#sharp dialogue

Out of every assassin, every smug bastard and trigger-happy psychopath in this line of work, somehow you always ended up back beside Tangerine.

The car smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. 

Rain tapped softly against the windshield. 

You sat in the passenger seat with your legs crossed, gaze fixed out the window, pretending not to notice the tension radiating off him.

Beside you, Tangerine drove like he wanted to strangle the steering wheel.

His rings clicked against the leather every few seconds. Jaw tight. Shoulders stiff beneath that tailored coat.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ way,” he muttered, voice rough with irritation. “How the hell did I end up gettin’ assigned on a bloody mission with you?”

You barely looked at him.

“Mhm.”

That only seemed to piss him off more.

The history between you and Tangerine wasn’t exactly subtle. About ten months ago, you’d been partnered on a job in Marseille. Easy money, really.

Until you’d sold the information for a better payout and disappeared.

Fucked him over, practically.

Now Lemon was out of commission, and fate had shoved you and Tangerine back together again.

Well, more money than fate.

You unlocked your phone, scrolling lazily through the mission file again like this was any other Tuesday night.

From the corner of your eye, you caught him glancing at you.

Phone glowing in your hand. Expression blank. Unbothered.

Like betraying him had meant absolutely nothing.

And frankly to you, it hadn’t meant much.

“Y’know,” he said quietly, the kind of quiet that sounded more dangerous than shouting, “most people would’ve at least tried apologisin’ by now.”

His fingers tapped once against the wheel.

“Or are you just waitin’ for another chance to stab me in the back again?”

You pushed your glasses slightly higher up your nose before answering.

“Why would I apologise?”

Your voice stayed flat.

“Getting fucked over is part of the job.”

The car drifted hard enough toward the next lane that headlights flashed behind you.

Tangerine corrected it immediately, but his grip visibly tightened.

Then he laughed.

Short. Humourless. Mean.

“Part of the job?” he echoed. “Christ alive, you say that like this is some bloody office job where coworkers nick each other’s lunches.”

Streetlights flashed across his face, catching the fury burning behind those blue eyes.

“You sold me out to people who put bullets in people for lookin’ at ‘em wrong.”

“Yeah,” you answered with a shrug. “And we kill people for a living, Tangerine. What exactly d’you want me to say?”

You finally looked at him then, expression unreadable.

“If you don’t want this trip ruined, I’d suggest you get over it.”

Silence.

Heavy silence.

For nearly ten seconds, Tangerine said nothing at all. 

Then suddenly…

He moved.

One hand left the wheel, snatching your phone clean from your grip before you could react. He hurled it against the dashboard hard enough for the screen to crack.

You blinked.

Slowly turned toward him.

“Tangerine–!”

The car slowed aggressively at a red light, engine rumbling beneath you both.

He turned toward you fully now, one arm hooked over the wheel, anger practically bleeding off him.

“I trusted you.”

Tangerine didn’t sound angry for a second.

He sounded offended.

“Right,” Tangerine cleared his throat, “no more scrollin’. No more sittin’ there ignorin’ me like I’m some stray dog.”

“We pull up to base in twenty minutes,” he continued, eyes fixed on the rain-slick road ahead as the light turned green and they continued driving ahead.

“And if you so much as blink wrong, I swear on Lemon’s life–I won’t hesitate.”

Your cracked phone sat abandoned on the dashboard now, screen spiderwebbed from where he’d thrown it.

You didn’t reach for it.

Didn’t argue either.

Instead, you lowered your hands into your lap and glanced at him for only a second before looking back out the passenger window again.

The silence between you thickened after that.

Tangerine kept his eyes on the street, jaw flexing occasionally beneath the dim glow of passing streetlights.

He exhaled sharply through his nose before reaching forward and turning the radio up slightly. 

Soft classical music filled the car almost immediately. Something slow and melancholic, piano-heavy.

You almost scoffed at it.

Lemon would’ve laughed his ass off seeing this, Tangerine was sure of that.

About twenty minutes later, the city swallowed you whole.

Towering buildings lit the night sky in gold and white while traffic crawled endlessly below neon reflections and rainwater. Tangerine pulled smoothly into the parking entrance of a luxury hotel, expression unreadable again.

The mission itself was simple on paper.

Infiltrate the gala upstairs.

Locate the target.

Kill him.

Simple jobs, in your experience, were usually the worst.

Because they were rarely simple.

You pushed open the passenger door first, heels clicking softly against the concrete.

Cold evening air brushed against your skin while you glanced up toward the massive hotel towering overhead.

A second later, Tangerine stepped out too.

And annoyingly enough, he looked exactly like the kind of man who belonged somewhere expensive like this.

Tailored three-piece suit.

Curls slicked back neatly.

Gold rings catching the lighting every time he moved his hands.

Without speaking to you yet, Tangerine opened the trunk and grabbed both suitcases.

“Stay close,” he muttered finally, slamming the trunk shut. “And don’t talk unless you have to.”

You shot him an irritated glare over your shoulder.

“I know how this fucking works.”

Then you walked ahead of him toward the lobby entrance without waiting.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath before following after you.

Inside, you stopped at reception first, posture relaxed, expression smooth and unreadable as always.

Tangerine came to stand beside you a moment later.

Close enough for his shoulder to brush yours accidentally.

Or maybe not accidentally.

“Good evening, how can I help you?” the receptionist asked pleasantly.

You offered her one of your smoother smiles.

“We’ve got a reservation under the name Lemoir.”

The receptionist typed for a moment before brightening immediately.

“Ah, yes.” She looked between you and Tangerine with an easy smile. “Your room has already been prepared for you and your husband.”

Your stomach dropped.

Husband?

For half a second, his icy blue eyes flicked toward you.

“Right,” he said smoothly, voice dropping into that British accent that always sounded unfairly attractive. “Lemoir. That’s us.”

Before you could react, his hand settled against your waist.

He pulled you slightly closer to his side like this was natural, like the two of you had spent years sleeping in the same bed instead of threatening each other in a car twenty minutes ago.

The receptionist handed over the keycards with another smile. “Breakfast is served from seven until ten, and the elevators are just over there.”

You forced yourself to smile back.

“Thank you very much.”

Then you turned quickly toward the elevators before the awkwardness on your face betrayed you.

The heels of your shoes clicked sharply across the floor while Tangerine followed close behind.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

You stepped inside first.

Tangerine followed immediately after.

And the second the doors shut behind you, his hand disappeared from your waist like you’d burned him.

Silence swallowed the elevator whole.

The floor numbers blinked upward one at a time.

3…

4…

5…

Tangerine stood beside you with his hands folded loosely in front of him now, gaze fixed ahead. 

You finally looked toward him slightly.

“What the fuck was that?” you whispered, careful not to raise your voice enough for the elevator cameras to catch it clearly.

Tangerine didn’t look at you right away.

His jaw flexed once before he answered.

“Part of the cover,” he murmured back calmly. “They gave us married aliases. You think I planned this?”

Only then did he glance sideways at you.

“You want me to tell them we’re not married?” he continued dryly. “That we’re actually two assassins on assignment?”

A humourless scoff left him.

“Brilliant idea, sweetheart.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Not because he was wrong.

Because hearing him call you sweetheart again after everything twisted something unpleasantly familiar in your chest.

The elevator continued upward in silence.

6…

7…

Then suddenly Tangerine sighed through his nose and adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket.

“For the record,” he muttered quietly, “I hate this just as much as you do.”

You crossed your arms.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

That finally dragged a reaction out of him.

His mouth twitched slightly at the corner.

“Trust me,” he said, finally looking directly at you again, “if I was enjoyin’ this, you’d know.”

The elevator chimed a second later as it reached the tenth floor.

The doors slid open onto a quiet hallway drenched in soft golden lighting. 

Tangerine stepped out first this time.

He headed straight toward room 1042.

You followed a few steps behind while he swiped the keycard through the lock in one smooth motion and pushed the door open.

The suite inside looked luxurious.

A massive king-sized bed sat perfectly made beneath a chandelier, the city skyline glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows beyond it. 

Expensive champagne chilling untouched in silver buckets.

He tossed the suitcases onto the floor before finally turning to face you properly.

You stepped inside after him and quietly shut the door.

“I guess we’re married now,” you said dryly, a faint amused huff escaping you despite yourself.

Tangerine rolled his eyes immediately.

Ignoring him, you crouched beside your suitcase and unzipped it, pulling out your laptop setup piece by piece. Cables. External drives.

While Tangerine handled the bloodier side of operations, you handled information.

And information tended to kill people faster.

“We’ve got three hours before the gala starts,” you noted, glancing briefly at the time while booting the laptop up on the desk near the windows.

Tangerine watched you carefully the entire time.

You could practically feel the distrust radiating off him from across the room.

Eventually, he loosened his tie with visible annoyance, rolling tension out of his shoulders before moving toward the minibar.

“Three hours,” he muttered, grabbing a bottle of water, “and I’m not spendin’ it sat on a bloody bed pretendin’ we’re newlyweds.”

You snorted quietly under your breath.

He twisted the cap open and took a long drink before wandering toward the windows overlooking the city below.

For a moment, he just stood there in silence.

Then he glanced back toward you over his shoulder.

“You got access to the guest list yet?”

“Yeah. Pulled it last night.”

Your fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as files opened across the screen. Rows of names appeared almost immediately – CEOs, diplomats, politicians, heirs to old money fortunes.

Then you found your aliases.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Oscar Lemoir?”

Tangerine frowned immediately.

“What?”

You turned the screen slightly toward him.

“They seriously named you Oscar.”

A surprised rough chuckle escaped him before he could stop it..

You smirked faintly.

“Could be worse.”

Then your eyes dropped lower on the file.

“…Leonora Lemoir.”

Your face twisted instantly.

“Oh absolutely not.”

Tangerine walked closer then, stopping beside your chair to peer down at the screen over your shoulder. 

“Leonora and Oscar?” he read aloud before grimacing. “Christ alive. They really did screw us over.”

Then Tangerine’s attention shifted back to the screen, expression sharpening instantly.

Rows of names scrolled past under the glow of your laptop until one finally stopped him.

The target.

A wealthy arms broker that will be attending the gala.

Tangerine leaned one hand against the desk beside you, staring at the file with narrowed eyes.

“That’s him,” he said quietly, pointing toward the name. “Viktor Volkov.”

You nodded once.

“Yeah.”

“He’ll have a ridiculous amount of guards around him all night,” you sighed, scrolling through another page filled with private security details. “Half of them ex-military by the looks of it.”

Then your attention caught on another name further down the guest list.

You paused.

“Hm.”

Tangerine glanced toward you immediately.

“What?”

You pointed at the screen.

“Johan Kraus.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“Sounds familiar?”

Tangerine’s expression darkened instantly.

“This rat,” he muttered finally. “Swiss mercenary. Works for whoever waves the biggest cheque at him.”

“If he’s here,” Tangerine said slowly, “then somebody else paid to have Volkov killed too.”

Competition.

Which meant the night had just become significantly worse.

You hummed quietly.

“Obviously.”

Your fingers moved across the keyboard again, pulling deeper into the hotel database while Tangerine remained beside you.

Then suddenly you stopped typing.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What now?”

You pulled up the hotel guest registry and turned the screen slightly toward him.

One booking glowed clearly near the top.

JOHAN KRAUS.

Tangerine stared at the screen for a long moment before scoffing sharply through his nose.

“Well,” he muttered darkly, “that’s not suspicious at all.”

“Bit too convenient, isn’t it?” you murmured.

You pushed your chair back and stood up abruptly.

From your bag, you grabbed your cigarettes and lighter before crossing toward the balcony doors.

Cool night air rushed into the suite the second you stepped outside.

You lit the cigarette slowly, inhaling deeply while the ember glowed bright orange against the dark.

For a minute, you stood there alone in silence.

Then the balcony door slid open behind you again.

Tangerine stepped outside.

He leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“So,” he said flatly after a moment, “Kraus will be there tonight too.”

You nodded slightly, eyes still fixed on the skyline ahead.

“Something about this feels wrong.” you said, quieter now.

Tangerine didn’t answer immediately.

He just exhaled slowly through his nose and looked out over the city with you.

After a while, he finally spoke again.

“Could be a setup.”

You glanced sideways at him.

“You think somebody leaked the contract?”

“Maybe.” His jaw flexed once.

That pulled a humourless laugh from you.

“Fantastic.”

Silence settled again.

Wind tugged lightly at your hair while Tangerine reached into his coat pocket for his own cigarettes. He lit one lazily beside you, the smell of smoke mixing together in the cold air.

Then, quieter this time, he said: “If Kraus is here, don’t wander off alone tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow immediately.

“You worried about me?”

Tangerine took a slow drag before answering.

“I’m worried about the mission.”

But the way he avoided looking at you when he said it made the lie painfully obvious.

“Nothin’ ever feels right in this business,” Tangerine added. “But it feels a hell of a lot worse when two assassins are after the same mark.”

Your gaze had gone distant somewhere beyond the skyline, expression unreadable while your cigarette burned slowly between your fingers.

You exhaled softly through your nose before finally looking over at him.

“I don’t think he’s here for Volkov.”

His blue eyes snapped fully toward you now, sharp and searching as they studied your face for any sign you were joking.

“Not after Volkov?” he repeated quietly.

Dangerously quietly.

“Then what the hell is Kraus doin’ here?”

The implication settled between you both almost immediately.

If Kraus wasn’t hunting the target…

Then he was hunting the hunters.

You looked back out over the city again.

“I’d guess he’s after the two assassins sent after Volkov.”

For a long second, neither of you spoke.

Tangerine brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, shoulders rising slightly before smoke escaped slowly into the night air between you both.

“…Right,” he said at last.

“Kraus is after us.”

You watched him carefully before reaching out almost absentmindedly, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm.

“Good thinking, Tang.”

The nickname slipped out naturally.

Tangerine’s expression flickered for the briefest moment.

You had already turned away before he could answer.

The balcony door slid shut behind you softly as you stepped back into the suite.

You crossed toward your suitcase and unzipped it further, pulling clothing out.

A black satin dress.

Long and backless.

You tossed it carelessly across the bed beside a pair of heels.

Behind you, the balcony stayed quiet for another few seconds.

Then the door opened again.

Tangerine stepped back inside slowly.

His eyes landed on the dress immediately.

And stayed there.

Not in a crude way.

Worse.

Appreciative.

He remembered exactly what you looked like in black silk.

You noticed the silence and glanced over briefly.

His gaze flicked up to yours instantly.

“You plannin’ on killin’ Volkov,” he asked dryly, “or givin’ the old bastard a heart attack?”

You rolled your eyes, though heat flickered annoyingly beneath your skin.

“It’s called blending in.”

“Right.”

He unzipped his own bag and pulled out his tuxedo piece by piece.

Black jacket.

Tailored trousers.

Silver cufflinks.

Meanwhile, you unpacked your own equipment onto the bed without a second thought.

Knives beside lipstick.

Lockpicks beside foundation.

A compact pistol tucked near your makeup bag like it belonged there.

You stood in front of the large mirror near the dresser, carefully pinning your hair upward into a sleek high updo.

Tangerine tried very hard not to stare.

Tangerine’s jaw tightened slightly.

He reached into the duffel and grabbed his pistol instead, checking the chamber.

Behind him, you cursed quietly under your breath.

“Why won’t this stupid…”

Tangerine glanced up toward the mirror.

You were struggling with a necklace clasp now, fingers fumbling behind your neck while the delicate silver chain kept slipping loose.

A tiny pearl vial rested at the centre of it.

KO drops.

Subtle.

Elegant.

Lethal.

He watched you struggle for another second before sighing softly through his nose.

Then he crossed the room toward you.

Tangerine stopped directly behind you, close enough for warmth to settle against your back without actually touching you yet.

His hands lifted quietly.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Your breath caught embarrassingly slightly as his fingers brushed the back of your neck.

Tangerine carefully took the necklace from you, thumbs grazing your skin while he worked the tiny clasp together with surprising patience.

You could see his reflection clearly in the mirror now.

Focused expression.

Blue eyes lowered toward your neck.

The clasp clicked shut at last.

“There,” he said quietly.

But he didn’t step away immediately.

His fingertips lingered for half a second too long against the back of your neck.

You met his eyes in the mirror.

Then Tangerine cleared his throat roughly and stepped back like he’d remembered himself.

“Try not to poison anyone important with that thing,” he muttered, grabbing his gun again far too quickly.

You smirked faintly at his reflection.

Almost immediately, his phone buzzed on the dresser.

Incoming call.

Unknown number.

But neither of you had to guess.

Contractor.

You glanced sideways at Tangerine.

Tangerine reached for his phone, picked up, and tapped it to speaker.

“Talk,” he said flatly.

You leaned slightly closer without thinking, eyes fixed on the device.

A voice came through, distorted, stripped of identity, neither male nor female. Artificial. 

“Status update.”

Tangerine straightened slightly, “We’re in the hotel,” he said evenly. “Check-in complete. Target confirmed on guest list – Viktor Volkov arriving at 20:30 for the gala.”

He paused for a moment before adding:

“Kraus is here too.”

Silence stretched out for a moment.

“Understood.”

Click.

The line disconnected.

Tangerine stared at his phone for a long second after the call ended.

No questions about Kraus.

No contingency plans if things went sideways.

Something about it sat wrong in his gut.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket before walking toward the bed where your black dress still lay across the sheets.

“Something’s off,” he said quietly.

“Our contractor didn’t ask a single bloody question.”

You shrugged lightly from where you sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Well, he isn’t exactly a big talker, eh?”

Then you sighed and leaned back fully against the bedspread, one arm draped over your forehead dramatically.

“Let’s not try to… jinx it.”

The room fell quiet again after that.

Not awkward exactly.

Just aware.

Because the giant king-sized bed sitting between you both hadn’t gone unnoticed by either of you since entering the suite.

Neither of you had addressed it directly yet.

Probably because acknowledging it made the fake marriage thing feel far too real.

You finally broke the silence first.

“You think we should get our love story straight before we head downstairs?”

Tangerine blinked once.

“…Right.”

The cover.

If anybody at the gala questioned you separately and your stories didn’t line up, suspicion would spread fast.

He rubbed absently at his moustache, before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed too.

Careful to leave space between you.

A noticeable amount of space.

“Alright,” he muttered. “We say we’ve been married two years.”

Simple enough to remember.

You nodded thoughtfully.

“Our last name’s French… but you’re clearly British, so maybe we took my surname?”

Tangerine considered it for a second before nodding.

“Yeah. That works.”

He leaned back slightly, one arm draped behind him against the mattress.

“You’re from Paris,” he continued. “Rich family. Aristocratic roots maybe. Parents died young.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. Tragic.”

“And I’m…” Tangerine paused dramatically, “a wealthy British businessman you met during an art exhibition in London.”

You snorted quietly.

“A businessman?”

“What? I look expensive.”

That pulled another reluctant laugh from you.

Tangerine’s mouth twitched faintly at the sound before he continued:

“You fell for me because I was charming and devastatingly handsome.”

You sat up immediately, staring at him in disbelief. “Charming and devastatingly handsome?”

“I think,” you replied carefully, slipping into an exaggerated fake French accent, “you fell for my cunning beauty and irresistible Parisian accent.”

You even gestured dramatically with one hand.

Tangerine stared at you for exactly two seconds before snorting loudly.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You grinned despite yourself.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Fine. I fell for your mysterious Parisian aura.”

“That’s better.”

“And,” he added, pointing at you lazily, “I proposed at sunset on Montmartre.”

You immediately groaned.

“Oh my God, you’re laying it on so thick.”

He leaned back further against the bed, arms braced behind him.

“Love,” he said with mock offense, “That’s the entire point.”

Then his expression softened slightly as he looked at you again.

“But if anyone asks,” he continued quieter now, “we got married in Lyon after only three months because you couldn’t stand being apart from me.”

“Is your mission tonight to make our relationship sound as far from reality as possible?” you asked dryly, glancing sideways at Tangerine.

Then you leaned slightly closer toward him, amusement flickering in your expression.

“Or are you just laying out your dream life right now?”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Blue eyes sharp beneath the warm hotel lighting, studying your face.

Then the familiar cocky smirk returned slowly beneath his moustache.

“I could’ve had worse wives than you.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh before he could see it affect you properly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes fondly before trying to focus back on the mission.

“Alright,” you muttered, thinking aloud now. “Anything else we need to settle?”

You counted on your fingers.

“We’ve been tragically unsuccessful at having children.”

You continued casually:

“We still live in France, but you’re constantly away for work…”

Tangerine nodded slightly, picking up the thread immediately.

“Import-export business,” he added. “Fake company. Boring enough nobody asks follow-up questions.”

You snorted softly.

“Very believable for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like you commit tax fraud.”

Tangerine’s mouth twitched upward faintly again.

Then he gestured vaguely toward you.

“And you run your family’s art gallery in Lyon while I’m away.”

You nodded approvingly.

You leaned back against the headboard slightly.

“I think that covers most small talk.”

Tangerine looked horrified.

“Small talk…” he repeated. “Bloody hell. I’d rather get shot.”

“You probably still will tonight.”

“Yeah, but at least that’s honest.”

Across from you, Tangerine stretched his shoulders back slowly, expensive dress shirt pulling tight across his frame before he glanced down at his watch.

6:45 PM.

Fifteen minutes until you should be there.

Fifteen minutes until the mission officially began.

“We should finish getting ready,” you said finally.

You stood from the bed and grabbed the black satin dress along with your heels before heading toward the bathroom.

Just before disappearing behind the door, you glanced back over your shoulder.

Tangerine was still sitting on the edge of the bed watching you.

Then the bathroom door clicked shut between you both.

The suite suddenly felt strangely empty without you in it.

Tangerine exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his jaw before leaning back against the mattress.

“Could’ve had worse wives,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

“…Fuckin’ hell.”

Tangerine exhaled slowly through his nose and stood from the bed.

Time to get dressed.

He stripped off his shirt and swapped it for the crisp white dress shirt laid across the armchair earlier. Buttons fastened quickly. Black tuxedo jacket next. Tailored perfectly to him.

The silver cufflinks clicked softly into place.

Then came the weapons.

A slim dagger slid neatly into a concealed insert inside his dress shoe.

A compact pistol disappeared beneath the inner lining of his jacket.

Extra magazine tucked beneath the waistband at his back.

Finally, Tangerine reached toward the gold chain resting near the edge of the dresser.

He hesitated briefly before fastening it around his neck.

At the exact same moment, the bathroom door opened.

You stepped back into the suite wrapped in black silk and perfume, heels clicking lightly against the floor as you crossed toward the bed.

The dress clung to you perfectly.

The open back exposed the length of your spine along with the delicate tattoo trailing there, something intimate he hadn’t seen in a while.

Your hair was pinned neatly upward, exposing your neck and shoulders.

And despite how beautiful you looked, the first thing Tangerine’s eyes automatically searched for was the weapon strapped discreetly against your thigh beneath the slit of the dress.

You moved casually toward the bed, grabbing your clutch while adjusting the pistol holster against your leg.

“Are you done?” you asked calmly.

Tangerine blinked once like he’d nearly forgotten where he was.

For one dangerous second, he simply stared.

Then you glanced up and caught him looking.

“Yeah,” he answered finally.

His voice came out lower than before.

“I’m ready.”

You studied him briefly then.

Black tuxedo.

Gold chain glinting faintly beneath the open collar of his shirt.

“You almost look respectable,” you mused dryly.

He scoffed immediately.

“Careful, love. Compliments like that’ll ruin my reputation.”

You rolled your eyes, slipping the clutch beneath your arm before checking your reflection one last time in the mirror.

Behind you, Tangerine adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before reaching for the hotel keycards.

Then his gaze flicked toward you again through the mirror.

“You remember the plan?”

“Don’t die,” you answered automatically.

A faint smirk tugged at your mouth.

Despite everything, slipping into old rhythms with him felt dangerously easy.

“Well then, Mrs. Lemoir,” he said, extending an arm toward the door with mock politeness, “shall we go mingle with the rich and morally bankrupt?”

You slipped your hand lightly through his offered arm.

“Lead the way, husband.”

What followed was probably the fastest yet longest drive of Tangerine’s entire life.

One hand stayed locked around the steering wheel while the other kept finding your thigh like he needed the contact to stay sane.

By the time the hotel finally came into view, Tangerine practically threw the car into a parking spot without even straightening it properly.

“Elegant,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Shut up,” he shot back immediately, already grabbing your face and kissing you again before the engine had even fully died.

The kiss was rough and desperate, teeth clashing slightly, his hand tangled tightly in your hair while yours gripped the bloody lapel of his tuxedo. 

When you finally stumbled out of the car together, both of you looked completely insane.

Your black dress was streaked with blood and dirt, his white shirt beneath the tuxedo soaked crimson at the collar and sleeves, bruises already blooming across his face.

The lobby fell almost silent when you entered.

A businessman lowering his drink mid-conversation.

A receptionist staring in horror.

Someone audibly whispering, “Oh my God.”

Tangerine didn’t even break stride.

He merely slid an arm around your waist and guided you toward the elevators like walking into a luxury hotel covered in blood was a completely normal Tuesday night.

You pressed the elevator button, maybe two or three times, anything to escape the stares really.

It opened soon after and you stepped inside.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you with a metallic thud.

Not even a second later Tangerine was on you.

His hand slammed beside your head against the mirrored wall as his mouth crashed against yours again, hot, rough, desperate. The force of it stole the breath straight from your lungs. You tasted vodka and blood and adrenaline on his tongue.

God, he kissed like he fought.

Messy. Violent. All-consuming.

Your back hit the cold mirror hard enough to make the glass rattle softly while his body pressed flush against yours, his broad chest against your breasts, his leg forcing between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip tightly.

The entire elevator smelled like his expensive cologne, sweat, and coppery blood.

His blood.

Your blood. Probably somebody else's too.

All mixed together.

Tangerine groaned low into your mouth the second your fingers found the open collar of his ruined shirt.

“Tang–” you breathed.

Your voice broke when his mouth dragged away from yours and down your throat.

He kissed along your neck like a starving man.

His mustache brushed hot against your skin while he sucked gently beneath your jaw, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse jump, leaving a forming mark on your skin. One of his hands slid up your side along the fabric of your dress, rough fingertips dragging across you.

You could feel the tension still vibrating through him.

“Tangerine,” you breathed again, softer this time, your hands flattening against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat hammering violently beneath your palms. “We are literally covered in blood.”

He only grunted against your throat in response, stubborn as ever.

His lips found the sensitive spot below your ear again and you felt him smile against your skin when a shaky breath escaped you.

“Don’t particularly care right now,” he muttered thickly, British accent roughened into something almost sinful.

By the time the elevator finally reached your floor, both of you looked worse somehow.

Your lipstick was ruined.

His curls were a mess from your hands dragging through them.

There were fresh marks along your throat.

And neither of you seemed capable of keeping more than half an inch apart.

The walk down the hallway was a blur of tangled limbs and stumbling footsteps.

Tangerine stayed impossibly close behind you, one hand fixed possessively on your waist like he physically could not let go now that he had you again. Every few steps his mouth found your shoulder or the side of your neck.

You fumbled the keycard twice before finally getting the hotel room open.

The second the door shut behind you, Tangerine grabbed you again.

His mouth crashed against yours while he walked you backward into the suite, large hands sliding over your body like he was trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.

You almost fell onto the mattress when the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Tang– no–”

He barely paused, breathing ragged against your mouth.

“No?”

You grabbed his jaw before he could kiss you again, trying and failing not to smile at the irritated look he gave you.

“We are disgusting,” you informed him. “You literally have someone else’s blood in your hair.”

A low, frustrated groan escaped Tangerine’s lips.

“Bloody… filthy,” he muttered against your mouth, like it was an accusation he couldn’t be bothered to care about.

“Don’t care.”

His hand slid up your waist, dragging over blood-streaked fabric, leaving faint smears as he pulled you closer.

Then his mouth was on you again.

“I need you,” he breathed into your skin between kisses. “Now.”

The words went straight through you, heat curling low in your stomach despite everything still clinging to both of you.

His breath was hot against your throat as he dragged his lips down the column of your neck again, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Tang” you managed, fingers curling into the ruined fabric of his shirt. “Why don’t we just… get clean first. In the shower.”

There was a short pause, his breathing hot against your skin before he let out a rough, almost unwilling exhale.

“Yeah,” he muttered finally, “Shower. Good idea.”

His hands tightened at your hips suddenly, and before you could even process it, he lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing.

A quiet gasp left you as your legs instinctively hooked around his waist.

“Jesus…Tangerine–” you let out.

He was already carrying you through the suite like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm under your thighs.

The bathroom door swung open behind him.

He set you down on the marble counter, but didn’t let go.

Your legs stayed hooked around him as he leaned in immediately. 

His moustache brushed your upper lip when he kissed you again, softer this time but still dangerously unrestrained.

“Are you always like that after killing a man?” you murmured against his mouth, breathless, half-laughing.

Tangerine pulled back just enough to look at you.

Deadpan.

“Shut up.”

Then he kissed you again, sharper this time, teeth catching your lower lip in warning.

But there was no real heat in the irritation.

His hand slid up your thigh beneath the hem of your dress, fingers warm against your skin as he pulled you closer on instinct alone.

You smiled against his mouth, a little breathless, a little reckless.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

That did it.

His grip tightened immediately, he inhaled sharply through his nose.

He pressed his forehead briefly against yours, breathing hard, like he was trying to decide whether to kiss you slower or ruin you faster.

“Don’t,” he muttered finally, voice lower now. “Don’t start that.”

But his hands didn’t stop moving.

His jacket fell carelessly to the floor as you pushed it off his shoulders. 

You saw the cuts properly then.

Not just the surface bruises from earlier.

You saw the split skin along his knuckles, a darkening bruise along his jaw, blood still dried into the fine hairs of his mustache.

Your fingers slowed on his shirt buttons as you looked up at him, lips hovering near the line of his jaw without fully touching it yet.

The gold pendant at his chest slipped into view as you properly opened his shirt. It was stained now, dulled with blood and grime.

“You’re a good man, Tang…” you breathed, softer than anything else that had happened between you tonight.

He actually let out a laugh at that, short and dry. 

Like you’d just told him something absurdly funny.

“A good man…” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

His shirt slid the rest of the way off his shoulders and dropped to the bathroom floor, leaving him bare-chested under the harsh light. 

It had been a while since you had the time to admire his muscles, scars and tattoos.

He looked at you then, his hand coming to cup beneath your jaw as he forced your head up.

HIs blue eyes met yours, “You know damn well I’m anything but a good man, love,” he said quietly.

Your hands moved without hesitation after that, sliding up to his shoulders.

The straps of your dress loosened under his hands in response, slipping down your shoulders until you were bare except for the lace beneath.

“To me you are,” you breathed.

Then you leaned in and dragged your tongue lightly along the corner of his mouth, where blood had dried, and kissed him again before he could respond.

Tangerine went still for half a second.

And then he lost whatever restraint he had left.

His hands slid to your back immediately, pulling you in like he needed the pressure of you against him. 

The kiss deepened fast after that, his mouth claiming yours like instinct.

You made a soft sound into his mouth when his hips pressed forward into yours, instinctive, needy in a way he didn’t even try to hide anymore.

“Yeah?” he muttered against your lips, voice roughened, “That it?”

Your fingers tangled into his curls then and tugged him closer.

That seemed to do it.

A low groan escaped him as his grip tightened at your waist, thumbs pressing into your skin.

He tilted your head back slightly, mouth trailing down your jaw and throat in slow, deliberate open mouth kisses.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

His hand slid down your side, over your hip.

You couldn't deny what you felt, the heat, the goosebumps forming. You let your head fall back against the mirror as Tangerine's mouth continued to move down, his lips trailing along your collarbone and then across the tops of your breasts.

His hands were everywhere, roaming and caressing all the bare skin they could find.

“Need you… I bloody need you…”

His words were almost pleading as he spoke against your chest, his heavy breaths warm on your stiff peaks. You let him breathe you in, be close to you while you nodded.

He could have you, all of you really.

Tangerine's hips jerked involuntarily, his breath stuttering in his throat as your hand traced over the front of his trousers.

He lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes already clouded with pure, feral want.

One of his hands left your hip to grasp your wrist in a tight grip.

“Why don’t you just take what you want, hm?” you hummed seductively.

Tangerine’s gaze darkened even more at your words.

“That a challenge, love?” 

He gripped your wrist even tighter, his other hand holding you firmly by the hip.

“You want me to just take what's mine, hm? Right here… right now?”

You said nothing, biting your lip, but your gaze made it utterly clear that you weren't against him pinning you against the sink and fucking the adrenaline out of both of you.

And… that was all the answer he needed.

In the span of mere seconds, Tangerine had you spun around, so that you were facing the mirror. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath hot against your neck.

You leaned back into him, gaze meeting his blue eyes in the mirror as he roughly palmed your breasts, you let out a soft gasp at that.

“You have no goddamn clue what you’re doing to me, love…” 

Tangerine’s gaze was almost feral as it met yours in the mirror.

He was completely overtaken by need now, his hands and lips roaming over your body as if he was trying to claim every inch of you.

His mouth found the spot at the base of your neck, his teeth grazing softly at the sensitive flesh.

His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushed up flush against you from behind. You could feel just how hard he was against you, even through the fabric of his slacks.

“This what you want, love?” he spoke against your ear, voice barely above a whisper.

You found his eyes in the mirror, heat burning already low in your stomach, the cold of the porcelaine sink a stark contrast against your skin. “Yeah” you nodded almost eagerly. 

Tangerine’s breath was coming out in heavy, ragged pants now.

His hands began to slowly slide over your hips, moving down towards the edge of the lace slip that clung to you still.

“Been… thinking about this… for so damn long…” he murmured against your shoulder, his words punctuated by hot kisses.

You heard his hands unzipping the fly of his pants and the sound alone made you drip with wetness underneath your panties.

“You're goddamn perfect…” he breathed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Every goddamn inch of you…”

You felt the heat of him, the slight shift off the fabric of his slacks, how they dropped to the ground, pooling at his feet with your dress.

“Tang…” you breathed out quietly.

Tangerine’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your head back slightly.

“Unless you’re screaming my name, love, I don't want to hear a damn word from you.” Tangerine ground out, his voice thick with barely restrained desire.

You nodded almost too eagerly, you didn’t even exactly know why. But you couldn’t help the desire clouding your rational thoughts. 

He was a man who liked to be in control, to take the lead, and your eagerness to obey his command clearly fueled the fire of his desire for you.

“That’s my good girl.” he whispered in that rough voice of his.

“Now be good and bend over a bit.” he said, his hand gently tapping your side as he left you a bit of space to do as he told you to. You swallowed, doing as he said you leaned over the sink a bit, your hands supporting you against the sides of the sink. With a very sudden and satisfying rip your underwear came off. You let out a small gasp, almost complaining but he was already dragging two digits through your wet folds while his hand tightly gripped his own base, giving his length a few strokes. 

“Eyes… on me.” he demanded suddenly.

You found his eyes in the mirror, your face close to the reflective surface, close enough to gently fog up a spot.

He dragged his tip through your wet folds, before just giving into the heat and urge of it, plunging inside of you with one slick wet push.

The sudden pleasure of sinking into you was so intense that Tangerine had to bite back a moan, his fingers coming up to gently hold you by the nape of your neck, keeping your gaze fixed on yourself and him in the mirror.

“Fuck–” you let out immediately as he filled you up, the stretch and the following pain was delicious.

His gaze remained locked on yours in the mirror the whole time, and his expression was both intense and almost feral.

After a moment of adjusting he began to move his hips against you, the feeling of his thrusts making you moan every time your hips connected again.

Every moan and gasp that left your lips only pushed him further and further, he couldn’t help but grab you tighter.

His hand came up along your arm, his fingers trailing gently along your skin.

“Look at yourself, love… I want you to see just how beautiful you are right now.” he grunted, his hand now moving from your neck to your chin, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror as his thrusts had your expression melting into something marked by only blissful pleasure, contrasting with the blood and sweat that still coated both of you. 

You saw your face contort in pleasure, your knees feeling weak against the sink.

The sight of you, vulnerable and at his complete mercy, was like a drug to him.

Every sound you made, every flicker of emotion on your face, everything about the moment had him utterly entranced.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this, so completely consumed by desire.

You felt him push inside of you incredibly deep, as if he was trying to hit your cervix on purpose. He kept brushing over that spot that had you see stars, that made high pitched moans tumble from your lips and slick drip between your legs like you had rarely felt before.

You felt dizzy, full of pleasure like it was the only feeling you knew in this moment and the overwhelming pain you had experienced not even hours ago was nowhere to be found.

“That’s it… let me hear you, love…” Tangerine groaned as you let out a moan as he fucked you against the sink.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he felt you squeeze around him so deliciously.

He leaned over you, the weight of him pressing you against the sink, his face buried against your neck.

“You’ve no idea… how hard it’s been… not to do this… all night” he panted huskily in your ear. 

You let out a moan with every word he said, the sound of wetness and his thrusts almost obscene in the bathroom. Your heavy breathing had fogged up the mirror by now.

Tangerine’s hand kept a tight, possessive hold on your hip, his fingers digging into the skin. He was completely lost in you, consumed by the need and the pleasure he was chasing.

You panted, your head slumping forward a bit as the only thing keeping you up was Tangerine's tight grip on you, pushing you against the sink.

You felt his thrusts become more frantic as the pleasure coiled deeply in your stomach, you were going to come soon, you could feel it clearly and your panted moans and whimpers made that utterly clear too.

And the sounds you were making, the way you were responding to him so beautifully… it all had him on the very edge of control.

He was teetering there, balancing on the fine line between taking exactly what he wanted and holding back just a little bit longer so he could savor this for just a moment more.

But it was too much, the heat and the need and the desire, it was too goddamn much, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

You looked up, eyes meeting his burning blue ones as you caught his gaze in the mirror. Your mouth was slightly agape, your pupils wide with want as he let out a hot moan.

You didn’t even know what so suddenly overcame you as your orgasm hit you like lightning. You let out a loud moan, your breath catching in your throat, “Fuck, fuck fuck” you let out as your walls contracted around him, your expression mirroring the blissful warmth that spread inside you.

Seeing that expression on your face, feeling you fall apart around him, it pushed him over the edge.

The sight of you coming undone in front of him was too much for him to handle. 

Forcing himself to keep looking into your eyes, holding your gaze as he felt himself losing control… it was almost too much.

His hands gripped your hips so hard, you were almost sure he was going to leave bruises, but he could barely think right now.

He leaned in close, his words rough and desperate as he panted in your ear. “Fuck, love, that’s it–” 

His thrusts faltered as he felt his own orgasm approach and after a few last sloppy thrusts you felt warmth fill you up.

You barely held yourself up against the sink as you tried to catch your breath. Your body was still bloody, and sweaty, like his, but at least, now you felt a rather different tingling sensation than the post mission anxiety.

After a few moments of Tangerine having to brace you up, you finally managed to shift yourself properly upright.

Tangerine stepped back just enough to give you space, though his hands lingered at your waist like they didn’t quite want to let go of you yet.

A low, breathy hum slipped from you as you looked up at him, taking him in properly now, sweaty, blood drying along his collarbone, eyes still halflidded from bliss.

“That was good,” you murmured, like it was the most casual understatement in the world.

Then you leaned in and kissed him again, soft this time.

He met you instantly.

One arm slid around your waist again, pulling you flush against him. 

There was still heat there, but it had softened at the edges, melted into something almost quiet.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead hovered close to yours for a second longer than necessary.

“Bloody good, love,” he murmured, voice rough but gentler now.

His fingers drifted through your hair, slow and absent-minded in a way that didn’t match the violence or tense desire from earlier at all.

That was when his phone buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

Until it slipped from his pocket entirely, onto the bathroom floor with relentless buzzing.

Lemon. Calling.

You glanced down at it, snorting softly as you picked it up and held it out to him.

“He’s probably worried sick by now.” you hummed.

Tangerine stared at the screen for a long moment.

Of course it was Lemon.

With a long, suffering sigh, he took the phone.

“Yeah?” he answered flatly.

The voice on the other end erupted immediately.

“Jesus–Tangerine, are you alright?! I called you like twenty times, I thought you were dead!”

You let out a quiet laugh at that, already moving away from him toward the shower.

“I’ll turn on the shower,” you said softly, just loud enough.

Then you leaned back in for one last kiss, light, lingering, your lips brushing his just long enough.

Tangerine shut his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said into the phone, voice immediately returning to that tired, unimpressed tone. “I’m alive. I’ve got all my limbs. Stop bloody panicking.”

Lemon kept going, rapid-fire concern, confusion, and suspicion all tangled together, but Tangerine barely heard half of it anymore.

Because you were already stepping into the shower cabin.

Steam beginning to rise after you turned on the water.

And then, you stepped outside again, waiting now, you pressed lightly into his chest, your hands sliding over his arms as you looked up at him like nothing in the world had happened today.

Tangerine’s grip tightened instinctively on the phone.

“Alright,” Lemon said on the other end of the line, “so… how did the mission go? You actually get Volkov? Or am I gonna hear about you getting shot in the ass on the news?”

Tangerine barely registered the question at first.

Mostly because you were still there.

Still looking up at him like that.

Your fingers slid along his jaw again, soft and deliberate, and he exhaled through his nose like he was already losing the battle.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly into the phone, eyes on you, “Volkov’s dead.”

Lemon immediately continued asking: “ No complications? No–”

You kissed along his jaw, slow, unfair.

His eyes shut for half a second like he was trying to physically will himself back into speaking with his brother.

It didn’t work very well.

“Everything went smoothly,” he interrupted, but it came out rougher than intended.

Another kiss.

“Mate,” Lemon said slowly, suspicion creeping in now, “why do you sound like that?”

You hummed softly against Tangerine’s skin like you were enjoying this entirely too much.

His hand slid firmer against your waist.

“Sound like what?” he muttered.

“Like you’re–” Lemon hesitated. “Are you injured? Did you hit your head again?”

Tangerine opened his eyes again, staring down at you like you were personally ruining his ability to lie convincingly to his own brother.

“No,” he said flatly.

You smiled.

And the, because you clearly had no sense of mercy, you reached up and gently took the phone straight out of his hand.

Tangerine froze.

“Oi–” he huffed.

You ignored him completely.

“Hi, Lemon,” you purred into the phone, voice sweet as poison. “He’s a bit… busy right now. I hope you understand.”

There was a long, very confused silence.

“…Is this?” Lemon began.

Tangerine pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wait, is that… are you–Tangerine, what the hell is going on–” Lemon continued.

You handed the phone back to him with a small, satisfied kiss pressed to his cheek.

Tangerine took it slowly.

His eyes stayed on you the entire time.

“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered under his breath.

You just shrugged slightly, innocent in the most offensive way possible, and gestured vaguely toward the shower again like none of this mattered.

Tangerine stared at you for another moment.

“Lemon,” he sighed into the phone, voice flat again, “I’m hanging up before I start sayin’ utter shite I can’t take back.”

“You already are saying things you can’t take back!”

“Goodbye, Lemon. Take care.”

He ended the call.

Silence followed for half a second.

Then Tangerine turned back to you.

Now staring at you like the world had narrowed down to one problem he was both furious about and entirely obsessed with.

“You’re a bloody menace,” he muttered.

He stepped into your space in one smooth movement, hands finding your waist again like they belonged there, pulling you flush against him.

The mirrors had completely fogged over by now, warm droplets clinging to the marble walls while water rushed steadily from the shower overhead.

The entire room smelled faintly of hotel soap, shampoo, and the lingering sharpness of blood being washed away.

Tangerine stood beneath the water with his eyes closed, head tilted slightly forward as the heat poured over him.

His body looked even more imposing this close.

Broad shoulders.

Heavy muscle beneath bruised skin.

Fresh injuries layered over old scars.

Water slid slowly along the sharp lines of his tattoos. Some of the tattoos blurred where scars cut through them unevenly.

Your hands moved slowly over him, gentle now in a way they rarely got to be.

You worked soap across his chest carefully, fingertips gliding over warm skin slick with water while his breathing deepened almost imperceptibly beneath your touch.

The heat from his body surrounded you in the cramped shower space.

After everything, not only tonight, but everything between you, that fact alone still felt surreal.

Your fingers traced slowly over one pale scar near his ribs before moving upward again.

Tangerine opened one eye slightly.

“That one’s from Glasgow,” he murmured lazily, voice rough from exhaustion. “Bloke tried to stab me over a watch.”

Your lips twitched faintly.

“Did you steal it?” 

“Told you it’s a compulsion.”

You laughed softly under your breath, and something in his expression eased instantly at the sound.

You had never seen him this unguarded before.

Not really.

You reached for the shampoo bottle beside you.

“Lean down a little.”

He raised an eyebrow faintly but obeyed, ducking his head enough for you to run your fingers slowly into his damp curls.

They were softer than they looked.

Usually the curls were pushed back aggressively with what you could only assume was about a ton of hair gel.

Now the dark strands clung damply between your fingers while you worked shampoo carefully through them, nails lightly scratching against his scalp.

Tangerine exhaled quietly at the sensation.

Your fingers combed deeper through his curls, massaging slowly while steam curled around both of you.

He closed his eyes again almost instantly.

One of his large hands settled low against your waist beneath the running water, thumb moving absentmindedly against your skin.

You could feel how exhausted he was now.

The shampoo rinsed away slowly beneath the hot water.

Then his eyes opened again and fixed on you quietly.

Without a word, he reached for the soap from your hands.

Your breath caught slightly as he stepped behind you now.

Tangerine’s touch was unexpectedly gentle as he worked the soap slowly over your shoulders and arms.

His hands slid down your back slowly, spreading warmth and soap over your skin before pausing when his fingers reached your spine tattoo.

You felt him trace it carefully beneath the water.

The black ink curved elegantly down your back.

Tangerine’s fingertips followed the lines slowly.

His expression softened slightly.

“Always liked this tattoo,” he murmured quietly.

You glanced back at him over your shoulder, a gentle smile lingering on your lips.

You were already out of the shower.

Lying on your stomach across the bed, hair still damp, skin warm. One of the hotel magazines was open in your hands, something glossy about luxury cars.

A half-finished vodka bottle sat on the nightstand beside you.

Tangerine stepped in from the balcony, after finally calling Lemon and making sure his brother was fine.

You didn’t look up when he came in.

“Your brother okay?” you asked absently, turning a page you weren’t reading anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s fine.”

You hummed in acknowledgement.

Tangerine stopped by the bed for a second, just watching you. Then he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

He was in boxers, nothing else.

His hand reached out without thinking, fingers brushing lightly along your back.

You didn’t flinch, just let out a soft breath.

“You got anyone to call after this?” he asked, casual on the surface.

You paused for a moment.

“No.”

Because you had nobody to call, no Lemon that rang your phone like a lunatic, because he cared.

“I’m always alone,” you added, like it was nothing new. 

Tangerine leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Well.”

His hand stayed on you.

“You don’t have to be.”

You finally looked at him then.

A small smile tugged at your mouth, tired and faint.

He shifted closer without fully thinking about it, his hand moving up to your cheek, thumb resting there.

Tangerine leaned in slightly, just enough that the space between you stopped feeling like space at all.

“You can have me,” he said, rougher now. “If you want someone to call.”

─── ꒰ 💍 ꒱ ───

Tangerine looked at you immediately.

His breathing stayed rough as his eyes searched your face desperately for something, hesitation, guilt, anything.

You raised your gun directly at him without any bit of hesitation.

“Should’ve fuckin’ known.” he muttered bitterly.

Your stomach twisted.

Because this was the moment Volkov had engineered all along.

Not just betrayal, but proof of loyalty.

Volkov wanted to watch you do it.

And Tangerine understood that too.

“Go on then,” he said harshly, spreading his arms slightly. “Get your payday.”

“Tangerine–”

“No, seriously.” His British accent thickened aggressively now, anger boiling through every word. “Let’s see how much I’m worth this time.”

“Tang.”

“You sold me out once already, sweetheart. Might as well finish the job.”

Behind him, Giselle smiled faintly, her pistol still aimed at him.

Volkov watched quietly.

You stepped forward slowly, your gun still raised.

Tangerine didn’t move, just stared at you with something between fury and heartbreak.

You took another, quite unnecessary, step forward.

Then Tangerine moved, his hand shot out, slamming your gun sideways, causing you to pull the trigger.

BANG.

The bullet shattered one of the lounge windows instead of hitting him.

At the same time Tangerine grabbed your wrist violently, twisting hard enough to force the gun downward while pulling you into him.

Your knee slammed upward into Tangerine’s stomach, while his hand caught your shoulder and hurled you sideways across one of the velvet couches.

Volkov stepped backward immediately.

“Kill him!” he barked.

Tangerine launched after you again, grabbing you in another brutal struggle while the velvet couch toppled over backwards.

Tangerine pinned you down to the marble floor, his other fist raised to probably smash your skull in.

Your fingers shoved the pistol into Tangerine’s palm.

His eyes widened slightly as you let go of the pistol without much protest. His hand stopped and your eyes met in a second that felt like an eternity.

“Sorry,” you whispered under your breath.

Then you drove your knee up to send him stumbling off you.

Giselle fired immediately, gun following both your movements. Without much care if she hit him or you or both.

Except…

Her gun exploded in her hand.

The rewired pistol detonated violently backward with a deafening metallic blast.

Blood sprayed across the lounge walls.

The upper half of Giselle’s face disappeared instantly as the sabotaged chamber burst apart directly into her skull.

Her body collapsed onto the marble.

Volkov froze.

For the first time all night, actual fear crossed his face.

“What…”

Tangerine heaved himself to his feet, grabbing your pistol.

“You manipulative fuckin’ prick,” he huffed.

Volkov turned and ran, actually scrambled, toward the exit near the panoramic windows.

But Tangerine was faster.

He lifted your pistol with both bloody hands and fired once.

BANG.

The bullet tore through Volkov’s shoulder, spinning him violently.

He screamed.

Tangerine stalked toward him like something genuinely dangerous now.

Blue eyes wild.

Suit ruined.

Face bruised and bloodied.

“You hired Kraus to kill us.”

Volkov dragged himself desperately backward across the floor.

“You drugged her.”

Another step.

“You made me think she betrayed me again.”

Volkov reached desperately for the dropped pistol near one of the dead guards.

BANG.

Tangerine shot him directly through the hand.

Volkov screamed again.

“You know what your problem is, mate?” Tangerine breathed, pacing closer. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

He grabbed Volkov by the front of his expensive suit and slammed him hard against the marble wall.

The older man gasped painfully.

Tangerine shoved your gun beneath his jaw.

“You wanted a dramatic death?” he hissed. “Congratulations.”

Volkov’s breathing turned ragged as his hands aimlessly shoved at Tangerine.

But there was no chance.

BANG.

The shot echoed deafeningly through the ruined lounge.

Volkov’s body went limp instantly and Tangerine dropped him carelessly to the floor.

Silence followed.

Heavy breathing.

Smoke curling from the barrel of your gun in Tangerine’s hand.

His eyes flicked from Giselle’s destroyed corpse…

To Volkov on the floor…

Then finally to you.

Tangerine genuinely had no words.

He stood there breathing hard, his brain visibly struggled to catch up with what had just happened.

Somehow you hadn’t betrayed him after all.

Or maybe you had.

He genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You swayed slightly where you stood.

“You alright?” he asked roughly.

You laughed weakly under your breath.

“That’s… probably a complicated question right now.”

His eyes searched your face aggressively like he was trying to force answers out of you through sheer willpower alone.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded finally. “The gun–Giselle–the whole betrayal shite–”

“I know,” you interrupted quietly. “We should talk.”

Tangerine stared at you incredulously.

“Yeah, no shit we should talk.”

“Not here,” you muttered quickly, glancing toward the hallway outside “Tang, we really need to leave.”

That nickname again.

It hit him strangely now.

Your breathing looked uneven.

You rubbed a shaky hand briefly over your face before looking back at him again.

“I know you have questions.” you added.

“A million actually.” he interrupted.

“Because right now from my perspective you either pulled the greatest double-cross I’ve ever seen or you’re completely fuckin’ insane.”

“Maybe both.” you said, honestly struggling to break this down for him to understand.

Tangerine let out a disbelieving scoff. “Christ.”

You stepped closer slowly then.

“I needed Volkov to believe it,” you said quietly. “Completely.”

Tangerine’s jaw tightened immediately.

“What does that mean.”

You held his gaze.

“To sell the betrayal to Volkov…I had to sell it to you too.”

You continued softly:

“Volkov expected you to suspect me eventually. If I acted wrong for even a second–he would’ve known.”

“So you decided to emotionally torture me instead?” Tangerine snapped immediately.

“I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Oh, bollocks.”

He dragged both hands through his hair now, pacing once through the bloodstained lounge like he physically couldn’t stay still anymore.

“You let me think you’d sold me out again!”

“I know.”

“You stood there while that psycho pointed a gun at my head!”

“I knew the gun would explode.”

Tangerine stopped.

You exhaled slowly, “I rewired it earlier.”

“The storage closet,” you explained quietly. “I left it there for her to take.”

For one brief second neither of you spoke.

The alarms still screamed faintly somewhere below.

Police sirens now echoed distantly outside the skyscraper.

And Tangerine looked down at you with a completely wrecked expression somewhere between anger, relief, confusion, and something far more dangerous.

Then finally:

“You are explainin’ everythin’ once we get outta here.”

You nodded weakly, “Fair.”

Then Tangerine glanced down at Volkov’s corpse.

tangerine x reader

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late calls - finished tangerine x f!reader wc. 1.8k

premise. Tangerine is on a mission, while catching up during a phone call things escalate a bit…

one shot ↳ thinking about you

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till death, for cover - finished tangerine x assassin!f!reader wc. 23.3k

premise. An assassin and a fruit assassin go on a mission together... You are an assassin and hacker and maybe also Tangerine's ex-situationship? You spent a bit of time with him about a year ago but after fucking him and Lemon over for some fast cash... things have been different between the two of you... Now you find yourself unfortunately reunited with him on a mission.

chapters ↳ married couple ↳ play pretend ↳ split ↳ bloody bathroom tiles ↳ diesel ↳ one last test ↳ finish the job ↳ explanations and a red light ↳ bit busy

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coffee, cigarettes & you - finished tangerine x assassin!f!reader wc. 2.6k

premise. It's been a few months since your mission with Tangerine, and despite all the challenges the two of you faced from your first time meeting to this point... things seem to be going rather well between the two of you.

one shot ↳ story

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snow white - finished tangerine x sex worker!f!reader wc. 4.6k

premise. to relax after a mission, tangerine decides to seek out the 'establishment' you work at, but not for the reasons one might think for. he asks you for 'snow white', nothing more. still he can't seem to ignore you, and being alone in that red lit backroom with you, does something to the fruit assassin.

one shot ↳ sugar

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The elevator doors slid open soundlessly onto the upper floor.

The noise from downstairs disappeared into a muted hush, replaced by the low hum of live jazz drifting through the room.

Dim lighting washed over marble floors and dark velvet furniture, making the entire place glow warm and expensive. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline while waiters walked through the crowd carrying trays of absurdly tiny hors d'oeuvres nobody actually seemed interested in eating.

And security.

You noticed them instantly.

Bodyguards in slick black suits with earpieces and politely clasped hands with eyes that constantly scanned every corner of the room.

Tangerine noticed too.

You felt his hand settle more firmly against your waist as the two of you stepped out of the elevator together.

“Volkov’s definitely up here,” he murmured near your ear, lips barely moving.

You nodded subtly while your eyes swept the room.

Every powerful person in the city packed into one suffocatingly luxurious room.

But no Volkov.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Tangerine kept smiling pleasantly for appearances while steering you further inside.

“Don’t look annoyed,” he said quietly through his teeth. “Rich people love pretending they’re happy.”

“You sound experienced.”

“I kill rich people for a living, love. Course I’m experienced.”

Despite yourself, you nearly smiled.

A waiter passed carrying champagne and Tangerine smoothly grabbed two glasses without breaking stride, handing one to you automatically.

Then, like he’d done it a thousand times before, he guided you toward a small table tucked near the edge of the lounge.

He pulled your chair out for you. The kind of thing that made him look terrifyingly believable as your husband.

You sat slowly, watching him over the rim of your champagne glass while he took the seat beside you.

His knee brushed yours beneath the table almost immediately.

“Still don’t see Volkov,” you huffed.

Tangerine leaned back in his seat casually, one arm draping behind yours while he scanned the room.

“He’s probably in one of the private rooms,” he said. 

You adjusted slightly in your chair, then noticed it.

His tie, it was slightly crooked, probably from earlier when he shoved you against the shelves in the storage closet.

Your stomach tightened unexpectedly at the memory.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed the front of his tie gently between your fingers.

Tangerine immediately looked at you.

“Hold still,” you muttered softly.

His eyes stayed locked on yours while you straightened the tie carefully.

“You’re staring,” you hummed.

But Tangerine’s hand only shifted lower against your waist beneath the table.

Purely for appearances.

Obviously…

“You’re enjoyin’ this married couple thing far too much,” you whispered.

“Maybe I just like watching you pretend to tolerate me.”

You snorted softly and finally let go of his tie.

Tangerine’s gaze lingered on your face a second too long afterward.

Then he took a sip of champagne and looked back out across the room.

“So,” he muttered, eyes still scanning the crowd, “what’ve you been up to these past months?”

You blinked slightly at the sudden question.

“What, now?”

“We’re makin’ small talk, aren’t we?” he said dryly. “Married couples usually know things about each other.”

You rolled your eyes faintly.

“Worked mostly.”

“Mm.”

“And you?”

“Same.”

“That’s painfully vague.”

Tangerine shrugged lazily, though you noticed his eyes flick briefly toward you again before returning to the room.

“A few jobs in Prague. One in Milan.” He paused. “Lemon got stabbed.”

You nearly choked on your champagne.

“He what?”

“He’s fine.”

“You said that so casually.”

“I got him a new Thomas sticker sheet, he’ll be alright.”

You shook your head softly, unable to stop the small laugh escaping you.

“You date anyone?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard.

Your eyes flicked toward him immediately.

Tangerine looked completely casual leaning back in his chair.

You swirled the champagne slowly in your glass.

“Maybe.”

One of his brows lifted slightly.

“Maybe?”

“You asking professionally or personally?” you asked further.

Tangerine’s jaw flexed faintly.

“Just makin’ conversation, love.” he lied, so obviously you were almost sure he didn’t even try.

You hid your amusement behind another sip of champagne.

“There was someone briefly.” you noted.

You saw it immediately, how Tangerine’s posture subtly shifted beside you. He seemed tighter, more tense.

“What happened?” 

You shrugged one shoulder, “Didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Was an idiot.”

That finally earned a short laugh from Tangerine.

“Fair,” he muttered, “Was he stupid enough to know what you actually do?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before you could respond, Tangerine’s attention snapped suddenly toward the far side of the lounge.

His entire demeanor sharpened instantly.

“There,” he murmured.

You followed his gaze.

And finally spotted Viktor Volkov entering one of the private VIP rooms upstairs surrounded by security and a cluster of wealthy men in tailored suits.

Tangerine leaned slightly closer beside you, his hand still resting low against your waist beneath the table.

“We need closer access to that lounge,” he said.

You nodded subtly, eyes still fixed on Volkov’s security detail.

Before you could answer,

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite married couple.”

Kraus appeared beside your table like he’d materialized from thin air.

He carried two fresh champagne glasses in one hand, offering them toward you both with a polite smile that never reached his eyes.

Behind him, Giselle lingered nearby speaking animatedly with another guest, blissfully unaware, or pretending to be.

Kraus set the drinks down in front of you carefully.

“Leonora,” he greeted smoothly.

The fake name sounded wrong in his mouth somehow.

“No need to be so tense,” Kraus said lightly. “We’re all friends here.”

His gaze flicked between you and Tangerine slowly.

“I was actually hoping to steal you both for a conversation,” he continued. “It’s rare to meet such interesting people in this business.”

Tangerine smiled politely.

“Funny,” he drawled, “I was just thinkin’ the opposite.”

Kraus ignored the hostility completely.

“I have to say,” he went on calmly, eyes settling on you now, “I imagined you differently, Leonora.”

Your pulse skipped once.

He was testing you again, trying to see which mask slipped first.

You crossed one leg over the other beneath the table, maintaining the same elegant smile.

“And yet here I am.”

Kraus hummed softly in amusement, then he tilted his head slightly.

“So tell me,” he said casually, “how did you two meet again?”

“At an art gala in London.” Tangerine said immediately. 

“Ah yes. Very romantic.” Kraus smiled faintly.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“And how long have you been married now?” he asked.

“Two years,” you answered calmly.

“And happy?”

The question hung strangely in the air.

You felt Tangerine glance sideways at you briefly.

Then his hand slid higher along your waist slowly, thumb brushing once against your side through the fabric of your dress.

“Ecstatic,” Tangerine answered dryly.

Kraus chuckled softly.

God, you wanted to shoot him.

Then suddenly, music swelled louder across the ballroom.

The jazz band shifted into a slow dance number as several guests began drifting toward the dance floor nearby.

Guests started pairing off.

Then Tangerine stood suddenly.

Before you could react, he held his hand out toward you.

Blue eyes fixed on yours.

“Come on, love.” he said smoothly.

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

You slipped your hand into his.

Warm fingers closed firmly around yours immediately.

Then Tangerine guided you out toward the dance floor while Kraus watched from behind with that same calm stare.

The music wrapped around the room low and smooth as Tangerine pulled you into position.

One hand settled against your waist.

The other held yours.

The warmth of his palm against your back.

The solid pressure of his body close to yours.

The scent of expensive cologne and whiskey beneath the lingering trace of tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

Your dress brushed against his legs as he guided you into the rhythm effortlessly.

“You can dance?” you asked quietly.

Tangerine raised one brow.

“Of course.”

Then he pulled you slightly closer.

“You’re staring at Kraus again.” he murmured near your ear.

“You think he was trying to poison us?” you whispered back, eyes on Kraus and the two glasses of champagnes.

“Mm.” His thumb shifted lightly against your waist. “Would be lying is I said he came for a cheeky chat.”

His body shifted closer to yours without thinking.

“You know,” you whispered, “you’re getting very committed to the role.”

Tangerine looked down at you then.

Music drifted softly around you both while the light reflected in his blue eyes.

And for half a second, something dangerously real flickered across his face before he masked it again.

Your bodies moved together smoothly across the dance floor now almost naturally,  close enough that your chest brushed his occasionally.

One of his hands slid slightly lower along your exposed back.

Your fingers tightened instinctively against his shoulder.

And suddenly the dancing didn’t feel fake anymore.

Not even a little.

Then Tangerine leaned closer, lips brushing near your ear as he spoke quietly:

“Kraus is still watching us.”

You glanced subtly over his shoulder.

Sure enough, Kraus lingered near the edge of the dance floor, speaking casually with another guest while his eyes remained fixed on the two of you.

Like he was waiting for something.

Your fingers tightened slightly against Tangerine’s shoulder.

“I hate him,” you huffed.

“Get in line.”

Then–

“Excuse me.”

A smooth male voice interrupted beside you.

You turned slightly within Tangerine’s arms to see a tall older man in a charcoal suit approaching with an easy smile. Silver hair. Expensive watch.

Immediately, both you and Tangerine recognized him.

Alexander Rothschild.

Close circle to Volkov.

“May I steal this dance?” he asked with a polite nod.

Tangerine’s hand tightened against your waist automatically.

“My wife and I were in the middle of–”

“Yes,” you interrupted smoothly before he could finish.

Tangerine looked down at you sharply.

You ignored him completely.

Because this mattered more than… whatever this thing between you was.

“Wonderful.” the man smiled warmly, clearly pleased.

Tangerine’s jaw flexed, for a second, you genuinely thought he might refuse anyway.

Slowly, reluctantly, his hand slid from your waist.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“You sure about this, love?” he asked evenly.

“Try not to miss me too much.” you said with a nod.

Tangerine snorted softly, though the irritation in his eyes didn’t disappear.

“Difficult task, that.”

Then he stepped back finally, letting Rothschild take your hand instead.

The new man was polished. Elegant in a way that told you he was the type of person to hire you to do his dirty work.

Your eyes flicked back toward Tangerine instinctively as your new dance partner guided you across the floor.

Tangerine was still watching you for another moment before his attention shifted suddenly.

You followed his gaze subtly.

Kraus.

The Swiss assassin had started moving quietly away from the ballroom toward one of the side corridors.

Suspicious.

Tangerine’s expression sharpened back into something cold and professional.

Work mode.

He glanced back toward you one last time.

You gave the slightest nod.

Go.

Handle Kraus.

Tangerine hesitated for only a fraction of a second before disappearing into the crowd after him.

And suddenly he was gone.

A strange feeling settled low in your chest immediately.

Your dance partner smiled pleasantly down at you, entirely unaware of the things unfolding around him.

“You dance beautifully.” he noted politely.

You forced your attention back onto him.

“Thank you.” you answered quietly.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of Volkov’s events before.”

“We travel often.” you dismiss it. 

“Ah.” His eyes moved briefly across your dress appreciatively. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

The comment irritated you more than it should have.

You smiled politely anyway.

“And what is it you do for Mr. Volkov?” you asked casually.

The man chuckled: “A little bit of everything.”

Which meant crime, your guess was drugs.

A ‘fun time’.

Before you could press further, he leaned slightly closer.

“Actually,” he said smoothly, “Volkov is hosting a more private gathering upstairs for… friends.”

You perked up almost immediately, eyes now fully on him.

“You should join us.”

Your eyes instinctively searched the ballroom again for Tangerine.

Nothing.

No sign of him anywhere.

Rothschild noticed your hesitation.

“Is there a problem?”

You looked back at him smoothly.

Then smiled.

“No problem at all.”

The upper private lounge was quieter than the ballroom below.

The moment Rothschild led you through the frosted double doors, the atmosphere shifted completely.

The room itself was drenched in wealth.

Dark wood.

Leather furniture.

And seated near the center of the room, surrounded by men in expensive suits… 

Viktor Volkov.

Your pulse steadied automatically.

Target acquired.

“Gentlemen,” Rothschild announced smoothly as he guided you further inside with a hand resting slightly too low against your back, “allow me to introduce…”

“Leonora Lemoir.” you said with a polite smile.

Every eye in the room turned toward you.

Volkov looked you over slowly from where he sat in a leather chair, thick fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass.

“And where,” he asked in his heavy accent, “did Alexander find someone like you?”

You let out a soft amused breath.

“We happened to meet downstairs.” you answered smoothly. 

Alexander chuckled warmly beside you.

“Leonora has excellent taste in dance partners,” he added. “And apparently terrible taste in husbands.”

Light laughter moved through the room.

You smiled politely again.

Alexander’s hand lingered against your waist now as he leaned slightly closer.

His cologne was overpowering.

“You never mentioned your wife was so beautiful”, Volkov noted.

You forced yourself not to snap.

“My husband is downstairs,” you corrected smoothly.

Alexander hummed softly.

“A shame.”

His fingers brushed lightly against the exposed skin of your back.

You wanted to break them.

Every single one, one after the other.

Instead you smiled.

Play along.

Get close.

Finish the mission.

“You know,” Rothschild continued casually, “I think Leonora deserves a proper drink.”

Before you could refuse, he gestured toward the private bar lining the far wall.

“Would you mind bringing us some whiskey, dear?”

You nodded gracefully and moved toward the bar while the men resumed conversation behind you.

Your pulse remained controlled as your fingers brushed the delicate silver necklace around your throat.

The pearl vial rested cool against your skin.

One precise movement.

You uncapped it beneath the cover of reaching for crystal glasses.

Clear liquid slipped carefully into one tumbler of whiskey.

Enough to incapacitate Volkov within maybe half an hour.

Your reflection stared back at you faintly in the mirrored bar shelves.

You picked up the tray calmly and turned.

Alexander immediately approached first, smiling as he reached for one of the glasses.

Then paused.

His eyes settled on the drink in your left hand.

Volkov’s drink.

“Well,” he said lightly, “you should join us.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” you tried to dismiss it with a smile.

“Everyone drinks here.” Rothschild insisted, his tone remained pleasant.

The other men watched now too.

Volkov included.

You kept your expression soft.

“Perhaps another time.” you tried again.

Rothschild smiled wider, making it clear he did not care what you wanted or thought.

“I insist.”

The room quieted subtly.

Your mind raced instantly through all the possibilities. 

Did he know?

No.

Impossible.

“Alexander,” one of the men laughed lightly, “don’t push the poor woman.”

But Alexander’s eyes never left yours.

“Just a sip,” he said calmly, taking the rest of the tray, leaving you with only the spiked drink in your hand. 

Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

You couldn’t refuse again.

Not without suspicion.

And every guard in the room had already started paying closer attention.

So you smiled.

Slowly.

Then lifted the whiskey glass toward your lips.

The scent hit first.

Sharp.

Bitter.

For the briefest second, your head screamed at you not to drink it.

But there was no choice anymore.

You took the smallest sip you could.

Warm liquid burned down your throat immediately.

Alexander finally smiled again.

“There we are.”

Only then did the others begin taking their own drinks from the tray.

You lowered the glass carefully, forcing your expression not to change despite the faint warmth already beginning to spread unpleasantly through your chest.

Something was wrong.

Tangerine drove in silence most of the way to the gala.

The city blurred past outside the windows in streaks of gold and neon.

Then the skyscraper finally came into view.

Its upper floors glowed against the night sky while luxury cars lined the entrance below.

Guests were already gathering outside. Women in designer gowns. Men in tuxedos worth more than most people’s rent.

And security everywhere.

Your eyes narrowed immediately.

At the front entrance, guards were conducting full pat downs while sleek metal detectors scanned every guest entering the building.

Not ideal.

“Don’t think we can go through the front,” you murmured quietly.

Tangerine’s gaze tracked the guards through the windshield.

“Yeah. No shit.”

You pulled your phone out quickly, opening the building schematics you’d scraped earlier.

“According to the floor plan,” you said, lowering your voice further, “there’s a staff entrance around the back connected to catering.”

Tangerine nodded once immediately.

“Right.”

He killed the engine and stepped out first.

He rounded the car and opened your door for you like a perfectly trained husband.

You stepped out smoothly in the black silk dress, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor.

“Just follow my lead,” you whispered.

Tangerine shut and locked the car before offering his arm automatically.

You slipped yours through it.

The gesture looked effortless from the outside.

Together, you crossed toward the gala entrance blending seamlessly into the crowd of wealthy guests surrounding the building.

Laughter echoed through the grand lobby while champagne flowed endlessly.

Nobody looked twice at the two of you.

Exactly the point.

Meanwhile, you guided Tangerine subtly toward the side corridor leading closer to the staff entrance.

Almost there.

Then you spotted a waiter.

Perfect.

As he hurried past carrying a tray stacked high with champagne flutes, you deliberately let your heel twist slightly beneath you.

“Oh–!”

You stumbled directly into him.

The waiter gasped in panic as the tray tilted violently sideways.

Champagne exploded everywhere.

Crystal shattered across the floor.

And several glasses emptied directly down the front of Tangerine’s immaculate tuxedo.

A long splash soaked his chest and dripped down one trouser leg.

The poor waiter looked seconds away from fainting.

Meanwhile you grabbed his shoulder dramatically as if trying to steady yourself.

“Now excuse me?!” you gasped in outrage, instantly slipping into the role of a spoiled socialite. “That is completely unacceptable!”

The waiter stammered helplessly.

“I-I’m so sorry, ma’am–”

“Can’t you pay attention to where you’re stepping?”

Your voice cut sharp enough to turn nearby heads.

Tangerine stared at you for exactly one second.

Then immediately understood the play.

He looked down at the champagne soaking his tuxedo and slowly exhaled through his nose like a deeply inconvenienced rich husband trying not to commit murder publicly.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

The waiter apologized again frantically while crouching to clean shattered glass from the floor.

You grabbed Tangerine lightly by the arm with a dramatic sigh.

“Darling, honestly, we can’t go upstairs like this.”

Tangerine’s expression shifted into exhausted annoyance.

“What’re you starin’ at?” he barked sharply at the waiter, “Get a bloody towel or somethin’!”

The waiter nearly tripped over himself apologizing before hurrying off.

You grabbed Tangerine lightly by the arm with another dramatic sigh.

“Come on,” you huffed loudly enough for nearby guests to hear. “Let’s get you back to the car so you can change, love.”

Tangerine played along, muttering curses beneath his breath while letting you guide him away from the crowd.

The moment you both rounded away from the main entrance and slipped toward the quieter side streets behind the building, your entire demeanor shifted instantly.

The fake outrage disappeared.

In its place came sharp focus.

You flashed something briefly in your palm toward him.

A stolen staff keycard.

Tangerine’s mouth twitched upward despite himself.

“Smooth, love” he muttered.

“Told you to trust me.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You slipped the keycard through the scanner beside the rear service entrance.

Green light.

Click.

The door unlocked immediately.

Both of you moved inside fast.

The hallway beyond buzzed with staff activity, voices shouting from kitchens, trays clattering somewhere nearby.

You and Tangerine rounded the first corner…

Then immediately froze.

A waiter exited the kitchens only a few metres ahead, speaking loudly into his phone in rapid French while carrying empty glasses in one hand.

Before you could react, Tangerine’s hand closed suddenly around your wrist.

He pulled you sharply sideways into a nearby door beside you both.

CLEANING SUPPLIES – STAFF ONLY.

The small supply room smelled faintly of bleach and detergent, shelves stacked high with towels, uniforms, and cleaning products. 

Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead while muffled kitchen noise echoed through the walls outside.

Tangerine shut the door quietly behind you both.

Darkness and silence settled instantly around you.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then he looked down at the champagne stain still soaking the front of his tuxedo and sighed.

“You know,” he muttered quietly, “next time warn me when you are going to give me a champagne shower.”

You snorted softly.

“I’ll try.”

Only now did you notice that the storage room was suffocatingly small.

The sharp scent of bleach mixed with lemon cleaner burned faintly in your nose.

And Tangerine was everywhere.

His body pressed against yours in the narrow gap between shelves, heat radiating through the thin silk of your dress. 

Every slow breath brushing hot against the side of your face.

You forced yourself to stay still while footsteps echoed outside the door.

The waiter’s voice faded further down the hall.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Silence.

You turned your head slightly toward Tangerine, your voice barely more than breath.

“Do we go?”

Before he could answer, a loud crash exploded from the kitchens outside.

Someone swore violently.

Then another voice barked through the corridor:

“Bring me a mop! Quick! Don’t have time for this!”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

Heavy footsteps started toward the storage room.

Fast.

Tangerine’s body went rigid next to you.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

No time to leave.

No time to hide properly.

In one quick movement, his hands closed around your waist and shoulders, spinning you around sharply before pressing you backward against the shelving unit behind you.

“What the fuc–” you let out but your breath choked in your throat as he moved directly into your space, caging you in completely.

Then the storage room door swung open.

A tired-looking line cook froze in the doorway.

His eyes flicked between the two of you instantly.

You pressed against the shelf.

Tangerine towering over you.

Your dress hiked slightly from being shoved back.

The cook sighed like he’d seen this exact situation a hundred times before.

One large hand slid beside your head against the shelf while the other settled low against your waist, pulling you flush against him so suddenly your pulse stumbled.

And Christ…

You felt all of him.

The solid warmth of his chest against yours.

The strength in his body pinning you gently but firmly into place.

The rough fabric of his dress shirt beneath your fingertips.

His thigh pressing between yours just enough to sell the illusion.

Or maybe not entirely an illusion anymore.

Tangerine lowered his head toward your neck like he couldn’t wait another second.

From the doorway, it looked convincing immediately.

“Listen,” the chef said flatly, “you can’t fuck in here.”

“Bit busy, mate,” he muttered against your skin in that low rough British voice.

The cook grimaced instantly.

“Jesus Christ.”

But Tangerine didn’t pull away.

Instead his mouth brushed dangerously close beneath your ear, warm breath sending a sharp shiver down your spine despite yourself.

Your hands instinctively grabbed onto the front of his dress shirt to steady yourself.

Partly acting, partly because your knees genuinely felt weaker suddenly.

Then you finally cleared your throat, “We are so sorry,” you said quickly, slipping out of Tangerine’s grip. “We’ll go back to the gala right away.”

“Come on, Oscar, dear.”

You were already grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the storage closet before he could say anything else, heels clicking quickly against the hallway floor while the cook waved you both away in exhausted defeat.

“Yeah, yeah,” the man muttered behind you. “Take it somewhere else.”

The supply room door clicked shut.

And the second you were safely back in the hallway, Tangerine finally let out a long breath.

Barely managing to keep your composure, you glanced sideways at him with a dangerous little smirk.

“You really couldn’t keep your hands off me, huh?”

Tangerine looked at you sharply.

“You’re enjoyin’ this far too much,” he muttered.

You grinned as you both slipped smoothly back into the gala crowd like nothing had happened.

Music drifted through the ballroom now.

Crystal chandeliers reflected gold across polished marble floors.

Tangerine’s hand settled lightly against the small of your back as you walked.

Then suddenly…

“Oh my God, Leonora!”

You didn’t react at first.

Leonora.

Right…

Your fake name.

Slowly, you turned toward the voice.

A glamorous woman came hurrying toward you through the crowd.

And beside her…

Fuck.

Johan Kraus.

Tangerine’s body tensed beside yours so subtly.

Kraus looked exactly like his file photo.

Tall. Immaculate suit. Cold eyes.

And unlike the shrieking woman dragging him around, he wasn’t smiling at all.

“Oh, darling, Leonora!” the woman squealed again, grabbing your hands before you could avoid her. “Johan told me sooo much about you after he saw you arrive!”

Your stomach twisted.

Tangerine shifted slightly closer beside you.

The woman beamed obliviously between all three of you.

“And this must be your husband!”

Tangerine immediately slipped into character without hesitation.

He smiled, polite and charming.

“Oscar Lemoir,” he introduced smoothly, extending a hand toward Kraus.

The two assassins shook hands.

And the tension between them hit like a knife sliding slowly across skin.

Kraus’ grip tightened slightly.

So did Tangerine’s.

Neither man looked away.

“Well,” Kraus said finally in a smooth accented voice, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you both.”

“Ah… right…” you said smoothly, forcing warmth into your voice despite the tension twisting in your stomach. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you too.”

Your hand slid naturally back around Tangerine’s arm as you turned slightly toward him.

You smiled politely while internally scrambling because you still had absolutely no idea who this woman actually was.

“Oscar, this is…”

You hesitated.

Tangerine caught it instantly.

Smoothly he stepped in before the pause became suspicious.

“Oscar Lemoir,” he repeated warmly, shifting his attention toward the woman instead. “And you are…?”

Who is she?

How does she know the cover?

Why is Kraus with her?

“Giselle!” the woman chirped immediately, taking his hand enthusiastically. “Johan told me he knew Leonora from France, and I simply had to meet the mysterious woman herself!”

Your pulse skipped once.

Kraus had already built himself an alibi around your fake identity.

Beside you, Tangerine’s expression never changed, but you felt the subtle tension coil through his arm beneath your hand.

He was thinking exactly what you were.

Meanwhile Kraus simply and silently watched.

You tightened your grip unconsciously around Tangerine’s arm.

His thumb brushed once against your wrist in response.

Giselle kept talking excitedly.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about your gallery in Lyon,” she gushed. “Johan said your collection is exquisite.”

“Oh… you flatter me.” you forced a graceful smile.

Then finally you smiled brightly at Giselle and gently tugged Tangerine’s arm.

“Well,” you said pleasantly, “we were actually just about to grab champagne.”

“We’ll be right back.”

Before Giselle could protest, you smoothly guided Tangerine away through the crowd.

The second enough distance settled between you and the others, the smile dropped from Tangerine’s face completely.

His jaw tightened hard.

“Kraus knows too much already,” he muttered low enough only you could hear.

“I noticed.”

“He’s testin’ us.”

You kept your expression calm as nearby guests drifted around you laughing and sipping champagne.

“Giselle?” you murmured quietly.

Tangerine glanced back briefly over his shoulder.

The woman was still talking animatedly while Kraus watched the two of you disappear into the crowd.

“Either she’s innocent,” Tangerine said, “or she’s the best fuckin’ actress I’ve seen in a while.”

A waiter passed carrying champagne flutes.

You grabbed two automatically and handed one to Tangerine.

Your fingers brushed briefly.

Then Tangerine leaned slightly closer beside you, voice dropping lower.

“And if Kraus really knew you from ‘France,’” he murmured near your ear, “that means he already knew our allies before coming here.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

Tangerine finally looked at you then.

And for the first time that evening, you saw genuine unease buried beneath his usual composure.

His eyes flicked briefly back toward the Swiss assassin.

“Someone sold us out.” he said quietly.

You swallowed another sip of champagne mostly to give yourself something to do with your hands.

“Maybe,” you murmured, “we should just find Volkov and finish this before it gets worse.”

Tangerine followed your gaze toward the elevators leading upstairs.

“Right,” he muttered. “Before someone else finds us first.”

Without another word, his hand settled lightly against your elbow again as he guided you both near the elevators.

The space quieted immediately once you stepped away from the ballroom noise. 

You pressed the elevator button.

Tangerine stood beside you in silence.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body again.

Your pulse still hadn’t fully settled after the storage closet incident earlier.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Empty, mirrored walls.

Tangerine stepped inside first automatically, one hand catching the elevator door while he looked back at you.

You stepped inside beside him.

He pressed the button for Floor 2.

Then the doors closed.

Silence settled instantly.

Leaving only the soft hum of the elevator rising upward.

And the two of you standing far too close in the mirrored cabin.

You caught his reflection before you meant to.

Broad shoulders beneath the black tuxedo.

The loosened collar.

That gold chain barely visible against his throat.

His blue eyes already watching you through the reflection.

Your stomach tightened unexpectedly.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You looked away first.

“Yeah.”

“Bullocks.”

The elevator climbed another floor.

The confined space suddenly felt smaller by the second.

“You know,” Tangerine muttered lowly, “for two people who allegedly can’t stand each other…”

His gaze lifted back to yours slowly.

“…we’re gettin’ very good at pretendin’.”

Tangerine exhaled sharply through his nose before lifting the pistol toward Volkov at last.

He had enough. Enough talking. Enough games.

The barrel aligned perfectly.

Tangerine’s bruised knuckles tightened around the grip.

Then…

Click.

Nothing.

Silence.

Tangerine froze, and for a brief second confusion flickered across his face.

He pulled the trigger again instinctively.

Click.

Empty.

Volkov smiled.

And Tangerine’s stomach dropped.

His sharp blue eyes immediately flicked sideways toward you.

You had to do it.

Your gun.

Your shot.

His breathing was still rough, blood drying beneath his nose and along his split knuckles while emergency lights pulsed dimly across the room.

And yet somehow he still looked at you like he trusted you to finish it.

To finish him.

You didn’t move.

Tangerine noticed immediately.

His expression shifted slightly.

Confusion first.

Click.

A gun cocked behind him.

Tangerine turned instantly.

Giselle stood near the doorway now, elegant gown untouched by the chaos downstairs, one hand calmly holding a pistol aimed directly at the back of his head.

Gone was the bubbly socialite act.

Now she looked cold, professional and deadly.

Tangerine stared at her for one stunned second before slowly looking back toward you.

Toward the fact that you still hadn’t raised your weapon.

“There it is.” Volkov chuckled softly behind his glass.

The room suddenly felt very quiet.

“…What the fuck is this.” Tangerine said, his voice low.

You still didn’t answer.

And that silence hurt worse than any knife.

Volkov slowly smoothed his suit jacket calmly like this entire moment had been rehearsed.

“Johan Kraus was never my only contingency,” he explained. “Merely the loudest one.”

Tangerine’s jaw flexed.

His eyes never left you now.

Volkov continued casually:

“Kraus was useful for pressure. But betrayal…” he looked toward you knowingly, “is always more reliable.”

“Y/N…” Tangerine finally spoke your name quietly. It didn’t sound angry, not yet. It sounded more like he was trying to understand.

Volkov walked slowly across the lounge behind him while Giselle kept the gun steady at Tangerine’s head.

“You were never brought onto this assignment accidentally,” Volkov said. “I selected you specifically.”

He looked toward you.

“One last test.”

Tangerine’s breathing slowed.

You recognized that stillness, that was the moment right before he exploded.

Volkov smiled faintly.

“You see, assassins are predictable creatures. Most are loyal to money. Some to reputation.”

Then his eyes flicked toward Tangerine.

“And some…” amusement crept into his voice, “become emotionally compromised.”

Tangerine let out one quiet disbelieving laugh.

“…You’ve gotta be joking.”

“He was supposed to become attached,” Volkov said simply. “Protective. Distracted.”

Another glance toward you.

“And when the time came… you would choose correctly.”

The red emergency lights pulsed softly across Tangerine’s bruised face.

His expression had gone unreadable now.

Tangerine stared at you like the entire room had tilted sideways beneath his feet.

His eyes flicked from you… to Giselle behind him… then back to you again.

Slowly.

Like he still couldn’t quite believe how stupid he’d been.

“Is it true?” he asked too quietly.

Volkov smiled faintly, opening his mouth but Tangerine snapped instantly: “Did I fuckin’ ask you, mate?”

Tangerine looked back at you again.

You stayed silent for one second too long.

And that was answer enough.

Tangerine laughed, a horrible, breathless and angry sound.

“Oh my God.”

He dragged a hand down his face “I am actually a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Tangerine–” you started quietly.

“No, no, no, don’t do that,” he snapped immediately, pointing at you aggressively. “Do not start with the soft voice now, love, ‘cause I swear to God–”

He cut himself off sharply.

“You did it again.”

“You sold me out before for money,” he spat. “And my dumb fuckin’ arse still looked at you tonight and thought maybe this time was different.”

His accent had thickened heavily now, every word rougher and faster the angrier he became.

“Jesus Christ.”

He shook his head at himself.

Behind him, Giselle kept the gun trained steadily on his head while Volkov watched the entire thing unfold with quiet satisfaction.

Like this was the final act of a performance.

“Oh, you think this is entertainin’, do ya?” he barked suddenly at Volkov. “You rich psycho prick sittin’ there orchestratin’ everybody’s lives like it’s some fuckin’ theatre production?”

“She made the correct choice.” Volkov said calmly.

“The correct–”

He laughed again incredulously, then his eyes found you again.

And the anger cracked slightly around the edges into something uglier.

Hurt.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asked quietly.

His blue eyes searched yours desperately now despite everything.

“I actually fuckin’ trusted you.”

He swallowed once hard before scoffing bitterly at himself.

“Here I was thinking you’re a Rosie, but Lemon was right, once a diesel, always a diesel.”

A humorless smile pulled briefly at his mouth.

Then his gaze locked onto yours again.

“And look at me now.”

Volkov let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Honestly irritated now.

“Oh, this is all very tragic,” he muttered dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “The betrayal. The feelings. The heartbreak.”

His accent sharpened slightly with annoyance.

“But we are wasting time.”

Volkov waved one dismissive hand lazily toward him.