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prolix-yuy · 3 months

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Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance.��

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him.

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed.

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed.

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store.

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this.

It would take two months for Din to come to you.

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe.

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip.

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head.

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you.

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great.

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike.

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect.

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm.

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further.

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent.

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip.

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?”

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset.

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths.

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches.

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission.

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs.

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust.

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now.

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head.

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed.

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders.

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make.

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy).

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water.

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.”

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight.

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.”

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder.

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man.

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space.

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor.

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk.

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

#PMAMC 2024 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #prolix fics

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kurouzus · 5 months

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another one for the animal jammers. also i will be trading a few copies of this (if it gets accepted) and a few copies of the scourge mp for a decent short collar or some den betas

#warrior cats #wc #ashfur #my art #animal jam #jamblr

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ratinastrawberryhat · 2 months

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Marvin’s stupid dad Jammers [shorts]

#falsettos #marvin gardens #marvin falsettos #its a reference to that one post on this tag where during the raquetball game its describing what marvin is wearing #whizzer brown #falsettos 2016

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sleepiexx · 1 year

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The Love of my Life and my Worst Enemy Pt.2

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Link to Pt.1

Note: if I get so much as one person interested in another part of this I will write it, do not tempt me or so help me god

Summary: Valeria and (Y/N) escape prison and live happily ever after mwah

Warnings: guns, wound cleaning, kinda angsty at some parts, prison escape, Valeria kills a few people whoopsie

Word count: 1806

The plan was carried out without a hitch, not that (Y/N) knew that, she wasn’t sure exactly what the plan was. All she knew was her own role in it; a countermeasure Valeria had in place just in case she was double crossed.

She didn’t even know when it would happen, just that she needed to be ready. Valeria woke her in the middle of the night, whispering quickly, “Come on, (Y/N), it’s time.”

She shuffled off the top bunk and to her feet quickly. She dug into the underside of Valeria’s mattress, pulling out a small device. It wasn’t the best hiding place but Valeria had somehow found out that there wouldn’t be a room check for another few days, enough time for them to set things in motion.

The device was a makeshift service jammer, something of (Y/N)‘s own design. It would cut comms between the prison officers just long enough that Valeria could lead the both of them to the control room and cut the power. That wasn’t the endgame, however. That was just to buy (Y/N) time; in the dark, Valeria would make her way back to their room where she would “distract” the guards with a shank she’d acquired. In the mean time, (Y/N) would work diligently to get the prison gates open. It took some time but she managed, waiting patiently in the control room for Valeria to come get her.

A rhythmic knock sounded at the door, one she and Valeria had agreed on. She opened the door to be greeted by the blood-soaked cartel leader on the other side.

“Did you do it?”

(Y/N) scoffed, “Of course I did it.”

Valeria grinned and patted her shoulder, leaving behind a bloody handprint, “I knew you had it in you. Now come on, my men are waiting for us.”

(Y/N) nodded and followed Valeria.

“You know how to use a gun?” Valeria asked.

“Aim and pull the trigger?”

Valeria exhaled through her nostrils, holding up the gun and messing with the safety.

“Safety on.” She switched the lever, “Safety off. Use it wisely, it’s a pistol so there isn’t a lot of ammo to waste.”

(Y/N) nodded and reached her hand out for Valeria to pass it to her, but Valeria didn’t move, she had more to show.

“This is how you reload your weapon, time it out so you always have a bullet in the chamber when you need it. Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot any of my men. Understand?”

(Y/N) nodded her head, something that displeased Valeria.

“I need words. Do you understand?”

“Yes- yeah, yeah I do.” (Y/N) stuttered out in response, taken aback by her cell mate’s menacing demeanor despite having experienced it many times in the short span they’d known each other.

Valeria nodded and passed her the pistol.

(Y/N) watched Valeria’s back as she mowed down seasoned prison guards like they were nothing but a bunch of rookies. (Y/N) had never been so scared yet so turned on by a woman in her entire life.

She never had to shoot anyone, by the time Valeria took down all the guards in their immediate vicinity, her men in the cartel had appeared to back them up.

They were escorted to two separate aircrafts waiting outside the prison for them. The men loaded up on the large cargo plane, (Y/N) went to follow but was tugged away by Valeria.

“They aren’t wanted people, they’re going back to Las Almas. You and me, however, need to wait this out elsewhere.” Valeria explained, pulling (Y/N) toward a helicopter.

They sat in seats lining the wall. It was just them along with the pilot and co-pilot. (Y/N) fiddled with the seat belt, unsure of how exactly to fasten it.

“Never flown before?” Valeria questioned.

“Well, uhm, not in a chopper.” (Y/N) admitted.

Valeria unclipped her seat belt, walking towards (Y/N) to fasten it for her. (Y/N)’s air caught in her lungs at the proximity, feeling Valeria’s knuckles graze her torso as she fastened the belt.

“There,” Valeria muttered, raising her voice shortly after to speak to the pilot, “We’re ready for takeoff!”

The flight felt like hours, it likely was. The wind whipped through (Y/N)’s hair as the loud noise of the chopper whirring rang in her ears. As they finally touched down, (Y/N) took in her surroundings. Large trees, mountains, signs with English on them. It looked like they were in the U.S., probably somewhere in the Rockies.

She followed Valeria’s lead as they walked towards a car. Valeria sat in the drivers seat, (Y/N) in the passenger side, neither said a word as they drove away from the private aircraft hangar.

Finally, they reached their destination. Tucked away in one of Valeria’s lavish safe houses, the two were alone.

Valeria tossed her some clothes, they were fairly plain and a size or two larger than what (Y/N) was used to wearing.

“Put those on, can’t stay in the jumpsuit forever.”

(Y/N) wondered if she should ask where a bathroom is to change but shook that idea away when Valeria herself started stripping in the middle of the living room. She hesitantly took off her clothes, wincing slightly as her sore body finally felt the full extent of the torture she’d endured.

In prison, she was almost in a state of shock, still hardly feeling the effects of what Katya had done to her. Now, though, the adrenaline of the break out slowly wore off and everything hurt.

She slipped on the pants quickly, tying the drawstring so they fit. As she reached for her shirt, she was stopped by a gentle caress. She turned, meeting eyes with Valeria.

“She did this to you?” Valeria seethed, gently tracing the dark purple bruises, inflamed cuts, and burn marks along (Y/N)’s torso.

(Y/N) was at a loss for words, mortified that Valeria had seen her like that, had seen her weakness. In prison, she’d made sure to never change in front of Valeria. No one needed to know exactly what had happened, how she couldn’t fight back, how weak she’d been.

(Y/N) saw no point in lying, dejectedly nodding.

Valeria’s eyes softened before hardening once more into a glare, filled with rage.

“I’ll kill her.” She muttered, not a threat but a promise.

She tugged on (Y/N)’s wrist, pulling her to another room. She led (Y/N) into what looked like the master bedroom of the large house, continuing into the bathroom.

(Y/N) watched as she rummaged through the cabinets for a first aid kit. As she wet a cotton pad and dabbed it on one of the wounds, (Y/N) flinched away.

“What- what are you doing?”

“You do not want those getting infected, trust me.” Valeria said, pressing her to the counter so she couldn’t squirm away and returning to cleaning off (Y/N)’s wounds.

As (Y/N) winced and whimpered at the stinging pain from the alcohol entering her cuts, Valeria showed compassion for the first time since they’d met. She grabbed one of (Y/N)’s hands, rubbing circles into her knuckles.

“Squeeze my hand, it’ll make it hurt less.”

So she did. She sat patiently as Valeria cleaned and dressed her wounds, frequently squeezing Valeria’s calloused hands. It wasn’t like she had any other option than to sit still, with Valeria’s hips pressed firmly against her own, keeping her in place. It was tough love, something Valeria had mastered.

(Y/N) felt vulnerable, weak, exposed. Shame soaked her to her very core. As if it had been her own fault that everything had happened. If she hadn’t been so stupid, so trusting, so naive, maybe, just maybe she could have foreseen Katya’s betrayal. Her eyes watered in utter embarrassment.

Valeria patted her hip, pulling her out of her stupor, “I’m done, you can go put on your shirt now. I’m going to clean all of this up.”

(Y/N) nodded, “Thank you,” she muttered, afraid to speak any higher at the chance of her voice breaking.

She walked all the way back to the living room, where her shirt had been left on the couch. Finally alone, she couldn’t stop the flow of tears from coming down. She tossed the shirt on quickly and tried hard to calm herself. Rubbing her eyes in hopes they’d stop crying before wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her sides. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lip so she wouldn’t let out a sob. A hand touched her back but at this point, she was too far gone to care about Valeria seeing her cry.

She expected rejection, expected Valeria to see her tears and scoff at how weak she was. And yet, Valeria’s touch was nothing but gentle and soft, pulling (Y/N) into her arms, allowing her to sob into her shoulder. After a long silence with no noise but the sounds of crying, Valeria finally spoke.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

(Y/N) sobbed harder, half out of raw pain and half out of relief.

God, it felt so nice to feel the loving caress of another human being for the first time in nearly a month. (Y/N) unwrapped her arms from around herself and wrapped them around Valeria’s waist, pulling her in tight.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, ‘m sorry.” She whined.

Valeria moved her hand up and down her back, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

(Y/N) stood there for a long while, tear stained face buried in Valeria’s shoulder as her body was wracked with sobs. Valeria muttered hushed reassuring words, which eventually soothed the other girl to a calm state, still hiccuping, but no longer sobbing.

“So strong.” Valeria whispered, “Everything that vile woman put you through and you’re still standing. I’m proud of you.”

(Y/N) couldn’t speak. She lifted her head from Valeria’s shoulder and gazed into her eyes. She felt a hurricane of emotions brewing, in the eye, longing. She went with her gut, leaning in slowly, giving Valeria time to pull away if she wanted, before meeting her lips in a tender kiss. It was slow, and soft, but it lasted. Lips moving in sync, speaking a million words that they hadn’t dared to utter. Even as they broke apart, the touch of it lingered on either girls’ lips.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight, but fuck I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.” (Y/N) murmured. Valeria silenced her with another kiss.

The rest of that night was passed exchanging kisses on the couch, forever altering the course of both of their lives.

#valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria garza cod #call of duty fanfic #call of duty valeria #hurt/comfort #angst

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agent-calivide · 1 month

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It is Bitching About Things That Do Not Matter O'Clock, but like. I know poking fun at John Juniper is a delight. I love calling him a bitch and insulting his acting and stealing his masks, but- he's not- he's not completely incompetent, y'all know that, right?

Firstly, Zor would never hire someone they didn't think could do the job, but also a lot of Juniper's fuck-up's are directly tied to either the EOD getting lucky or Zor literally setting him up for failure.

Like, we know he's good at keeping a mask on even in a moment of panic, when the Masque of Red Death blew up the first thing the did was shout "This is not part of the show, everybody run!" to evacuate the theater, something to convince the public he was a Good Man and kept suspicions around him low.

On Jet Set, the only reason Phoenix doesn't die is the EOD getting lucky and happening to have the autonomous jet's instruction manual in their records. Like, he had signal jammers, he left on the DNA Identification security system, and he sabotaged the missile defense system just in case they had to turn to plan B. These are not things left on a jet made as a custom trap for Phoenix, the pieces to save themselves wouldn't be there if it was. This is a normal jet that Juniper uses that he ensured got sabotaged so the Phoenix would be a sitting duck. Even if he didn't personally put out orders to have the jet get sabotaged, he did have the foresight to put a few boons on the jet that could kill Phoenix. Explosive cigars, poisoned food things like that. "Please, enjoy! I picked up a box of those just for you!" So he knows what to supply the agent with to try and cut this little problem short, and even if those don't work there's still the missile and the Zoraxis base they were headed to anyways. Phoenix getting out of that mess was combination of nosiness and pure dumb luck on the EOD's part.

We don't see much of him in Eaves Drop, but we do see that Zor and Fabricator are already planning on disposing of him by using the Mimic Mask and that he is generally doing a damn good job at tricking the heads of state into various traps for the most part, we just saw it with the Prime Minister in Stage Fright and we're going to see it in Party Crashers with the Primere later.

Party Crashers is where I think most of this "Oh, he's just a whiny baby" comes from, and it absolutely is John at his worst, but it get treated like his baseline??? Like, he loses his cool, he screams, he panics, he absolutely freaks out, but he also is throwing a party to kidnap the last head of state, is being chastised by the Fabricator, his friend of multiple decades is backstabbing him actively (as Gibbs should, but it's just another stressor for Juniper), several bombs have dropped or his party got a smoke grenade thrown in it, alarms and sprinklers have both gone off, and nOW SOMEONE'S TOUCHING MY FUCKING COLLECTOR'S ITEMS?! I too would be losing my shit. Add in he is seeming surrounded by people being incompetent (throwing grenades without closing hatches, missing their shots, some reason the tank of lethal gas is empty, the woman who was supposed to be helping is just laughing at you and your entire team of security is dead save for a small handful and it's all because of ONE person???) and I can't blame him for not being chill, suave, or particularly clever in that moment. And to be frank, I think every IEYTD "Final Boss" has a moment of foolishness. Solaris throws you radiation boxes that you use to take down the Death Engine and literally says "Calculating force... aaand CATCH!" and I could make a whole other post on Prism's speech on the mountain side but they're not defined by those "worst" moments. Mostly because they don't last nearly as long as Juniper's, but that doesn't mean it should be his defining moment either.

Then, in Safe and Sound, not only does he successfully trick the agent into thinking he's the Handler in the first place, but he has them drugged, kidnaps them, and then admits that if he had it this way he would have just shot the agent. No fanfare, no crazy traps, if John coulda, he would have shot the agent in the head while they were unconscious and called it a day. But Zor is the one who wants the trap, the footage, the fanfare. Juniper is pissed that the jet didn't work as is, and now he can't even just take care of the agent the easy way and ensure that they're out of the way. He says he expects the agent to find a way out, he know what they're capable of, and he's sure they're gonna find a way out because he's the one that's been dealing with them for the last week! Zor is the one who thinks this trap is gonna work and demanded Juniper put Phoenix in it. Yeah he gives a theatrical monologue, but if he had say in the matter he wouldn't get the chance to in the first place!

Then in Rising Phoenix, HE MAKES GOOD ON THAT THREAT. Try to pick up anything that you dropped on the ground outside of the elevator, tell me how that goes for you. He's got scary good aim, he sees the Phoenix and immediately goes "well, shit, one sec folks, I gotta kill this agent" and then just pulls a gun and starts firing. And rather than focusing on the agent, he does have the foresight to shoot a MOVING, FLOATING TARGET so you can't do anything to him! He is very capable with a gun and likely the only reason Phoenix survives Party Crashers is Juniper doesn't have a firearm. And then, in a moment of panic as he hangs from a catwalk (that absolutely should not have had its powerbox so obviously out in the open if Zor wasn't planning on the agent either killing him or putting him in a position for Zor to pull the trigger) he tries to plead with the agent. He doesn't know the mask is a death trap at this point, and the only choice he has is to hope the person in the room with him can help pull him back up from the pit. He puffs up his chest, acts like he has all of the cards, but that's because that's the only chance he's got of making it out of this thing alive. He doesn't know the mask is what's gonna kill him in the end, he just knows that the Fabricator, the crazy lady who makes death traps for fun, has something in the room with him and that Zor intends on using it to finish John off.

And once John's toast literally Zor just shakes their head and mockingly calls him a disappointment before turning to Phoenix and saying it's in their hands now. But the entire time that Phoenix is working on this briefcase, Zor is teasing them, toying with them, and is audibly disappointed if you fail to disarm the briefcase in time. Phoenix was supposed to get the briefcase, John was supposed to die, and he really was implied to be doomed from the very beginning.

He's not a whining, screaming, incompetent bumbling idiot. He is very capable, he is literally just set up to fail so Zor can see Phoenix perform.

Edit: just for clarification, I do think he’s rather petulant, bitchy, he can be whiny, he’s an absolute douche, and what he did in that cellar is nothing short of a tantrum, my point is just that he isn’t a completely incompetent man baby. He knows what he’s doing and in at least one situation had more sense than Zor (Safe and Sound).

#i expect you to die #ieytd #ieytd2 #i expect you to die 2 #john juniper #spoilers

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guest-walter · 1 year

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#parappa the rapper #anime #parappa anime #zoom #ptr #gif #short clip #video games #um jammer lammy #ujl #playstation

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radioactivepeasant · 1 month

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Snippets Thursday: Meddling Mar (part 2 of 2)

(Jak is back from Haven and in so much trouble)

"Gate pass."

Two words, absolutely devoid of emotion, were all it took to shatter the facade of defiance Jak had crafted. Nausea churned his stomach, and he bit down on the insides of his cheeks until he tasted blood. He'd known there would be a price to pay. But this-

With a shaking hand, Jak drew the gate pass from his pocket and silently cursed the trembling limb for betraying his weakness as he held it out for Damas to take.

Damas didn’t look at him.

"Three weeks." His voice was a little too calm. Jak could feel anger underneath the words, waiting like vipers under the sand. "You left for three weeks without a word to me, to Phobos. To anyone. And in that time the only word from you I had, I had to get secondhand from Sig."

He didn't look at Jak.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

Jak tried to swallow around the boulder in his throat and wondered why this, of every scolding or reprimand he'd ever received, terrified him beyond words. He wanted to tell Damas that he'd tried to come back the first day, only to be stopped by the force fields. He wanted to tell him how Veger had paid for signal jammers around the walls, fearing that other city-states might take advantage of Haven's compromised capitol. He wanted to beg for forgiveness. But it all fell short, didn’t it? Pathetic excuses from a pathetic excuse for a hero. A runaway. A deserter, that's what he was.

Jak’s throat closed around his words, stifling them. He swallowed, felt the muscles of his neck tense and pulse. But the panic had a stranglehold on his throat and he just couldn't.

Damas wouldn't look at him.

Damas couldn’t see.

Look at me! Please, please look at me! he silently begged.

"Haven's-" Daxter's voice squeaked into the air between them, faltering and guilty. "They...made it real easy to get in and near impossible to get out. We got caught in the lockdown, just a couple hours after we got there. It wasn’t supposed to be three weeks. It wasn’t even supposed to be three days."

"And that somehow excuses you slipping out like thieves in the night, unsanctioned and unaccompanied?" Damas demanded, finally turning his eyes to them. "Do you know how many people were searching the city and desert for you? We did not even know you had made it to Haven until Sig went back to look for you! We feared Egil had taken you!"

Jak physically took a step back. Damas looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Deep, dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes, and his face was haggard.

I did this.

He opened and shut his mouth uselessly, then fell back on SparSign on instinct.

"I didn't think-"

"You didn't think," Damas interrupted, "Full stop. Haven is a hotbed of our enemies, Jak, and you just walked into the vipers' den. I had no idea where you were! What if you'd been injured? Or arrested? Hm? What if they’d framed you for something else and tried to kill you?"

A little confused, but afraid to further provoke the man, Jak kept his head down.

"It's never mattered before that they tried to kill me."

"Because I didn't know you were there!"

Even Damas seemed surprised by his own cracking voice.

"You run from one danger to the next like you think it doesn't matter if you live or die. It. matters. Jak. You think you're the only one who suffers if something happens to you?"

Jak cringed. He knew he wasn't. Daxter was always there. Daxter was always in danger because of him.

And he'd left Spargus down one person for three weeks, which meant someone else probably had to do his share of the work-

And Mar was alone that whole time-

Shame, hot and acidic as dark eco, burned in his gut. It reached up with long claws to pin his lungs shut.

"I- I'm sorry. I'll go. I'm sorry," he signed, utterly dejected. "But don't make our brother leave. Don't blame him or Daxter for what I did."

"Go?" Damas demanded, stepping closer, "And where, exactly, did you think you would be going?"

oh gods, he's going to make me say it. He's going to make me pronounce my own exile-!

Jak couldn’t speak. He just gestured to the gate pass resting in Damas’s clenched fist.

Shock colored the king’s eyes for an instant, softening his face into something sadder. Wearier.

"You-" he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "You think I- I'm exiling you?"

Jak kept his eyes on the floor and twisted his fingers into his tunic.

"I understand why," he answered, short and to the point.

A strangled noise startled him enough to drag his gaze upward, meeting Damas’s eyes.

"You-!"

He inhaled sharply through his nose and shut his eyes for four seconds.

Then he stormed down the steps and caught Jak by the shoulder. Before Jak had time to think, he'd been yanked into Damas’s arms, all but crushed against his chest.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"You stubborn, frustrating child-!" Damas croaked next to his ear. "Exiled?! After I spent three weeks barely knowing if you were alive, you think I would let you out of my sight?"

Jak stiffened. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He screwed up, he got rejected until he earned some kind of redemption. That was the script life followed. He didn't have a script for this.

"Mar told us you-" Damas swallowed. Gritted his teeth. "You thought you had to lead enemies away from our walls. Alone! Have we done nothing to earn your trust, even after all this time?"

Jak couldn’t answer. He could barely move. He wanted to protest that he fought his own battles, that he didn't want his past screw-ups to come haunt his only real home. But his mind caught on Damas’s words and rang in his ears.

Mar

Mar.

He knows.

Jak’s jaw worked in silence, and his eyes darted left to meet the same panic in Daxter's eyes.

Damas pulled back and gripped Jak’s face between his hands, forcing his gaze back to him.

"Jak, I lost you once before. I cannot endure it a second time. If you will not heed caution for your own sake, then at least think of your brothers first. Think of Phobos and me."

What.

Tongue finally loosened, Jak choked on questions and only managed inquiring noises. A second time? What was Damas talking about? Why was he hugging him instead of yelling at him?

"I don't...I don't understand-" he tried to breathe around the tightness still gripping his lungs. "I don't- Mar told you?"

Damas’s eyes glimmered, the only evidence betraying how close to breaking down he truly was. "No, son," he said quietly.

The word seemed weightier than usual.

"I knew."

Jak pulled back. "You knew?! How long?!"

"In truth? The day I found you in the desert." Damas blew out a breath that was just barely shakier than it should have been. "I knew in my heart who I had found, but after two years I was afraid to believe it without proof. That proof came sixteen days ago."

Sixteen days. While Jak was gone, then. Damas had been looking for Mar before Jak had come from the past? Why? He was nothing like the Underground, so Jak couldn't imagine that he'd meant to use Mar's powers for his own gain.

Swallowing hard, he tentatively asked, "What proof?"

Damas looked away for a moment, reaching for something in one of his belt pouches.

"The results of a cheek swab when we found you. A...computer test. One that can show us the building blocks of a person's blood, and who their parents were."

He knows I'm Mar! Jak realized, and excuses and justifications crowded behind his teeth. He knows we aren't blood brothers-!

Having apparently found what he was looking for, Damas opened his hand and held it out to Jak.

An amulet of Mar, far older than the one Jak shared with his brother, lay on his open palm, and the last pieces began to click into place.

"I see you, Jak," Damas whispered. "You don't have to keep fighting alone."

"You're...you're one of us?" Jak asked, "Like, from the- the future?"

"One of you?" Damas laughed, a little brokenly. "I'm your father, you ridiculous boy!"

His father?!

In the secrecy of his heart, Jak could easily admit that he saw the man as a father-figure, if an idealized one. And as he and Mar had started to ease up and let Damas closer, he'd pretended sometimes that their relationship was more familial than mentor and student. He knew Mar thought of Damas -- and Phobos a little moreso -- as "his" grown-ups.

Had they, somewhere deep inside, remembered them? Was that bond instinctive, picking up something that had always existed? Or had they built it themselves?

Jak wanted to apologize -- for leaving, for not explaining, maybe for existing in this form and not his childhood shape -- but what came out of him was only a noise. Soft, pained. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would help him keep his jaw clenched.

"Oh, oh-"

Damas pulled him close again, shushing him as if he were a child.

"Oh Jak."

His voice was hoarse, and full of pain.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I waited so long for proof. I should- I should have confronted you the first time I saw you using Mar's sign name."

He pressed Jak's head against his shoulder and held him tightly. "I'm- I'm sorry I made you think you might be sent away. I was- You scared me, Jak. I thought I was going to lose you before I could find out if you knew-"

Over Jak's shoulder, Damas looked down at Daxter and sighed. "Thank you," he said, "for going with him. If you say you got caught in a lockdown, I- I believe you, Daxter."

"You...do?" Daxter asked in a very small voice.

He didn't know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? A bitter envy?

"You've never given me a reason not to trust you," Damas answered simply.

Daxter swallowed twice. "So uh...does this mean you ain't mad anymore?"

Damas scoffed wetly. "No, I'm furious. But I'm so relieved that you're both safe."

He arched an eyebrow, though the stern look was softened somewhat by the tears in his eyes. "But. As the oldest, you should know better than to sneak out like that. You're as grounded as Jak is."

"Grounded?!" Daxter sputtered.

"So grounded." Damas nodded. "You two aren't- aren't getting this gate pass back for weeks."

Jak wanted to protest, to tell him all the responsibilities on his shoulders that required him to be able to go back and forth between cities. But he couldn't catch his breath long enough to form even a syllable.

He had a father. They had a father. Parents. That wanted them! All of them! But he didn't deserve it! Especially not now, after deserting the way he had!

"M- m- Mar?" he finally managed to force out.

Damas shushed him again and clicked his tongue. "He's alright. He's with your mother."

Your mother.

"I'm- I'm not...him, the right him-" Jak tried to warn Damas -- he ought to have known, he'd seen what Jak was like-

Damas’s arms trembled against his back.

"No. I don't want you to be your brother. Be you. Be my reckless, impudent, war-sage son, as you are." He gave a choked sob, wrapped partway around a chuckle, and added, "Though perhaps- perhaps so that I can sleep at night, a bit less reckless?"

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #dadmas angst #someone finally gets through to jak about people caring about him #meddling mar #meddling mar au #jak and daxter mar

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vndev · 30 days

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Free VFX & Consultation for NaNoRenO 2024 Jammers!

Hey everyone! I hope you've had a great time participating in NaNoRenO this year! I'm Nai from Make Visual Novels, though I imagine more of you know me either through our live team building events in DevTalk, or from the other jams and competitions I run. I wanted to let you guys know that, for a limited time, I'm offering free consultations for jammers participating in NaNoRenO2024. With those consultations, I'll also be creating VFX for your title screens to help you make a stronger first impression.

So you might be asking...

Why would I even want a consultation, Nai?

Something went really wrong and you want to know how to fix it .

Something went really right and you want to know how to take advantage of it.

You had an objective that you got close to, but couldn't quite hit it.

You want to go Pro with developing VNs, and you'd like guidance.

You feel lost in some part of the process, and need help setting goals for your circumstances.

You tasted VN Dev, you can't imagine a life without it, and you want tools, resources & opportunities.

Okay, but why you?

I've spent nearly a decade supporting and coaching visual novel developers reaching their personal and professional goals.

I've read over 500 indie visual novels. I know what your peers are doing, and where they are succeeding and where they're struggling.

I run & judge for the largest sponsored visual novel development competition. That 500 was a conservative estimate.

My network includes VN engine & game developers, game, book, comic & VN publishers, merchandise providers & manufacturers, marketing professionals, crowdfunding experts, professional programmers, illustrators, animators, graphic designers, VFX artists, 3D Artists(specifically modelling, texturing, rigging, and lighting) editors, pixel artists, Live2D capable artists, authors, narrative designers, translators, composers, musicians, singers, casting directors, voice actors (so many voice actors).And, probably most importantly, people who are living the experiences you're looking for.

In short: If I don't know the answer and/or can't come up with a solution to your very specific goals, I know someone who can.

I'm in. Now what?

To be eligible for the free consultation and the VFX, you need to have a game submitted to the NaNoRenO 2024 jam page and follow its rules.

Having a list of questions to ask is a good idea. Having goals is an even better one. If you don't have goals, we can work on setting them.

For best results, you or a team representative should be present for the consultation. These are conducted between 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM ET on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Message me over on Discord (discord:naidriftlin) or in DevTalk(https://discord.gg/devtalk) to set up a time and day.

Some things to keep in mind:

Don't ask me to roast your game/be brutal. I don't do that. I can provide critique with suggestions and examples.

These consultations will be conducted live on https://twitch.tv/makevisualnovels. My viewers are typically your peers and VN industry folks, and usually not exceeding 10 concurrent viewers. A VOD recording will be provided to you to download for 30 days afterwards.

The free VFX for your title screen is eligible for those who complete the consultations. It will be tailored to your existing title screen visuals and delivered afterwards. I may opt to stream and record the process of making them.

#vn development #vndev #visual novel #nanoreno 2024 #nanoreno

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spookyspecterino · 16 hours

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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.”

#Tangerine x Reader #Fem!Reader #Tangerine Bullet Train #Bullet Train

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