other colleagues in a way that is just hilarious and reader would find it so funny 😅 maybe he say something about another colleague along the lines of, “jeez i think they need to be admitted to arkham” and reader would be crying with laughter. he’s be so alarmed at first but then take advantage of it - he’s probably not used to having people appreciate his sense of humour!

and him teasing reader - i just COULDN’T HRLP MYSELF because it seems like something he would totally do - my favorite part is when he’s like

He leaned in even closer, tilting his head with mock admonishment, his gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest of moments. "And let's not forget that time I caught you...unbeknownst to you, of course...staring at my..."

JONATHAN! i would pass away too if he did THIS to me 😶‍🌫️😍

he’s also DEFINITELY a jazz guy - like he probably has such a refined taste in music and plays music on a record player when he’s in his #villain era - i’m glad you liked the song 🥹

thank you for reading LEMMY - you’ve made my day once again 🥹🥰

You're the Cream in My Coffee

author's note: i love this fear-crazy man as much as i love coffee! 🥹 i can't imagine him drinking straight-up black coffee despite his personality because i imagine that he so secretly has a slight sweet tooth but in a refined crane kind of way - like with sweet cold foam or milk. anyway, please enjoy you guys!

It was a quiet morning at Arkham. As you made your way to your office, you couldn't help but glance with curiosity down the hall towards Dr. Jonathan Crane's door. The reserved but brilliant fellow psychologist was often the first one in the building, working tirelessly on his research and case files.

You had always admired Jonathan's sharp wit and keen intellect. Most of your colleagues steered clear of him as they found him distant and aloof. Nevertheless, he had always shown you polite courtesy. There was something about his dry sense of humor and the way his sharp blue eyes would crinkle slightly when he was amused that had captured your attention.

On this particular morning, you had woken up exceptionally early to lend a visit to your favorite coffee shop. And as you were ordering your usual drink, you thought of Dr. Crane and how hardworking he was. You had noted the dark circles that were often under his eyes and how he was usually the last to leave Arkham for the day. He looked thinner every time you saw him and you wondered if he was even eating. Before you could even process your actions, you had ordered another coffee, picking one on a whim based off of Jonathan's taste: a dark roast with hints of cinnamon and a dash of cream.

And how did you know he would like it? Well, you couldn't be blamed if you had noticed him once or twice in the staff room - on the rare occasion that he ventured out of his office to reluctantly grab the hospital's rat-poison-flavored coffee. You'd noticed the way he would wrinkle his nose in distaste at the acrid, burnt flavor of the breakroom coffee, quickly sprinkling a dash of cinnamon from a small tin he kept in his pocket to improve the taste.

It was those small details - the way he would linger over each sip, savoring the subtle warmth and spice - that had given you insight into his refined palate. And when you had the chance to bring him his morning coffee, you knew you had to do something special, something that would truly please him.

You thought he deserved something nice. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Jonathan, knowing that your colleagues often spoke unkindly of him behind his back. The other psychologists at Arkham would whisper and snicker, casting judgmental glances in his direction as he hurried through the halls, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It saddened you to see the way they dismissed him, writing him off as nothing more than a cold, calculating eccentric. If only they could see the subtle nuances of his character, the flashes of dry wit and intellectual curiosity that you had come to admire.

You suspected that Jonathan was a deeply lonely man, so consumed by his work and his research that he had allowed the barriers around his heart to harden over time. And you couldn't help but wonder if, deep down, he craved the kind of genuine connection and understanding that so many of his peers seemed to take for granted.

That's why you had put so much thought into selecting the perfect coffee for him. You wanted him to know that there was at least one person at Arkham who saw him as more than just an oddity, more than just a means to an end. You wanted him to feel appreciated, to know that someone truly cared.

As you made your way to Jonathan's office, mug in hand, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness. It wasn't exactly typical for a colleague to be bringing another coffee, especially one as reserved and enigmatic as Dr. Jonathan Crane. You knew you'd have to have a good excuse ready if he questioned your gesture.

Thankfully, inspiration struck as you neared his door. Earlier that morning, you had noticed the coffee maker in the staff break room was acting up again, only producing a weak, watered-down brew. Jonathan, being the devoted workaholic that he was, had likely missed his usual morning cup in his rush to get an early start.

You knocked on his office door, which was slightly ajar, "Good morning, Dr. Crane."

Jonathan looked up with brief surprise crossing his face, his eyebrows raised, before he quickly schooled his features into a more neutral and collected expression. He greeted you, his voice low and slightly raspy from lack of sleep, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You offered him the coffee, feeling a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. "I- um... The coffee machine has been acting up lately, so I brought you a fresh cup. It's probably better than the dreadful coffee they offer here anyway. I hope that's alright."

Jonathan eyed the mug skeptically, but after a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours ever so slightly. "That's...very kind of you," he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied the contents of the cup.

You felt your heart skip a beat at the brief contact, but you tried your best to maintain a casual demeanor. "I know how important that first cup of coffee is, especially for someone as dedicated as you," you replied, offering him a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

His piercing blue eyes studied you for a moment, and you couldn't help but feel as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

You held your breath as Jonathan took a cautious sip, his gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, the silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft sound of rain tapping against the windowpane.

Then, to your relief and delight, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Jonathan's lips. "It's...quite good," he admitted, his tone almost surprised.

A rush of warmth flooded through you at his words. You had hoped he would enjoy it, but hearing his genuine approval was more than you could have asked for.

"I'm glad you like it," you replied, unable to contain the smile that spread across your face. "I know it's not much, but I thought you deserved something better than the usual."

Jonathan's eyes softened as he met your gaze, a flicker of gratitude shining in their depths. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you turned to leave, feeling a wave of accomplishment wash over you. You sensed that this would be the beginning of many more interactions with Jonathan Crane.

Over the next few weeks, it became routine for you to bring Jonathan his favorite coffee whenever you could, even if it meant waking up a bit earlier to make it to work. It was worth it to see a lovely smile grace his face, his entire lighting up youthfully. Gradually, the two of you began to exchange brief conversations in the hallway or during breaks.

You learned more about Jonathan than you ever imagined you would. He shared stories of his childhood - some being precious and others proving more saddening. He spoke about his love for literature and philosophy and his interest in the intricacies of the human mind. You found yourself drawn to his sharp intellect and dry wit.

Some of his casual sarcastic remarks and mutterings to himself had you practically crying with laughter, causing your colleagues to stare at you as if you were a madwoman if they happened to be nearby. After discovering how easily he could make you laugh, Jonathan began using your weakness to your advantage and making you giggle in the most serious of situations.

He had such a surprising humor to him that had only come out by spending more time with him the softness that peeked through his carefully composed exterior. You noticed other things about him too - little details that slowly painted a fuller picture of who Jonathan truly was. The manner in which his eyes would light up with a rare, genuine passion as he discussed the latest developments in psychology. The subtle way his hands would run unusually cold, a telltale sign of his underlying tension and nervousness. The habit of running his fingers through his dark hair when he was deep in thought, brow furrowed in concentration.

And then, of course, there were the moments of softness, the flashes of vulnerability that would occasionally peek through the carefully composed exterior he presented to the world. The slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he was truly amused by one of your witty exchanges. The gentle tone that would creep into his voice when he spoke of his favorite books or theories. It was in those unguarded instants that you caught glimpses of who the man truly was.

And there were moments when you began to realize that your fascination with him wasn't one-sided. Jonathan too asked about you and your life. He chuckled at your embarrassing stories and frowned when you mentioned the rougher parts of your childhood. He had an aptitude for listening and for giving sound advice, which made you realize just how incredible he was at what he did for a living.

But something more began to grow between the two of you. You felt an undeniable pull towards him that had only grown since that first step, that first cup of coffee. And sometimes, you felt the heaviness of his gaze mixed with an indescribable emotion. Whatever feeling it was behind his eyes - well, you wanted him to stare at you like that forever.

You had grown accustomed to the quiet camaraderie that had developed between you and Jonathan over the past few weeks. Your daily coffee deliveries had become a cherished ritual, and the easy banter you shared had slowly chipped away at the icy facade he so often presented to the world.

But today, as you made your way through the halls of Arkham, you couldn't help but overhear a hushed conversation between a few of your colleagues. Their words, laced with barely concealed disdain, filled you with unease.

"Can you believe that she brings Crane coffee every morning?" one of them scoffed. "As if he's not weird enough already."

Another chimed in, a malicious glint in her eyes. "Yeah, and have you noticed how much time she's been spending with him lately? Probably trying to whore herself off to get a promotion."

You felt your cheeks flush with hurt and embarrassment, your heart sinking. Was that really what they all thought of you? That you were simply using Jonathan for your own personal gain? That you weren't genuine about your desire for his friendship?

The discussion continued, the gossip growing more and more vicious until you couldn't bear it anymore. You felt tears creeping out of your eyes as you stalked down the halls and back to your office, avoiding every glance that came your way. You shut the door behind you, making your way directly to the small couch in your office and pulling a soft blanket around your trembling shoulders as the tears finally spilled over. The cruel words of your colleagues kept echoing in your mind, each barb cutting deeper than the last.

How could these colleagues of yours, who had faked their pleasantries with you and occasionally even asked you about your day, be so two-faced? How could they think so little of you? Of the genuine friendship you had forged with Jonathan? The time you had spent getting to know him, the way your heart raced whenever he fixed you with that piercing gaze - it was all so much more than some cheap ploy for favor or advancement.

You cared for Jonathan, more than you knew how to express. The warmth of his smile, the subtle softness that would sometimes peek through his carefully crafted facade - it had all wormed its way deep into your heart. And the thought of anyone diminishing those precious moments you shared cut you to the core.

As you sat there, your vision blurred by tears, you didn't hear the familiar knock at your door. It wasn't until you sensed a presence beside you that you looked up, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of Jonathan wearing a concerned expression.

"My dear, what's wrong?" he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he moved to sit beside you.

You couldn’t find the strength in you to respond, tears continuing to streak down your cheeks. Something in Jonathan's heart broke for you, and he placed a gentle arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

"It's alright." He spoke in a soothing, gentle tone, his fingertips lightly stroking your arm in a comforting gesture, "I'm here."

Jonathan waited for your sobs to subside and then carefully cradled your face, using his thumb to wipe away the remaining tears, "Tell me, what happened?" His brow furrowed with concern as he searched your face, waiting for you to find the right words.

Your breath was shaky, gaze falling as you recounted the gossip you had heard, "I-I was bringing you coffee - you know, like usual. But then I heard some of the others talking and..." You paused and Jonathan's expression darkened as he listened, his jaw tightening with barely contained anger.

"Some of the others talking, saying such horrible things. About how I'm only doing it to try and get ahead, that I'm..." Anger took over you as you utter the last part, "whoring myself off."

Jonathan practically gritted his teeth in anger at that. It was one thing for him to have to deal with the constant remarks and bullying in his life. By now, he was used to it - until that changed when he met you. But for you to be dragged into this, to be treated so horribly. He wouldn't stand for it.

"My dear, why on Earth would you put yourself through this for my sake?" His piercing blue eyes studied you intently, a hint of exasperation in his tone, "After all, I'm hardly worth the trouble, am I?" There was a self-deprecating edge to his words, like he truly believed he wasn't worth the effort.

Jonathan sighed, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features, "You shouldn't have to defend me, nor should you have to endure the cruelty of our colleagues. I'm quite accustomed to their...less than pleasant opinions of me." A wry, humorless smile tuggeed at the corners of his lips.

He pauses, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he meets your confused gaze. You didn't understand how he failed to see how incredible he actually was. You hesitated, murmuring, "They're wrong, you know. You're a wonderful friend and they just don't see that."

Jonathan's eyes widened but he hid his surprise with a soft smile, "Oh? Well I'm truly touched. I find your unwavering loyalty quite endearing."

You blushed as his expression turned impish, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, scrutinizing your words, "And friends, you say?"

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you nodded hesitantly. "Yes, I...I consider you my closest friend here, Jonathan." The admission slipped out before you could stop it, and you suddenly felt caught.

Jonathan's expression turned thoughtful, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Is that so?" He paused, his piercing gaze studying you intently. "Then how do you explain the time you fell asleep on my shoulder in my office?" His tone was lightly teasing, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Or that time we shared a cup of coffee, our lips mere inches apart?"

Your face reddened more and more as you tried to figure out a response. "T-that was just...I mean, it was only once! And the coffee, I just...I wanted to make sure you got the right order, that's all!"

Jonathan chuckled, clearly delighted by your flustered state. "Hmm, I see. And what about the fact that you knew exactly how I take my coffee from the very start? Cinnamon and all?" His fingers graze your cheek, leaving you to only want more of his touch. "Surely that goes beyond the realm of mere friendship, don't you think?"

You can't help but cut him off, your heart racing. "Alright, alright! I admit it, Jonathan. I...I've developed feelings for you. More than just friendship." You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. He noticed the fear on your face, which he would have taken pleasure in if you weren't you.

Jonathan's expression softened, and he reached out to gently tilt your chin up, meeting your eyes. "My dear, I don't doubt the sincerity of your affection." His voice was low and intimate. "And frankly, I'm quite flattered." He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your lips. "So tell me, is it still 'just friends' you want?"

"No?"

A subtle smile made its way onto his lips, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in your chest. "Is that a question?" His thumb traced the outline of your mouth.

"No. I mean - yes. Argh, I-"

He chuckled at your struggle to speak, his lips grazing your ear as he murmured, "Am I making you nervous?"

You narrowed your eyes at him briefly, aware that he was taunting you, and whispered, "Yes." You didn't think you'd ever been this close to Jonathan. You noticed that his eyes have grey specks in them.

"Hm. Well, then...Tell me what it is that you truly want?"

The intensity of his gaze was almost overwhelming, making it difficult for you to think clearly. You found yourself captivated by the depth of emotion within his eyes.

"I want..." You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours and lips millimeters apart. Jonathan leaned back ever so slightly upon your pause. He was teasing you, eager for you to work for his touch. His hand moved down to trace the edge of your collarbone, giving you chills.

His pupils darkening, he murmured, "Say it."

You notice the bare anticipation and hunger in his gaze, but he also still had that same mischief about him. Unable to hold back your desire, you whispered, "I want you, Jonathan." Your voice was laced with a quiet intensity. "Your mind, your touch, your affection. All of you."

The words set off a proper reaction in him, and in one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss.

You gasped softly, the sensation of his mouth moving hungrily against yours setting your nerves on fire. Without breaking the kiss, Jonathan gently guided you backward, and you sunk down onto the couch as he hovered over you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other keeping him upright.

In the halls, you had always noticed the musk of his cologne and the distinct smell of the spice he craved so dearly. Naturally, he tasted like cinnamon and his kiss was sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

He bit your lip and you allowed his tongue entrance into your mouth. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him.

As you pulled his hips closer to yours, you could feel a hardness press on you. Jonathan groaned as you moved against him. You could stay like this forever, under him as he kissed you senselessly.

Eventually, you parted, both of you breathless and flushed. Jonathan gazed down at you, his eyes dark with desire. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, a blazing look in his eyes.

"You truly are a marvel, my dear. Ignore what nonsense anyone else says," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. He dips his head, nuzzling against your neck, his lips trailing featherlight kisses along your skin. "You are the cream in my coffee. You make my life sweeter. I hope to only bring you that same joy."

You softened immensely at his words. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he continued his gentle assault, intent on exploring every possible inch of you, his keen eyes noticed your little reactions to his touch. And you didn't mind one bit. You craved him. To think this had all simply started with a sweet cup of coffee...

@kpopgirlbtssvt @kiss-me-cill-me @mothhball hope you guys enjoy!

225 notes · View notes

nocturnest · 16 days

Text

AHH THANK YOU MOTH!! 🥹 he deserved EVERYTHING and more, out cray cray doctor 😝😍