𝜗ৎ 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵 — TANGERINE ⸝⸝
ʚଓ pairing: tangerine x fem!reader
ʚଓ content warnings: angry brits (lots of cussing), complicated feelings, mentions of blood/death, but no angst! just floof <3 slight grumpy x sunshine & relationship-style friendship vibes !!! someone finally shows this man love !!
ʚଓ summary: you’re his favorite cart-girl, wheeling in snacks for passengers on a few of tangerine’s conveniently local trains. a few times a month, at the end of every mission, or sometimes in between, he takes your train to sneak into the restock room (not without bickering with lemon about it, of course).
ʚଓ author’s note: your least favorite writer’s least favorite writer guys !!!!! who cheered
It started off simple, like it usually does. Tangerine gets the call, plans get discussed, Lemon fusses over his code name, and the mission begins. After the freak show that happened in Tokyo, they decided to run themselves as assassins, only taking the right calls while maintaining a low profile from everyone else. Recently, there’s been a heist group of three young-ins who owe a hefty debt to their old boss. He reached out to the duo for help, and lucky for them, business was back in Kyoto.
Before Ladybug took his steps on the bullet train about a year ago, Tangerine ran into a certain someone right at boarding. You. Sweet eyes, gentle smile, everything he wasn’t. You held such proper softness doing something as simple as handing out snacks to willing takers. He didn’t realize he was taking one every time you passed by, merely distracted by your cute heels trotting up and down the lanes.
“Need to talk to someone. Serious.” Lemon quipped, seeing that Tangerine took yet another snack from your cart.
“A goldfish biscuit? I mean, I don’t understand it.” he tried to play it off.
But he did. Unfortunately, a good assassin doesn’t get distracted, even by the prettiest things.
Later that day, you bumped into him in a completely different state. His neck was shot terribly, blood dripping down his arm and onto your heels. You had gauze in your snack restock room, and helped put him back in place. He followed you like a lost puppy, his tough act slightly melting when your light fingers smoothed down on his newly bandaged wound. The entire time, he didn’t dare to look at you, only staring up at the ceiling and grunting when the rubbing alcohol hit his skin. You let him go with a gentle smile, and hid in the snack room until the chaos had ended, pondering about the encounter with the gruff man.
And when the storms passed, he stayed, standing awkwardly at the doorframe of the snack room every time he had a mission on your trains. He’d check up on you while Lemon wasn’t looking (or, so he thought he wasn’t looking), give you updates on his latest case, or gently shuffle closer until you adjusted a ring or smoothed down his mustache. That made his entire day. Hell, his week. His month.
You two had never even tried to bring up your relationship status. He wouldn’t necessarily call it that, though. Everything just flowed naturally. More of a companionship, right? You’ve never kissed. Touched. He’s brought you flowers, sure. You fix his tie in the middle of conversations like a worried wife. “You’re in love with her, mate. Scared of yourself.” Lemon always told him about facing his own feelings, but this time it’s different. He’s not facing feelings about himself, as those he shoves down quicker than the gun trigger down a man’s throat just a few minutes ago.
It’s feelings about someone else. For someone else. Love, or a warning?
And at what cost? Dear god, he could never commit to a relationship—
“Excuse me, sir?” you blinked at him quietly, snack cart paused in the middle of the lane. Peanuts, small seaweed packets, water, and fish biscuits, of course. The twins were taking a brief break in the middle of their mission, trying to figure out exactly how they’d go about assassinating men on a train without causing ruckus. They’d find a way. You kept up the random server act well, looking all scared and cute of the man on a mission.
Well, damn him. He is in love.
“I’m sorry, darling. Just, uh, one of these, hm? Go along..” he takes a peanut pack, and Lemon groans.
“You’re gonna end up with some fucking peanut butter and jelly in your pockets at the end of this, brother. Shit’s gonna weigh you down.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, peanuts?—”
“I can see it, right, the news: fruit fella’s let criminals go because they were carrying ten quid of peanuts—”
“—up their arse. So far up you fucking spat ‘em out into the hands of that train attendant. Can’t deny it anymore, brother. ‘s like when Toby looks at Henrietta, yeah? Something’s up. Shit’s not platonic. You see—”
As if on cue, you pass back down the aisle, dropping a little note onto their table. You’re gone before he can even say anything.
The two look from the note to each other, seeing who’ll grab it first. And suddenly it’s a cat fight.
“We’ve got a mission, brother. Not letting you fuck this up.”
“She needs me, mate. Sounds like you’re lonely.”
“You fuck—” Lemon starts, but gets cutoff by the sound of a shot. He pats himself down, the note long gone under the table. He’s clean. Slowly looking up, his brother’s condition says otherwise. “Uh, Tangerine..”
“I feel it! Think I wouldn’t notice the fucking monster-size hole in my arm? Ah—shit. Get ‘em!” Tangerine grunts, holding his arm the best he can while he watches the man get away. He had killed one earlier, and two remained. Lemon looked at him, concerned, but ultimately ran with his loaded weapon when he realized Tangerine has someone to take care of him already. And she just so happened to be standing behind the door of the snack room, eyes wide, watching the scene unfold. She was you.
“Fuckin’ hell..” Tangerine stumbles into the room eventually, unable to hold himself up as he collapses heavy, breathless.
You rush him in, shutting the door and closing the window blinds he got for you once. “Keeping you safe from all of those peeping Steve’s, right?”
“Peeping Tom’s?” you smiled at the pattern on the fabric.
“Yeah, well, doesn’t matter. Steve, Randy, Tom, Alex, fucking Chuck, shit. Don’t matter. They have some pink—fucking, flowers on ‘em. Suits you, right? Real sweet.”
“Thank you.” you reached to kiss his cheek, already beginning to hang them up. He watched you slowly, face hot, that strange feeling in his gut beginning to swirl.
“Gonna give me a toothache..” he muttered under his breath. In those moments, when he tried to keep it down with humor, he didn’t realize just how bad he had it for you.
“You didn’t tell me you had a mission today!” you shuffle over to where he rested in the present, curls stuck to his forehead, arm losing blood quick.
“Didn’t think there was gonna be a show for everyone t’see in coach. Right, now, hurry, yeah? Feel’s like I’m gonna lose my fucking arm. Don’t wanna be an amputee from some fucking teen twats.” he huffs, eyes shut in pain.
You kept a first-aid kit behind the water bottles, pulling it out without hesitation. Wetting a cloth, you settle next to him. “Hold still,” you say quietly, and he holds his breath. Whether it was because of the pain or how fucking close you were, you had no clue. Honestly, he didn’t either.
You clean around it for a moment before taking out the gauze. Usually, you’d be more precise, but he had to get back out there, and there was no time to waste. While you wrap, he opens his eyes, looking at your features with unfamiliar desperation. Not the kind of cold look he gives his enemies, but something more comfortable he gives only you. Concerned. Confused, if that was even possible to feel all at once. He’s reached the point where, no matter what you’re doing, his eyes follow your every move. Careful, considerate.
“Those new?” he breaks the silence after a moment, unfazed with the stinging simmer of the literal gunshot in his arm to ask about your earrings. Small golds that dangled with pearls.
“Mhm. My mother’s.” you nod, focusing on cutting the wrap clean. His eyes move between your hands and your earrings, admiring your clean manicure and the shiny surface of the sea jewel. For a moment, his chest sparked with a quiet fire. He was worried another man had gotten them for you, and how that the wrongful intuition he listens to on his left shoulder could’ve been right.
“They’re pretty. They match your ring.” he mumbles. Sure enough, you had a gorgeous decoration with three small pearls all pieced together by gold, stacked neatly on your pointer finger.
“I wonder who gave me that one..” you smile at his comment, realizing he’s just trying to point out his purchases for you.
“Some dapper fellow, yeah? Must’ve been.” he can’t help but nearly smile himself, mustache pointing upwards in the slightest.
“I heard he drinks black coffee when he’s not sipping on tea. Bo-ring!” you laugh, securing his bandage with a little pat.
“Oh, yeah? That’s what you’ve heard? Well, I happened to know the man, right. He says it’s not his fault he can’t tolerate a frapp- whatever the fuck.” he rests his forearms on his knees, opening them up, leaving a space just wide enough for you to fit between his legs.
“Frappuccino’s are delicious. Tell him I said so.” you decide to take on his quiet offer, finished patching his wound now. Slowly, you fit between his legs, eye-level with the assassin gone soft. “…I’ve also heard he’s fairly handsome.”
“Is that right?” Tangerine tilts his head slightly, seemingly trying to shift closer to you. “What about him you like so much? Gotta make sure I get the message across.”
You have him going nearly red now, unable to stop the grin on your face, concealing your giggles. “Something about his hair..those rings. His arms. They’re always getting the job done. Oh, and a great mustache. Everything about him! My favorite.” you reach your finger to twist one of the ends mindlessly, waiting to see how he’ll respond.
But he only hums, not sure how to deal with all this…emotion? Although they were some small remarks, he’s never been complimented like that before. Let alone by you. He clears his throat, keeping eye contact with you to the best of his ability. He tries to speak, he really does. But you’ve already crushed him terribly. He’s too flustered.
So he sits there, literal inches of air impossibly acting as a barrier between the two of you. Your delicate fingers move to twist the other end of his mustache, and he’s about to fucking pass out. Ears ringing, heart thrumming, hand playing with the fabric of his pants.
Assassins don’t get distracted by pretty things.
His head dips a little, eyes almost growing heavy when it falls in the palm of your hand. Your smile shifts into a sympathetic pout, realizing what he’s doing. You cup his cheek gently, drawing circles with your thumb along his cheekbone.
He turns his head to the side, eyes shut now, fully just embracing what’s happening. He can’t go back now. Fuck the mission, Lemon can take care of it. He brings his hand to cover yours, holding it with as much care as he’s held anything in his life. He’s slowly just falling apart there for all the right reasons. And slowly, he presses a weak kiss to the inside of your hand, muttering something you can only make out as a small agreement.
Too soon, the moment is over. One gunshot. Two. An evil laugh that can only belong to the brother of the man you turned to putty.
“Fucking die!” Lemon roars, “Tangerine, brother, I’ve got ‘em! Swear I did it, didn’t get shot. Hit ‘em with the—what the hell..”
“Don’t.” Tangerine groans, banging his head back on the cabinet behind him. The loss of your hand on his face felt too cold.
“What did I say? What did I say. You were about to fuck her, right? Hell, looked like she could’ve fucked you. Damn lickin’ up her fucking hand. What did I say about those peanuts, brother? Riiight back up, yeah?”
“Oh, fuck off! Excuse me, buy I don’t remember you saying anything about barging in places without a knock, yeah? Could’ve been fucking dead, taking a fucking piss—”
“It’s the snack room, mate—”
“That’s—not the fucking point!”
“Well, if you’re gonna pull this one out your fuckin’ arse, should at least know who she is. She could be a Diesel. Too pretty for a Rosie. She smart? Could be an Emily. Not a Mavis.”
“I’m gonna shoot you in the fucking head.”
“You guys should get going, hm? I’ll be around. Wouldn’t want you in any trouble..” you attempt to calm Tangerine, smoothing his hair back and handing him his coat. He purses his lips, sighs through his nose. So close.
“I’ve got it. She’s a Lady. Taking care of you well, is she? She did that with Thomas, see, ‘s what you need, mate. I mean, you really needed a fucking mother, but ‘s too late for that now. I like her.” Lemon smiles and waves at you, face then dropping dramatically. A warning.
“We’re not..” you start, fully aware the man still has at least three bullets left in his weapon, not wanting to end up like the others on the train.
“Right, then, come on. Drugged the man controlling this shit, should be waking up in a few minutes.” Lemon held out a hand to Tangerine, but winces when his brother smacks it away. “Alright, fuck you, then.”
Tangerine gives you a gentle nod, never knowing how to end encounters between you two. He’s still a little dizzy, but he knows one thing. He’ll be back, and you’ll be there, carrying all he needs freely until he can have it all himself. One day.
“Shit, hurry. Just got a tracking notification..we might be busted.” Lemon holds up his phone, showing a red alert right on the train. He turns back to you immediately, and you remember your cue.
“I didn’t see a thing.” you dust off your skirt, hands moving up by your sides afterwards.
“Damn right you didn’t. Say a fucking word and I’ll slash your fucking head off.”
“No, Lemon. No you won’t.” Tangerine pushes him back, and while the two are leaving, he finds your note from earlier crumbled under his dress shoe. He shoves it in his pocket, and only gets to read it when he’s in Lemon’s speeding getaway car. But when does…
“Dinner this weekend? I’m off work. Meet at TeaTown in Kyoto. P.S. They have your favorite flavor!”
𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑹𝑨 𝒀𝑨𝑷: i found out the age gap between me and aaron-taylor johnson is actually less years than the gap between him and his wife. basically i’m just saying you can call me mrs. taylor-johnson now thank yew
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