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Pre - relationship, post-movie.
Part of the Scouting Around Universe (the reader is part of the assassins' world, but as a Scout, her role is to gather intel and prepare them for their missions).
MASTERLIST
Nice - 30 May, 02:00 GMT
The dark alley was silent, save for the occasional car passing nearby.
And the sound of your crying, of course; Tangerine sighed, sending you a perplexed glance.
The muffled sobs didn't slow down, and he rechecked his phone. There were no texts for Lemon, meaning he still hadn't reached their rented - under - false- names car.
Figures, he fumed, trying not to move his injured shoulder.
Precisely what they did not need that night.
The mission had gone spectacularly sideways. Despite all the information you had provided and your Agency flying you into the city to offer additional support after the client's request, the target still managed to kill your informant, and destroy a fucking precious file - which was going to mean less money for everyone - and stab Tangerine in the shoulder with his silver paper-knife, before Lemon finally smashed his head against the wall.
Tangerine was surprised that the disastrous chain of events was hitting you harder than he expected.
He supposed it made sense, though. As a Scout, you were rarely involved in direct action, and as yourself, you seldom had your plan going tits up.
There is a first time for everything, he sighed, pinching his nose.
It'd be better not to tell you that right now, though.
Standing a few feet away, Tangerine watched you like you were some kind of bomb he hadn't figured out how to defuse. Damn it, why didn't he insist on being the one to go fetch the car?
Lemon would have known what to do and what to tell you. Crying people didn't make him squeamish.
"Fuck, you're really goin' for it, aren't you?" he grumbled, his voice gruff, almost annoyed, after a particular heartfelt sob.
You sniffled pitifully, shoulders shaking as you evidently tried—and failed—to pull yourself together. Tangerine shook his head, "Look, I ain't trying to be a right fucker here, but this isn't the time for a meltdown".
"My informant is dead, the file with the bank account number is gone, and you are bleeding", you replied bitterly, glaring at him. "This is exactly the time for a meltdown."
"Sorry for the poor bloke, but people die in this line of work, yeah? That's just the way it is."
You flinched at his words, and Tangerine immediately regretted them, though he'd rather stab his other shoulder than admit it. He took a step closer, decisively pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket and holding it out to you.
"Here," he muttered, thrusting it toward you like it might burn him. "Use this. Can't bloody think straight with all the snifflin'."
You stared at the elegant piece of cloth and then at him as if trying to understand a foreign language.
Your tear-streaked face made Tangerine shift uncomfortably. He waved the handkerchief impatiently, the soft silk almost shining under the lampost. "Go on, take it, love. I ain't got all night."
You accepted the handkerchief with shaking hands, gently dabbing at your face. "Thank you. It's that... I didn't think a simple retrieving task could go so wrong. I thought—"
"Well, there's your first mistake," he cut in, adjusting the temporary bandage you've clumsily wrapped around his shoulder after fleeing the crime scene. "Never assume things'll go according to the plan. Most of the time, plans are for idiots who've never had a bullet in their necks or a target beating the shit out of them."
"I thought you liked plans."
Yeah, he used to. Before Tokyo, his near-death experience and the massive scar on the side of his neck.
Before the nightmares and the forced year of hiatus he had to take and the guilt for having left his brother alone for a bit.
Not that he was going to say any of that shit out loud to anyone.
Lemon didn't need to hear it to know—and he pretended for months that his brother didn't wake him up screaming in his sleep; he was already up at 3 a.m. Did Tangerine want to watch some TV?
That bastard Ladybug suggested only once to consult with his psychologist before Tangerine threatened him, pointing a gun at his forehead, literally foaming with rage.
You... well, you didn't need to know all of that about him, even if you were sweet and understanding and would probably try to make some fucking nice gesture of support that he so did not deserve.
Maybe especially for that.
He still had to understand how someone so caring and, in a certain way, innocent like you got tangled with their underground world.
He scoffed, chasing away those cumbersome thoughts. "What d'you want me to say, huh? 'Everything is fine'? 'We did the best we could'? That's not how this works. Somehow we fucked up, but this is the way it is."
You let out a heavy sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, his handkerchief tightly in your hand. "No need to use that tone, Tangerine. I know all that stuff! I just didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I could handle it. I thought... I covered everything."
He talked again, softer this time, "You're not the first to feel like this after a job. And you can bet your ass you won't be the last. Everyone can have a bad day every once in a while."
"Not in this line of work," you murmured, gaze fixed somewhere distant. Tangerine was no match to Lemon when it came to reading people, but he started to suspect that your past wasn't as normal or smooth as you wanted to sell.
A tear was still mid-run on your cheek, and he had to restrain himself from passing his thumb on it. Or giving you a kiss.
What the fuck?, he baulked at the thought.
Unaware of his internal struggle and confusion, you chewed your lip. "I'll do better next time. If you two will have me."
"Of fucking course we will. It's either you or nobody else."
You blinked at him, surprised by the uncharacteristic sincerity buried in his gruffness. He rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "Don't get all starry-eyed about it. I'm just sayin', next time, you'll handle it better, and it makes more sense to have you around rather than an unknown moron who could do worse."
"Well, how could I decline after such heartfelt praise?" you chuckled.
He tsked, checking his phone. "Lemon is close, let's go."
A small smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded. "Thanks, Tangerine."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, looking away. "Don't go makin' it a habit, alright? I'm not in the business of consoling people. That's Lemon's territory."
You chuckled softly, and his eyes darted back to you, pleased. "About bloody time. Now, c'mon."
He reached out, hesitating for just a second before putting a hand on your shoulder. It was awkward, but the intent was there. "You good?"
You nodded, the weight in your chest lifting just a bit. "I'll be fine."
"Good," he grunted, stepping back and straightening his jacket. "Now, keep the handkerchief. And don't even think about givin' it back. I don't want it after… all that."
You smiled, tucking it into your pocket. "I'll buy you another one."
He lingered behind as you left the alley, watching until you disappeared around the corner. "Bloody mess you are… and somehow my problem now." he muttered to himself, his voice low.
Hello you <3
I have just started reading your Masterlist! And i love your Tangerine Stories so so so much!
Your writing is so soft and delicate but it has its moments where is exciting and nailbiting!
Everything is so well written and reading it is so smooth.
I just wanted to drop a big fat thank you in your inbox!
Have a wonderful day love <3
Honestly, thank you so, so much! These words made me so happy!
I'm always grateful when someone reads through what I've written (English is not my first language, so I'm aware that sometimes a typo or a mistake might slip here and there), but when I receive messages like this?
My heart bursts!
Tangerine fucks up, Lemon is disappointed, Reader gets hurt.
Warnings: rude language, mention of self-consciousness. The reader is implied to be plus-sized, but I kept her as generic as possible.
Angsty, but with a fluffy happy ending.
MASTERLIST
Based on my Scout AU (Reader is a Scout, part of a group that usually gathers intel for their assigned assassins professionals).
The hotel room buzzed with low energy, the kind that settles after a long day. Tangerine sat at the small table in the corner of the room, methodically cleaning his pistol, while Lemon flipped through a battered comic on the couch.
Where he found it was a mystery, but he seemed enthralled by it, so it was all good.
All of you desperately needed something quiet and pleasant after the headaches this mission was giving you all.
You in particular.
As a Scout, having no leads or paths weighed heavy on your shoulders.
You are lucky that you and the Twins have a work history because if they had to recommend you based on this particular mission, you would be royally fucked.
Sighing, you shut down your laptop, knowing that a reply from one of your sources wouldn't magically appear just because you were staring at the screen without blinking.
The guy needed time, and you needed a little break.
Speaking of nice things, Lemon had his comic, Tangerine was maniacally cleaning his gun - a clear sign of "don't fuck with me at the moment, I'm in my safe space" - and you decided to treat yourself to something tasty.
Before crashing at this poor excuse of a hotel, Lemon - god bless him - had insisted on buying some supplies, and surely something savoury or sweet slipped into the plastic bag.
You hovered near the kitchenette, quietly rummaging through the bag of snacks you correctly found, movements slow and deliberate.
A muffled, delighted sound escaped your lips, finding a pack of vinegar crisps.
"Better share those," Lemon called out, shooting you a grin.
Tangerine smirked, barely looking up. "Or maybe skip it, eh? Could stand to cut back a bit."
The words struck like a hammer. The bag crinkled in your hands as you froze, your back stiffening.
Your forced laugh sounded too tight and too painful. "Guess I'm not that hungry anyway," you murmured, setting the bag aside and blinking quickly, breathing heavily. Without looking at either of the Twins, you made a hasty exit, muttering something about needing some paper you left in your bedroom.
The door clicked shut, leaving the room thick with tension.
"Real nice, mate," Lemon said, his voice low and sharp. He lowered his comic and sent his brother a scolding glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Still surprised by your reaction and frozen in the middle of his movement, Tangerine frowned, his grip tightening on the cloth in his hand. "What the heck? It was a joke."
"Did it sound like she laughed?" Lemon shot back. "Nah, right? Then maybe it wasn't funny."
"She knows I didn't mean it like that," Tangerine argued, but there was a hint of doubt creeping into his voice. "The fuck, you two are always fucking around."
"Because we know the limits!" his brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Tangerine blinked, the weight of Lemon's words sinking in. His mind replayed the moment, and something sharp twisted in his chest.
"You're a right bloody idiot," his brother said, voice laced with disappointment.
Tangerine frowned, leaning back in his chair. "It was a joke," he repeated mechanically.
"It wasn't funny."
"She knows I didn't mean it like that," Tangerine shot back more forcefully, though his voice wavered, betraying his doubt.
Lemon shook his head, standing. "She doesn't think it's a joke, mate. She thinks you think she's ugly, yeah? That you're embarrassed by her." He paused by the bathroom door, his voice dropping. "And you're too thick to see what's right before you."
You joined them again eventually, talking about a new lead your contact found. Still, your smile didn't reach your eyes, and every word between you and Tangerine felt clipped and careful, like you were navigating a minefield. The next few days passed in a haze of awkward silences and cautious avoidance.
Tangerine was not the most perceptive guy when it came to human interactions.
According to Lemon, he was actually the worst. It was good that he was at least an excellent fighter. However, even Tangerine couldn't miss how you no longer reached for snacks when you thought he might see you, how your plate barely had a dent during meals, how awfully quiet around him you were, mostly keeping the conversation work-related.
You didn't tell him about a funny thing you saw on TV or the new book you wanted to read.
It was all strictly professional, all work-related.
Meals together were strained—your portions smaller, your snacks nonexistent.
Each observation landed like a gut punch, and guilt clawed at him in ways he couldn't shake. Lemon’s earlier words gnawed at him like a splinter.
He fucked up, and he didn't know what to say or to do. Fuck that shit, Tangerine thought more than once, trying to tell himself it was not a big deal and you'd eventually get over it.
He would never admit it to anyone, but the worst part, aside from realizing he had been a true asshole, was that he fucking missed your chats and the easy familiarity you two previously shared.
He wasn't one for apologies, but by the third day, he couldn't take it anymore.
That evening, as you sat curled on the couch pretending to read a folder one of your people sent you with details about the target and Lemon was in his bedroom snoring soundly, Tangerine pulled up a chair and dropped into it heavily.
You glanced up, startled, but your expression quickly shifted to wary neutrality. "Something wrong?"
"Yeah," he said bluntly, running a hand through his hair. "This."
"This?"
"This," he repeated, gesturing between you. "You, avoiding me. Not eating. Acting like I think you're… like I've got a problem with you."
The slight pause didn't last because you didn't move or say anything, and he couldn't bear the silence.
"Is this about the shitty joke I made the other day?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "Because if it is, you need to tell me."
"It's fine," you muttered tiredly. "I'm over it."
"Don't," he snapped more at himself than you, leaning forward. "Don't tell me it's fine when it bloody isn't."
Your heart clenched at his words, but you stayed silent, letting him stumble through his thoughts.
He murmured something with an angry voice, dragging a hand down his face. "Look, I know I said something stupid. And maybe I've said other stupid things before—I don't bloody know. But I didn't mean it like that. Not the way you've taken it."
Tangerine avoided saying the rest aloud: he wasn't just some random bloke barking an offhand remark—he was someone you trusted, and he'd chipped away at that, albeit by accident.
You were part of the team, and he had kicked a trustworthy ally in the face. He would shoot at the small voice, saying he didn't usually have wet dreams about his allies.
"I know you didn't mean it; really, it's fine." You interrupted him quickly, desperately wanting to avoid the conversation.
Funny, you were usually the one affectionately forcing him to open up a bit.
"It's not fine," Tangerine snapped, his frustration bubbling. "Because I can see how much it hurt you. I'm not blind."
You flinched at his words, but when you glanced at him, your eyes were kind. Kinder than he deserved.
"I didn't think you'd even notice," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "I just…" You hesitated, your voice trembling. "I thought maybe… maybe you think I'm ugly because I'm not the kind of beautiful woman you'd usually…"
"Stop," he said, his voice low and almost desperate. "Don't say that. Don't bloody think that. Ever."
When you finally looked up at him, uncertainty came off you in waves. The tentative, almost fragile smile you gave him was so full of gratitude it made his chest ache. You were thanking him—for what? For not thinking you were ugly? For doing the bare minimum trying to apologize for having been an asshole? There wasn't much that could make him feel guilty, but damn if the way you were looking at him didn't do the trick.
He was not a good man; it was laughable notion to think that someone who killed for money would have a regular moral compass.
Yet, he prided himself not to be an asshole with innocent people. He could kill in cold blood and fucking go to a club to dance after.
He would not even consider not assessing the situation or not answering in kind if provoked, but he was not cruel, in his opinion.
He didn't attack without a cause.
He doubted you had the same feeling after what he said.
"Fucking hell," he muttered, his voice rough. Bracing his elbows on his knees, Tangerine looked you straight. No excuses this time.
"I'm an idiot, alright? I make stupid jokes because I don't know how else to… I don't know. But you—" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "You don't deserve that. Not from me, not from anyone."
The air in the room was thick with unspoken words.
The way you smiled so gratefully, like his apology was some rare and unexpected thing you'd learned not to expect, twisted the guilt more profoundly into his chest. He realized then that you hadn't been simply hurt—you were used to being hurt—by men like him, by careless words, cruel laughs, and thoughtless dismissals.
Tangerine felt sick.
"Don't smile at me like that," he said, his hands curling into fists. "Like I'm some hero for apologizing."
Your brows furrowed, but you nodded, straightening your pose.
"Okay," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Okay," he echoed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stood abruptly, nodding. "Good. That's good. Now, let's grab some dinner, alright? On me."
"Thank you," you said quietly, the sincerity in your voice cutting through him like a blade.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. "You don't have to thank me," he muttered. "Not for apologizing for being a bloody idiot."
Your lips quirked into a true smile "I was thanking you for the pizza you are going to buy me."
He smirked "You're bossy, you know that?"
"Yeah, well," you replied with a sincere laugh. "Somebody's got to keep you on your toes."
For now, it was enough. But as he looked at you trotting to wake up Lemon and ask him what pizza he'd like, he made a silent promise to himself: he'd do better. He had to.
----------------------------------------------
Hello my darlings, thanks for reading it! As always, comments, reposts, likes are hugely appreciated!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Just a little thing about Tangerine and his partner.
Fluff, a hint of smut.
Please, if you like it, like, reblog, comment, just let me know your thoughts!
Warm and Soft
It was nice to have someone—someone so lovely and thoughtful and clearly delighted to see him—welcome him back.
It was the first thought Tangerine had while opening the door of his and Lemon’s penthouse in London and being greeted by Dove’s smile and her hug. He let his suitcase crash on the wooden floor, enveloping her in his arms, pressing kisses on her temples, on the top of her head, and her cheeks. She flushed and chuckled, asking murmured questions about his well–being and the cut on his shoulder.
Questions that Tangerine dismissed with a shrug and a kiss on the tip of her nose, before bending slightly and pressing his lips on hers, ignoring Lemon’s groan from somewhere behind him.
Even if the kiss she gave Tangerine was far too short for his liking, he felt his chest expand and warm up, finally letting the relaxation of being safe and sound with his brother, in their home, and back in the arms of the woman he loved.
Even if he sometimes struggled with voicing that sentiment, it was there and Tangerine held it close to his soul.
When she hugged Lemon, not protesting about him crushing her in his arms, Tangerine felt the bubble in his chest darting and twirling, seeing the two people he loved the most joking and chatting about the food that was waiting in the oven.
It was a lovely evening.
While they were in their respective bedrooms showering and unpacking their luggage, Dove finished up the dinner she had planned, even making sure Lemon had his favourite Thomas the Tank Engine plate and Tangerine's favourite beer straight out of the fridge.
Tangerine asked her to stay, and Lemon asked them to try being quiet because he was tired, which earned him a vulgar gesture from Tangerine.
Seeing her so at ease in his house, all soft and kind, sensing her body so close to him made him ravenous for something different than food.
It had been too long since the last time he felt her, in any sense.
The end of the meal did not arrive too soon.
Even when they were finally alone, and her naked curves were pressed against his skin, she insisted on taking care of him.
He truly did not deserve her.
He probably let it slip out loud when his head was thrown back in ecstasy while she rode him hard and fast, exactly as he liked – as he needed.
When he fell asleep, he was still wrapped around her, not ready to let her go.
He wanted to tell her so much, but words were a fucking mess, and he felt half of them choking in his throat or coming out wrong. Dove had told him she knew.
She understood.
She really was too good for him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------Masterlist HERE !
uhhhh please tangerine lemon and handler/agent!Reader playing scrabble or monopoly to relax but it's so incredibly not relaxing
this sound so damn fun! enjoy! for fem!reader
~ * ~
"You're a fuckin' cheater," Tangerine hisses as he sulks on the floor. He had completely given up on being a civilized person once the game had become heated. His hair is messy from the constant re-arranging and he keeps loosening his tie like it's suffocating him.
Somehow, It tends to always become heated when playing monopoly with the Twins, so you aren't surprised by Tangerine's manic state. Lemon rolls the dice, ignoring his brother as he delicately moves his thimble.
He's winning.
"Next fuckin' time, I'm the fuckin' bank. I can't trust you for shit," Tangerine piped up again, groaning in frustration as Lemon passes his properties, safely landing on the starting square.
"Paying up, double this time," Lemon smirks as he reaches into the bank and taps his index on the starting square.
"Oi! No! Since when is it double if you land on it?!" Tangerine argues, grabbing the bank and sliding it towards him on his side. Lemon yanks it back, his eyes dark as he sends Tangerine a glare.
"Since forever," you add quietly, organizing your property cards. Tangerine sends you a glare.
"Whose side are you on, love?"
You shrug and smile, still very sleepy. "The winning side so this can be over with and I can finally sleep," you reason with a yawn. You're completely losing the game but it doesn't matter. All you wanted was a relaxing evening.
You should have never let Lemon suggest monopoly.
Tangerine grumbles something under his breath, seeing how sleepy you've become. He does feel bad since the mission has been stressful, mostly because of him, and now he's stressing you out again.
"C'mere," he mumbles as he leans against the sofa, opening one arm so you can move closer.
You happily shift over and sink your nose into Tangerine's chest as your eyes flutter shut. His hand finds your head, massaging a gentle circle with his hand as you hum, feeling yourself drift into sleep. The game has completely slipped your mind.
"Y/n, it's your turn," Lemon hands you to dice.
Tangerine takes them instead. "She's with me now."
"That's not how that works," Lemon begins.
"One more word from you and I'll shove these monopoly bills so far up your ass you'll be coughing up fake money for days," Tangerine quips, his voice eerily calm.
You wince at his vulgarity, but you're too exhausted to speak up, as you tighten your grip around his sleeve and watch through the slit between your eyelashes as Lemon scrunches up his nose and hits his brother's shin from underneath the coffee table.
Tangerine kicks him right back, hitting the small table with his knee and scattering some monopoly money onto the carpet. His movement causes you to hum and he freezes, looking at your sleepy state.
"You fu—"
"Shut up," Tangerine whispers harshly, snapping his head towards Lemon as he rests his hand on your head again. Your breathing has slowed and your eyes are fully shut. "She's asleep."
Lemon calms down, slowly picking up the bills as he sends his brother a knowing look. Tangerine is stroking your hair, the game completely abandoned as he focuses on you and making sure no one disturbs your slumber.
"Fuckin' whipped as shit," Lemon mutters, cleaning up the game as he suppresses a smirk. "I win, ya twat," he taunts but Tangerine isn't even listening.
His gaze is locked onto you, watching your chest rise and fall. You look so peaceful and his stomach flips. He knows. He knows instantly that Lemon isn't the one who won.
No. Because how could Lemon have won when you're the only prize that truly matters? And you're not Lemon's girl, you're his girl.
Hi dear, how are we doing, dads aside? I was wondering how do you feel about Tangerine dearest going ballistic because some random pr7ck tried to kiss you?
bro there is no other aside rn unfortunately it's just me, him, & my dog for 48 hours in a small space
you're relatively used to people being weird & giving them a little grace when theyre drunk
is it pleasant? no, but you know it doesn't really mean shit & you can push em away
so on a nice night out, when some prick in a suit that looks half the price of tangerine's decides trying to make a move, you easily brush him off
tangerine was bringing your drinks at the time & didn't see it
this guy isn't getting the picture from a simple shrug away & is asking you why you're not gonna give him a chance
well, you kindly explain you're taken & point out your man at the bar bringing you your drinks
the drunk guy stumbles a bit, hiccups, & says you're just too gorgeous, he wants you so bad, if you ever need someone then you can call him...
it's really just sappy drunk shit & means nothing
but tangerine has noticed at this point & sets your drinks down quickly before squaring up in front of this dude with the most condescending look on his handsome face
tells this guy OFF until he's skittering away like a dog with its tail between its legs
the bar goes quiet & some of the staff come over to make sure the situation is handled
then demands you tell him exactly what happened & asks if you're alright a million times
once he's sure you're okay, tangerine eases off of it to let you both enjoy the evening together & you both only leave when you say you're ready to go
after you get home, though, tangerine wants to make sure you know who you belong to & will treat you like royalty the whole rest of the night
....it might actually be more for his sake of feeling more secure with you but hard to protest it when he takes care of you so well
Hello there! Sorry to hear about your hard time! Would you like to tell us what do you think that Tangerine from Bullet Train would do if you tell him you xan't sleep and are too nervous?
abso-fuckin-lutely as someone who can't sleep ever
he comes back home late from a briefing session for the third day in a row & notices you're still up
his first thought is that you're just super sweet & waiting up for him, but he reassures you that everything is fine so you don't need to stay up
you don't seem tired though & even as tangerine gets to bed, you're not really settling in
he asks if something's wrong after a few minutes pass in the dark & you're just laying there with your eyes open
there's a bit of apprehension in your eyes even without any light illuminating them & tangerine coaxes you further to give him an answer
you open up & tell him that you struggle with sleep, even when he isn't out late, specifically that you just can't stop thinking or feeling nervous
tangerine half-jokes when he asks you if it has anything to do with him or his type of work
he doubles down on telling you that he's a professional, he's done this forever, & you don't have to worry about him at all
you have to admit that his line of work does scare you a little bit over his safety...
...but you've had this problem for longer than you've been with him, so that's not the only thing
he sympathetizes with you & pulls you up to lay on his chest, smoothing a hand down your back
then he asks you to tell him everything on your mind
so you slowly start to let the whirlwind in your head turn into thinking out loud in front of him
tangerine nods, makes affirmative sounds, & occasionally throws in a remark that makes you feel heard
after a while, though, your eyelids start to feel heavy & your words taper down until you have to let yourself drift off over his chest
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Tangerine had never been one to keep his temper in check, especially when it came to you. The two of you had been in far worse situations, but today was different. The local police force had no idea who they were dealing with, and it didn’t help that they were handling you both like a pair of thugs.
The officer shoving you into the back of the police car had already crossed a line, his grip too tight, his attitude too arrogant and his hands touching you. But when the other one got rough with you, pushing you toward the vehicle with far more force than necessary and making you trip, something snapped in Tangerine.
“Oi, that’s my wife!” His voice cut through the commotion like a knife, fury lacing every word. Before anyone could react, he lunged forward, headbutting the cop who’d been forcing him into the car. The crack of bone against bone was unmistakable, and the officer staggered back, blood pouring from his nose.
Tangerine didn’t stop there. He turned with a wild intensity in his eyes, his curly hair disheveled, one strand falling across his forehead, giving him a feral look. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t do much, but that didn’t stop him. He barreled toward the cop who’d been rough with you, and with another fierce headbutt, sent him sprawling to the ground, clutching his face in pain.
Blood now dripped down Tangerine’s forehead, his hair a mess of curls and sweat. He sniffed, a drop of blood running down to his upper lip before he spit, his saliva tinged with red, at the cop writhing on the pavement. There was a terrifying calmness about him as he turned to you, the fiery rage melting into something softer, more tender.
“You alright, love?” he asked, his voice gentle, as if he hadn’t just taken down two cops with nothing but his head. His eyes searched yours, worry etched in every line of his face.
Before you could respond, the other officers started to move in, their shouts filling the air as they surrounded the two of you. But in that moment, all that mattered was Tangerine. Despite the chaos, despite the fact that your hands were cuffed behind your backs, you stepped closer to him. He leand in as close as he could, and you buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his body on your cheek. His chin rested on top of your head, his breath coming in soft, reassuring huffs.
“I’m alright,” you murmured into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
His kissed the top of your head, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, that you were safe. You look up wanting to kiss away his worry.
Just as your lips were about to brush his, the moment shattered. Rough hands yanked you backward, pulling you away from Tangerine before you could taste his lips. The separation was brutal the world that had narrowed to just the two of you expanded back out into chaos.
His eyes widened in fury as you were torn apart from eachother, and before either of you could protest, a cop shoved him roughly toward a separate squad car.
“Tangerine!” you called out, your voice cracking with desperation as he was pulled away. But before his name fully left your lips, a hand clamped down on your arm, yanking you back so brutally it felt like your shoulder might tear from its socket.
The violent pull sent you stumbling, nearly crashing to the ground. The cop jerked you upright, twisting your arm more with such force that pain shot through your entire body.
"Get the fuck off of her!" Tangerine roared, thrashing against the officers holding him, as he tried to get back to you. But they were too many now, and even he couldn’t fight them all off with his hands cuffed. You struggled too, your heart pounding in your chest, the grip on your arms unyielding, forcing you further away from him.
The last thing you saw before they shoved you into the back of a squad car was Tangerine being kicked into another vehicle, his eyes locked on yours with a look that promised he wouldn’t stop fighting until he got back to you. But then the door slammed shut, cutting off your view. The cold metal of the cuffs dug into your wrists as the car pulled away, the flashing lights reflecting off the windows as the city streets blurred by.
Your mind was spinning, back to Tangerine. You could only imagine what he was going through in the other car, his fury probably pushing him to the brink. You hoped he wouldn’t do anything too reckless—though, knowing him, that was probably a lost cause.
When you finally arrived at the precinct, they dragged you out of the car, your shoulder aching from the rough treatment. You were led through the fluorescent-lit corridors, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The air thick with the scent of sweat and cheap coffee. The officers, still on edge from Tangerine’s outburst, were rough as they took your fingerprints, mugshot and your personal belongings.
They put you in a holding cell, the bars cold and unwelcoming as they locked you inside. As you paced the small space, minutes felt like hours as you waited, your heart thudding with every creak of the building around you.
Then, finally, you heard a familiar voice outside the cell.
“What the hell have you two gotten yourselves into this time?”
Lemon’s tone was half exasperated, half amused, though there was an underlying concern that warmed you just a bit. A moment later, the door swung open, and there he was, looking far too calm for someone about to bail his brother and sister-in-law out of jail. His bright yellow jacket stood out starkly against the drab surroundings, like a ray of misplaced sunshine.
Lemon's exasperation clear on his face as he surveyed the mess that was your situation. His eyes softened when they landed on you, taking in the bruises forming on your arms and wrists.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here,” he sighed, pulling some strings with the Sergeant and sliding a few bills across the counter.
“They’re releasing him now,” Lemon said as he guided you out of the cell. “You’re lucky I got here when I did. Tangerine was about to start a riot in his cell...”
You followed Lemon through the station, the tension in your chest easing with each step. When you reached the front desk, you saw Tangerine standing there, still cuffed but very much alive, a bandage hastily slapped across his forehead and his shirt stained with dried blood. His curls even more disheveled than before, but you’d never been happier to see him.
“Lemon, about time, mate,” Tangerine grumbled, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, save it for later,” Lemon replied, rolling his eyes but clearly glad to see his brother in one piece. “You two are bloody hopeless, you know that?”
Tangerine ignored the jab. The moment his eyes met yours, his entire demeanor softened. He jerked his arms, clearly eager to get to you, but the officer behind the desk held onto his cuffs until the last possible second, as if hoping for one more reason to keep him locked up.
Finally, though, the metal restraints fell away, and Tangerine was free. He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms. He held you tight, like he’d never let go again, his lips brushing the top of your head in a silent promise.
“You alright?” he murmured, repeating the question he’d asked before everything went sideways.
“Now I am,” you whispered back, leaning into him as much as you could.
Lemon cleared his throat, making a show of looking anywhere but at the two of you. “Right, well, let’s get out of here before these idiots change their minds. We’ll deal with this mess later.”
With Lemon leading the way, you and Tangerine made your way out of the precinct, your fingers holding his as you walked side by side. As Tangerine pulled you closer, his arm slung protectively around your shoulders.
The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, the city buzzing around you as if nothing had happened.
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“This is Edgware Road where this train terminates. Change for the Circle and Hammersmith & City Lines…”
You got awoken by Lemon’s deep voice and blinked through your daze.
“…Please take your belongings with you when you leave the train. All change!”
You were sprawled on the backseat as Lemon switched off the engine and began gathering up his belongings from the driver’s seat. He glanced back at you, having successfully stirred you, and added with a wink, “Mind the gap between the train and the platform, darling.”
At this time the back door opened and there was Tangerine, standing tall in his still damp trousers and sky-blue shirt, offering you his hand.
He was a little dishevelled after the long night and his blue gaze was tired. But he’d slicked his curls back and was smiling that easy smile that betrayed not an ounce of his exhaustion.
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